Chapter 17
Nik had grown comfortable in his leathers over the past two weeks, despite them being so very different from the wool he was used to wearing.
What would take far more adjusting to was his own skin.
His blood. The heat that would surge without warning, burning through him in a way he’d not yet learned to control.
He wanted to think it happened without reason. But he wasn’t so good at lying to himself. Sometimes it seemed random, yes. But more often, it was a direct response to his emotions.
His uncertainty. His embarrassment. And of course, his anger.
Always his anger.
He’d always considered himself even-tempered. Rarely angry or even frustrated. Not like Pab, whose fuse had gotten shorter and shorter with each passing year.
Maybe he had it backward. Maybe the flames didn’t respond to his anger—maybe they stoked it. Or maybe it was some combination he’d yet to understand.
Regardless, he felt the coals shift within him at the visiting king’s words, felt the winds of rage blow over them, felt his blood heat, turning to lava in his veins. They’d start glowing within seconds, a literal shining beacon proclaiming he was about to lose control.
Daemon felt it first, Nik could tell. His new patriarch shifted slightly, the fingers clasped loosely at the small of his back curling. A motion that had, over the past fortnight, always accompanied the words, “Pull it back in, Nikanor.”
The man never left him feeling judged or found lacking. But he also never let the fire blaze without pressing Nik to feel it, trace it, explore it, and control it.
All well and good in the encapsulating black of Below. Even in the relative privacy of Kyrja’s dining room on a normal night, when the only members of their group who weren’t Aflame were friends.
But now, with some pompous know-it-all from Ellas declaring Kyrja was contractually bound to be his wife?
Nik didn’t know how to control that rage.
How could he control it, when he couldn’t even grapple with why he felt it?
In part, yes, it was the sheer arrogance of the man. It was what it meant for Kyrja.
But those weren’t the only reasons. He knew it, even as he tried to shove the knowledge aside.
Elianne shifted closer, closer still, until their arms touched. He nearly jerked away—a response that had become as instinctual as the fire itself, given his confused feelings for his mother—but then he felt the heat seeping out of him.
Seeping into her.
He drew in a breath, held it, let it out. No glow under his skin, so that was something.
It had been only a few seconds since Stefanos’s declaration.
A long enough beat of silence that he would know he’d taken them all by surprise.
Long enough for frost to shoot across the floor, growing crystal by crystal in a design that looked like the most intricate, largest snowflake ever made.
He welcomed the chill of the floor through the soles of his boots.
Even without a view of Kyrja’s face, he could imagine it. The perfect composure she only wore when she didn’t want to show how upset she was. How afraid. “I beg your pardon?” Her words were shards of ice.
Stefanos pulled a crystal out of his pocket, already in a reader. At his command, an image was projected into the space between them.
Isidor, in the full regalia he always wore for official proclamations.
White tunic, silver epaulettes and braid, a few ice-blue accents.
“I, Isidor Axelsson, eighth Blessed king of Fjordlandi,” said the projection in the voice that haunted Nik’s nightmares, “do hereby agree and promise to give my thirdborn child and second daughter, Valkyrja Isidordottir, in union to Stefanos, sixty-third king of Ellas, for twenty years or until she has provided him with two children, whichever is the longer, with the understanding that these children must be in possession of magic, which shall become the legacy of Ellas, and to which Fjordlandi releases all claim.”
The frost climbed higher, though it melted from the stone beneath Nik’s feet. Had Isidor seriously bargained away not only his daughter but her children?
The projection continued. “If in the event that any progeny are found, upon their Awakening Ceremony, not to be in possession of magic, these individuals may be dealt with in the wisdom of Stefanos or the current ruling monarch of Ellas in whatever way they see fit. Valkyrja will, after the Awakening ceremonies of these two offspring, be released from the union and given charge of the island Patmia, which shall be her domain until such a time as she dies. This agreement will be honored by any future monarch of Fjordlandi under penalty of war, in compliance with the Accord of Nations.”
The frost spread over the ceiling, and Nik’s every breath made a puff in the air. He had to assume it was intentional. Kyrja had far better control of her magic than Nik did his—if she was making this display, it was because she wanted to make her feelings known.
The image shifted, a second Stefanos appearing, dressed in a red tunic with gold embroidery.
“I, Stefanos, sixty-third king of Ellas, do hereby agree and promise to give to the nation of Fjordlandi one Ellesian trireme, fully rigged and outfitted but unmanned, in exchange for King Isidor’s thirdborn child and second daughter, Valkyrja, in union.
I further promise to provide Valkyrja with a logade of her own for her protection within Ellas, an annual stipend of one hundred thousand kronia to see to her needs, and the island of Patmia, in the Votios Sea, for her retirement.
This agreement shall be binding to any future monarch of Ellas under penalty of war, in compliance with the Accord of Nations. So shall it be.”
Isidor again. “So shall it be. This agreement is hereby witnessed by my heir, Einar Isidorsson.”
A second face, so like Isidor’s, entered the view. “So witnessed.”
The light sconces on the walls froze, shattered. Snowflakes formed in midair, hanging there without movement in a way that made it seem as though time stood still.
No doubt Kyrja wished it would. Wished it would reverse, just as Nik did.
Recorded-Stefanos said, “This agreement is hereby witnessed by my high general, Parmenion Aurelion.”
A middle-aged man with silver in his full black beard and close-cropped hair moved to Stefanos’s side in the image. “So witnessed.”
Each figure shrank, so that all four men appeared from the waists up. In unison they said, “So shall it be.”
Flesh and blood Stefanos waved the display out of the air, slid the crystal into his pocket, and gave Kyrja a smile that made Nik’s blood threaten to boil again. His mother’s fingers slid onto his arm and squeezed a warning.
“As you could see from the date stamp on the recording, Your Majesty, this agreement was made two months ago. May I assume from your reaction that you were unaware of it?”
“Unaware that my father sold me to you for a ship?” With each word Kyrja spoke, icicles formed, dangling from the ceiling over Stefanos. “Yes, that’s a safe assumption.”
The king glanced up, but if the jagged points of frozen death intimidated him, it didn’t show.
If anything, he looked satisfied. Flame him.
“I suspected as much. Your father had indicated in private correspondence that he meant to inform you of the agreement after the celebration of your Blessing Day. I believe that was only a month after the unfortunate attack, yes? The day you won those Challenges. Poetic justice that I assure you I fully appreciate—though it explains your ignorance of the Accord.”
The icicles grew longer.
Stefanos didn’t so much as shift out of the way.
“When I received your official missive detailing your”—he chuckled—“very impressive rise to power, I knew I would need to pay you a visit. I am not ignorant of the difficulties this agreement now poses, given the deaths of your siblings—my condolences, of course—and your own coronation. But those difficulties in no way nullify the contract.”
“I knew you were brilliant,” Kyrja said.
“I didn’t realize you were also insane. The contract must be amended.
The sitting sovereign cannot be expected to abandon her nation to fulfill a promise made by her predecessor without her knowledge or consent, before a catastrophe that wiped out the majority of her family. ”
The sound of his chuckle grated over Nik’s nerves like flint over steel.
“There is logic to your reasoning, of course. But the Accord of Nations is very specific about new monarchs not being able to renege on their predecessor’s contracts.
Isn’t that so, Your Highness?” Stefanos meandered toward Perla.
“I believe you were the one to suggest that amendment ninety years ago. Thinking, of course, it would apply primarily to my people, since you magical lot don’t lose your thrones all that often.
So do remind us all what that little phrase ‘under penalty of war’ means. ”
Perla pressed her lips together. Even where Nik stood, a step back from her and to her right, he could see the indignation pulsing in her clenched jaw.
“No?” Stefanos circled around her, moving now toward them in the back row.
“Someone surely knows this particular nuance of international law. It was heralded as one of the finest guarantees of peaceful transfer of power in the last two centuries.” The snake slithered past Elianne and stopped behind them, between them.
“How about you two? Or have you been hiding in a mountain too long to be expected to know such things?”