Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
SENAN
If this bastard thinks I’m going to let my girl waltz into one of those flesh dens without a stitch on, he has another thing coming. While I appreciate that Allette is willing to put her life on the line to save Kyff and me, I cannot allow her to sacrifice herself.
This is where dancing with darkness leads: To a bottomless pit where every option is worse than the one before.
I glance from Allette’s wrenching hands to her flushed cheeks, my chest feeling as if someone pried my ribs apart and ripped out my heart.
“Do I have to be naked?” my girl asks, forcing her hands to her sides.
There’s fear in her eyes. She’s right to be afraid. Carew is on par with Boris in his villainy—hell, he might be worse given his penchant for dismemberment.
“I know someone who works in the dens,” Braith says. “I can ask if she owns an extra…uniform.”
Is that what we’re calling the scraps of fabric those women wear? I cannot believe our lives have come to this. Anything could go wrong down there, and if it does, the person I love most in this world will suffer the consequences.
I’m not worth it. If it weren’t for Kyff, I’d downright refuse. Still, I need her to know: “You don’t have to do this.” We will find another way. “If we tell Boris?—”
“The king might be able to save Kyff, but he won’t lift a finger to save you,” Allette says, her gaze softening as she takes my hand. Everything about her is so soft, so warm and welcoming. Far too good for the likes of me. “This might be our only chance to save you both.”
“It’ll be dangerous.” More dangerous than she can fathom.
“Maybe I like danger.” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “I fell in love with you, didn’t I?”
Although I smile at her attempt at humor, the truth is like a vise around my chest: Compared to these men, Aeron and I are fluffy fucking ducklings.
It’s been two hours since Jeston hatched this harebrained plan, and I still cannot believe Allette is going to be spending her night in the Serpent’s Den.
They couldn’t have thought of a more conspicuous name. Might as well have a big fucking sign above the door saying: “Certain Death Awaits” and a bunch of arrows pointing to the entrance.
I pace the hallway, wearing a hole in the stone floor. This isn’t going to work. We need to come up with another plan. We need to?—
The door to Allette’s room creaks open, and my girl steps out looking like the star of my deepest, darkest fantasies.
Her hands shake as she smooths down the red silk of her skirt, the gaps on either side revealing the sinful length of her pale thighs. The top hardly covers her breasts. If she were to bend over, her nipples would slip out. The only thing holding the dress—and I use that term in the loosest sense of the word—together is a twisted sash with a hole right below her navel where disgusting men will drop coins in exchange for all manner of perverse requests.
Her painted lips lift into a knowing smile. “Modest, isn’t it?”
I have to pick my jaw off the floor to respond. “If anyone so much as looks at you, I will take their eyes and cleave their heads from their bodies.”
“I can handle myself.”
Ordinarily, I’d agree, but these men will be unlike any she’s ever encountered.
Jeston waits for my girl in the living room in a set of black leathers that make him look like a villain. “Are you sure we can trust him?” The whole story about his sick mother could have been a lie. For all we know, Jeston could be Carew’s right-hand man. He could be stealing Allette to take her hostage as well.
Allette flattens her hand down the front of my shirt, straightening the wrinkles there. “We don’t have any other choice. I’m not going to lose you, and if that means I have to wiggle my arse for a few monsters, then so be it.”
“There shall be no arse wiggling for you.” For the first time since we met, her laughter makes me uneasy. She is joking, isn’t she? “Allette…”
My warning is met with a placating pat on my chest. Braith offers my girl a cloak to wear and a word of good luck before she leaves for her shift at the castle.
All too soon, it’s time for Allette to leave as well.
I kiss my girl goodbye and watch her slip into the darkened cavern behind Jeston. My heart isn’t even in my throat but gone completely, tucked safely into the silk clinging to my girl’s body, hidden beneath a cloak as black as my mood.
Aeron drops onto the chair, letting his head fall into his hands. “It isn’t fucking fair. I should be the one doing this.”
“And risk leaving your unborn child fatherless? You know as well as I do that this is the best choice among a host of shite ones.” Even if we wanted to go and keep an eye on things in the den, I can’t be seen alive, and his presence would jeopardize the entire mission. “Besides, your hairy arse wouldn’t have looked half as good as Allette’s in that silk.”
His lips twitch. “I don’t know. Women always tell me how pretty I am. I reckon I could’ve pulled it off.”
“And when the customers reached beneath your skirts and found a cock?”
A chuckle. “They’d be too stunned by how big it is to say a fucking word.”
The night may be upon us, but the only stars I see are the ones painted on the ceiling in this tiny bedroom. For some reason, the inaccurate positions of those constellations irritate the hell out of me. Not because they’re not beautiful. Braith is an incredibly talented artist. Rather, I assume the reason she painted them like that is because she has never actually seen the stars. Which is a tragedy in and of itself. Yes, they’re vicious and vindictive, but they’re also one of the most profound sights one can ever experience.
As lovely as it is down here, there are some clear disadvantages to living underground or beneath persistent clouds. I’m not sure how I would feel about never seeing the stars ever again, or the sun, for that matter. That the Tuath themselves are not allowed to own towers or step onto the balconies in the towers where many of them work, is an offense of the highest order.
Not long ago, Kyffin caught Allette sunning herself on the balcony outside the castle and said something that struck me as funny at the time.
She’s stealing our sun.
I thought he was joking and told him the sun was too large to fit into her pockets. Now, I realize he was serious. Someone taught him that the sun belonged to those of us with wings. It’s an absurd notion, that any of us could own the sun—or the stars.
Yet keeping these people from rising above the clouds has made it true.
I shake the heavy thoughts from my head.
Look at me, coming up with more problems instead of attempting to solve the ones at hand.
Like what we’re going to do if Allette and Jeston fail in their mission to retrieve the princess.
There’s only one option left, I’m afraid. Aeron will have to go to Boris and tell him the truth about who has Leeri. Then we’ll have to pray he can save the princess himself.
When I lean back in the chair behind the desk, the hinges creak. The stiff wood is terribly uncomfortable, but it’s better than the bed. If I lie down now, I might fall asleep. Not because I’m tired, but because this damn poison has leached the energy from my bones.
I refuse to rest until Allette returns unharmed.
Aeron lays on the top bunk, bouncing a small rubber ball off the ceiling and catching it over and over again. The constant thud, thud, thud is irritating as hell, but if I tell him that, he’ll only keep it going forever.
As if he knows I’m thinking about him, he says, “What are we going to do about Boris?”
Thud thud .
Thud thud .
Fucking Boris. King of ruining everything.
I prop my feet up on the corner of the small desk stacked with books on astronomy and astrology. The idea of a Tuath studying something he might never see in person fascinates me. What’s the point?
“I cannot think about Boris when Allette is trapped in a pit of slithering vipers. I hate sitting here like a useless plod.”
“Then do something useful and help me figure out what we are going to do about our eldest brother.”
Why is he bothering to ask me? Every plan I’ve ever hatched has gone up in flames.
I collect an ink pen from the top drawer and a piece of parchment to keep my hands busy. “What can we do?”
The infernal thudding stops. Aeron turns the ball around in his hand, his eyes narrowed at the ceiling. “He cannot be allowed to keep the crown. There’s no telling how far his treachery reaches.”
Knowing the extent of Boris’s villainy doesn’t mean we’d be able to stop him.
Something flies toward me. That damn ball. Good thing Aeron is a terrible shot; it only grazes my shoulder. “Are you even listening to me?” he grumbles, propping himself up on an elbow.
“Hard not to with you shouting,” I shoot back. “I agree that knowing Boris could be ruling this kingdom for centuries is a truly terrifying thought, but what other choice do we have?”
“We could find a way to remove him from the throne.”
I never pegged Aeron for a comedian.
“Think of Kyff,” he goes on. “Do you want him growing up in that castle with Boris and his cronies as his only mentors? The boy is young and impressionable. If we don’t do something, he will turn out just like him.”
That’s assuming Kyff makes it back from Nimbiss alive.
Fucking brilliant. Now I’m picturing our baby brother being chopped into pieces. They wouldn’t hurt a child, would they?
I hope he isn’t scared, that he doesn’t even realize he is a hostage. Maybe he’s been told he’s on holiday and given sweets to keep him occupied.
One can only hope.
The circles I draw intersect, looking a bit like a cross-eyed squirrel. I decide to lean into it and give the animal some buck teeth and an acorn. And a tail—a big, fluffy one.
“Let’s say, for argument’s sake, that Boris vanished in the morning. Who would take his place?” The squirrel needs a home. Time to draw a tree. “Rhainn?”
Aeron shakes his head. “He’s been sent to Allto.”
“Already? He isn’t supposed to wed until next year.”
“After the shite you pulled, Boris wasn’t taking any chances.”
Right, so not Rhainn. “You have your own kingdom, so you can’t do it. Which leaves Kyff ascending with Counsellor Windell as his head advisor.” Lord Philip Windell’s father is so far up Boris’s arse, he’s practically his shadow.
Aeron says nothing.
I stop doodling long enough to glance over at the top bunk only to find my brother staring at me.
“What?” Is there ink on my face? I check my fingers for smudges, but they’re clean.
“There is one obvious solution.” My brother clears his throat and nods toward me.
What the hell does he want? Is he trying to see what I’m drawing? I hold up the picture, but that only makes him glower. Clearly, he doesn’t appreciate fine art.
I grab the pen and add my signature to the bottom corner, next to the pile of acorns.
Senan Vale
“Senan.”
When I glance back up, Aeron is still staring.
Wait… Surely, he isn’t suggesting… “You want me to do it?” My heart begins to race, a cold sweat breaking across my brow. The ink pen tumbles from my fingers, rolling onto the stone floor.
Aeron sits up fully, his long legs dangling off the end of the bed as he scrubs a hand down the back of his neck. “Gods, you’re slow.”
“Just one of the many reasons I should not be king.” Yes, my parents raised me to sit on a throne, but all the lectures we were forced to endure went right over my head. See this squirrel? He is only one of a whole host of woodland creatures I’ve created instead of studying. I never took any of our lessons seriously because I knew I wouldn’t be the one making the decisions. That responsibility would fall to my wife, the Queen of Nimbiss.
“Did you forget that I already have a wife?” If she survives this ordeal and I were to return from the dead, I’d be expected to go to her kingdom.
“Did you forget that the two of you never consummated your marriage? You can file for an annulment. No one would blame you after they abducted Kyff.”
True, but that doesn’t change the fact that I am not equipped to rule a kingdom. Not only that: “I don’t want the throne.”
He climbs down from the top bunk and snags his boots from where he discarded them earlier. “And you think I did? If I had my way, I’d be sailing the Folly with Madelynn. But we are meant for something more. I, for one, think you would make an excellent king.”
“Oh, fuck off.” Now isn’t the time for jokes.
“I’m serious. You have lived the life of a prince and the life of a pauper.” He takes a break from fastening his buckles to tick each nonsensical reason off on his fingers. “You have soared through the clouds, freed from gravity, and now you are bound by it. You have struggled and fought for yourself. For the woman you love. You have suffered great loss. There isn’t a person in this kingdom who cannot sympathize with at least one of your many plights. Our people have always loved you, and if you tried, I have no doubt you would earn the respect of the Tuath in the burrows. Look at how you convinced Jeston to help us.”
“Aeron…”
His extended hand clenches into a fist, silencing my protest. “The law states that a Vale prince must sit on the throne. Even if we wanted to change it, that could take years—and I can guarantee the current Scathian council would not allow it. You are Kumulus’s only hope.”
This kingdom is doomed if I’m its only hope.
I appreciate his vote of confidence; really, I do. But it is entirely misplaced. “If a Vale prince must take the throne, then Kyff can have it. We’ll fire Windell and find a worthy advisor.”
Who’s to say I would be better than Boris, anyway?
Any time I picture my eldest brother, all I can think about is killing him in the most gruesome way imaginable. Those sorts of thoughts belong to a villain, not a hero.
And what Kumulus needs is a hero.
“Are you fucking kidding me? You would let our nine-year-old brother take on this immense responsibility instead of stepping up and doing it yourself?” Aeron rips his coat from where it hangs over the small ladder. “I never pegged you for a coward.”
“Sorry for wanting to live my own life and not be tethered to that castle or a fucking crown.” To be locked back in a gilded cage.
Then there is Allette to consider. She had her life—and her happiness—stolen from her for far too long. She deserves to decide what she wants for her future.
And I’ll not give her up for this kingdom, for my family, for anything.
Aeron stalks forward, towering over where I sulk. “That castle and that ‘fucking crown’ gave you this life. Hate it all you want, but I think it’s high time you gave back instead of taking.”
I know I owe my life to the castle, or, more accurately, to the treasury. That I have incurred debts that can never be repaid, but I just…I can’t do it.
Maybe Rhainn hasn’t married his princess yet and can be brought back instead. If not, Kyff will surely find his way under the right advisor. But who? For all we know, everyone in that castle has been tainted by Boris.
There is no telling who we can trust.
I never pegged you for a coward.
You would make an excellent king.
Unfortunately, Aeron is wrong on both counts.