Chapter 42
My heart becomes a death knell, and a high-pitched ringing fills my ears as Caelus’s brother strides down the runner. I dig my fingernails into the wood of my seat as a set of Sky Court guards flank him on either side.
I watch the space behind him, waiting for Isolde to be dragged in handcuffed. But as Callum reaches the foot of the dais, I let out a breath. Whatever happens now, at least Isolde has a chance at stopping this. For now, she’s safe.
Callum turns his attention to me, and my blood turns to ice under his glare.
His blonde hair is a shade lighter than his brother’s was, but the lines around his eyes are deeper—severe. There’s a cold, unfeeling stare behind his blue irises. A bleakness not even Caelus had.
“Ah, Briar Calisdana.” He takes one step closer, then two. “I will have my revenge for what you did to my brother. It will be more excruciating—last far longer than whatever you did to him.”
I fight the urge to curl in on myself. “Interesting. From my time in Sarenia, I heard you had plans of your own to overthrow him. If anything, I saved you the hassle of killing him yourself.”
His lip curls back, revealing a set of white teeth. “In time you’ll learn to watch your tongue.”
He turns his back, and I clench my hands into fists. Kressa stares at me, and although her expression gives nothing away, there’s an unnatural tightness to her posture—as if she’s forcing herself not to run off.
Callum climbs to the top of the dais and stands beside Golan, staring out at the sea of people.
A sense of dread sweep over me, and my gaze swings back to Kressa.
Wetness gathers in her eyes as she stares into the distance, but I don’t need to reach across the bond to know her emotions are pouring through me.
I drudge up every shred of comfort I can and send it toward her, focusing all my attention on soothing her nerves. The muscles in her neck loosen ever so slightly, but she still won’t look my way. As if doing so would be too painful.
“It is an honor to host Callum in our castle,” Golan says. “As many of you know, our whereabouts were mainly kept a secret for the last decade. And it’s not secret that the Sky Court has, until recently, been an enemy of ours. But things have changed.”
The air shifts, and attendants lean on the edge of their seats, hanging on to each of his words.
“If you have not already heard, the Fire Court carried out an attack on Sarenia and nearly burned the castle down,” he continues. “Hundreds of guards were killed in the blaze—thousands of civilians threatened by their power.”
Whispers filter through the space and echo off the rounded ceiling. I wring my hands in my lap—the rhodium pressing against the healed-over wounds.
“And as acting monarch of the Sky Court,” Callum says, stepping forward, “I have agreed to join my forces with the Earth Court, settling our disputes, in an attempt to reign in the threat to us all. The Fire Court.”
My heart clenches, and only now does Kressa’s gaze find mine. She swallows, and I send a wave of reassurance over her. As long as no one breathes a word about Amoren’s location, they’ll be safe. No harm will come to them.
Golan inches forward, the candlelight reflecting off his midnight hair. “And in an act of good will, we will join our courts in more ways than just our forces.” He turns, facing his daughter, and holds out a hand. “Kressa, my darling.”
My stomach plummets, and I go to stand, but a hand presses down on my shoulder.
“Don’t,” Julian says beneath his breath, staring as Kressa stands from her throne as joins her father’s side.
She takes his outstretched hand, and fire burns through my veins, licking at my bones. This is why her father lured her in—held her close with the promise of becoming a monarch. Not because he valued her leadership, or her cunning. But because she was a more useful bartering tool than Elias.
The fingers of Kressa’s free hand tremble, and she curls them into a tight fist at her side. But her face is all unwavering obedience—the kind I learned to paint on for Caelus.
Golan smiles into the crowd, and shadows gather in the hollows of his cheeks—lingering in the crest of his brows. “To properly join the two courts and create an everlasting alliance, Callum has asked for Princess Kressa’s hand in marriage. And she has wholeheartedly agreed.”
The crowd breaks into applause—each clap of their hands a nail against my skull. Kressa forces a smile onto her face as she scans the throne room.
Her gaze lands on me, and it falters.
I have no other choice, she says, her voice weak and garbled through the bond.
Golan lowers her hand and guides her beside Callum. My teeth grind together. Kressa is brave, cunning, formidable. In no world does she belong beside anyone who she doesn’t love. Who doesn’t value her as an equal.
There is always a choice, I say.
The tone of my voice strikes her, and she blinks. Not for me. This is the only way to keep the Fire Court safe—to sabotage their attempts to find them. To give you freedom.
I clamp down on the bond between us. There is no freedom in a world where she’s not mine and I’m not hers. I’d rather forgo the compass—give away my power than lose her to this.
Julian tightens his hold on my shoulder, as if he can sense the nerves in my muscles—the way they tighten as I consider jumping over the rail.
“The wedding will be in two day’s time,” Golan says. “And as a token of our gratitude, Callum will be acquiring what is rightfully his—Briar Calisdana.”
My vision tunnels. The fight drains from me, replaced with a bleak, excruciating cold. Kressa’s face pales, and she lunges forward, but her father steps in front of her and blocks her from view.
Briar, listen. This wasn’t part of the arrangement. I promise, I—
Golan dips his hand into his pocket and pulls out my compass. Holding my gaze, his lip quirks at the edges as he sets it in Callum’s hand. “And once we find the Fire Court, Delterran is next.”
Cheers sound around me, and my head grows light. A pair of guards usher Kressa off the dais and through a doorway pressed into the back of the throne room. She glances over her shoulder, and our eyes meet before she disappears.
“Take Calisdana to a prison,” Golan says to the guards. “Not my daughter’s quarters.”
Hot tears roll out of my eyes. I open my mouth to scream, but a guard slams his fist into my gut, and I double over, gasping for air.
Julian disappears from my side, and two others take his place, weaving their arms beneath mine. They hoist me from the bench and drag me down the aisle.
I thrash and throw out my legs, but my feet slip over the polished stone and the low runner. My power churns beneath my skin, but with the rhodium on my wrists, it stays contained.
“To the King’s personal prison,” one of the guards says, jerking me forward.
Members of the noble families watch as I fight. I’ve felt hatred—been on the receiving end of it for the last decade. But this—the smiles plastered onto their faces—this is different.
This is revenge.
I throw my weight sideways and turn. Golan stands at the dais, watching with his lip quirked. I bare my teeth, but he only chuckles and mutters something to Callum.
The guards regains his grip on me and reels his fist back, slamming it into the hinge of my jaw.
My vision blurs, and my feet stumble over the threshold.