Chapter 23
Dark envelopes me wholly. I am numb, adrift in a bottomless void of emotion so vast that I doubt I will ever plant my feet on solid ground again. Wave after wave of icy indifference washes me further and further away from the shore.
The poisonous heir to the Emerald Region of Corinth is dead. No black will drape the temples nor will jewel-colored flags fly at half mast.
But the people will grieve.
Not for her, but for the way of life they hold so dear. For the misogyny so embedded in their blood that the very thought of a woman as their ruler turns their dreams to nightmares. For the gods they love so deeply whose names will become curses instead of prayers.
Their longstanding hope that she would submit to the will of a husband or be killed before she was elevated to governor is now extinguished. And in the cold light of a late winter day, we all wake to a reality we didn’t choose.
A muffled knock sounds at the door, but I don’t bother to respond or even remove the blankets from over my head.
“It’s time to get up now, Governor. You’re expected at breakfast.”
Anna’s sweet voice drifts through the layers of bedding and into my covered ears. I can’t stifle the shudder that wracks my body at the formal way she addresses me now. Delicate fingers slowly pull back the blankets, exposing my swollen, sensitive eyes to the eerie light of day.
Are the colors of this new world different? Somehow both brighter and wetter?
Prying the matted hair from my face, stuck by the gallons of salty tears that I shed in the dark, I adjust my eyes to take in the scene outside the floor length window.
“It snowed last night, my lady.”
Snow? It’s not unheard of this late in winter, but it’s certainly unexpected in the valley that protects Gathe from the mountains to its west. It's almost as if a god froze the water in the clouds and forced it to the ground so the outside could mirror the frigidness of my heart.
“I need to make you presentable, your Governorship.” Anna holds a boar-bristle brush in one hand, her other grasping a cluster of crushed godsbane she pulled from the mattress.
“Those are poisonous.” The words are scratchy in my raw throat.
The woman nods, never speaking as she starts to unpin and untangle the mess of hair that clumps down my back. Her brush snags on knots, but I don’t feel its pull. She could rip it from my head with her bare hands and I would be none the wiser.
Somewhere in the span of the minutes or hours that follow, Anna strips me of the purple silk gown and silver jewelry. She gasps when she finds the indentation left on my stomach by the silver brooch, the red impression of the sea beast stark against my ivory skin.
This mark hurts less than the first one the creature left on me.
I’m submerged in water, scrubbed until my skin pinks, and then dried with tender care.
My wet hair is plaited and secured into a bun at the base of my skull.
Clothes designed to fight the chill of the winter air are slipped onto my pliable body.
Supple, double-lined brown leather pants, a thick cream sweater knitted in intricate knots, and knee-high brown boots.
Across my shoulders, Anna secures my noose: a heavy woolen cloak in my region’s color.
When she is done, and I am finally considered presentable for whatever I’ve been summoned for, Anna steps back in a sweeping curtsey.
“The Lord General and his men are leaving this morning, Governor.”
I don’t pull my eyes from the pristine snow that covers the ground outside in thick blankets.
The door clicks softly behind me but my thoughts are consumed by the glimmering drifts of white below.
If we have any hope of traversing it successfully, I’ll have to use magic.
Unruly magic, life and death commingling into a mass of wild power I’m not sure I know how to control anymore.
“Maybe they’ll all die in it,” I mutter bitterly to myself, turning away from the windows and forcing my feet to take me down the red-veined marble stairs.
The Captain of Corinth waits for me outside the open doors that lead to the dining hall. He angles slightly as I approach, blocking my view of the room with his broad shoulders. His posture is rigid, his face like stone.
But his eyes—Cal’s eyes—sweep over me in assessment. From head to toe and back up again, they search for any sign of physical injury. Every muscle along his jaw is clenched, a perfect mirror to the fists that hang at his sides.
“Meet me in the courtyard after breakfast.”
Cal’s voice is a low whisper, careful not to be heard by the passing servants carrying heaping platters of food from the kitchen.
There’s an unmistakable tinge of pain in the lines of his face and the tilt of his lips, something even his normally convincing mask can’t hide today.
His finger brushes against mine in the barest hint of touch as he steps back and enters the hall.
Lord General Marks, wrapped in a cloak made entirely of white fur, sits at the head of the long table in an oversized chair.
Rollins must have a throne-like seat in every room of his godsdamned house.
Sparkling rubies nestle between the swirling clouds and stiff mountain peaks carved into the dark mahogany above his silver hair.
His unnaturally golden eyes watch me as I take my seat, a predator observing my every move.
“So glad you could join us, Ivy.”
His voice is viscous, syrupy on the surface to lure in his prey. But I am no easy kill.
“Governor,” I correct. “That’s my title now, and you will use it when you address me.”
“Such venom in the mornings,” Marks tsks, turning his focus to his captain. “You could have warned me, Callan.”
Cal takes a slow sip from his steaming mug, never breaking eye contact with his commander. When he doesn’t give Marks the satisfaction he seeks, the Lord General turns his attention elsewhere.
With the flick of a finger, he waves over a servant girl, her silver platter piled high with smoked sausages. She’s still wearing the scant ruby-red uniform, her whole body shaking in the drafty room as she attempts to place the meat on his plate.
“Someone light a fire,” I demand more than ask.
“A fire?”
Delight sparks in his eyes as a cruel smile overtakes his face. Marks pushes the heavy chair backwards, his royal mantle rippling behind him as he stands. Gods, it must have taken the pelts of two dozen wolves to make his mockery of a cape.
“Allow me.”
The Lord General lifts his thick fingers in the air and snaps only once. Flames explode from the logs stacked within the stone hearth, blazing to life without the strike of a match. Servants scream and run from the room, but Marks never takes his eyes off of me.
His smirk begs for a sign of surprise, a scream, anything that might make him feel powerful.
Anything that might make me appear scared or weak.
My face shows nothing but a cold neutrality, as if we are three completely normal people having breakfast instead of three aevus with hidden magic preparing to battle for control of a nation.
Marks slams his palms on the table, his cruel, low chuckle echoing through the silent room.
“I’ve sent notice of your engagement to the Royal Clerk. When the other governors learn that Kieran will be speaking for Emerald, well … they’ll thank me with their vote. Now run along home lest I use this power on you.”
Tiny flames sprout from his fingertips, but they do not scare me. Shadows of my own making flit around the edges of the room as I rise to my feet. Where rage and fury would normally overtake me, a killing calm settles instead.
“With all due respect, Lord General, which is none, you can go fuck yourself.” I round the table to step into Marks’ domineering space.
“The only person with authority to speak on behalf of the Emerald Region is its governor. Whatever your reasoning for committing the treason that gave me the title, it is mine now. And yours will be next.”
“You are nothing.” Marks grips me forcefully by the chin. Soulless black pits stare into me and I meet them with a fiery defiance. “You might be an heir, but you will never sit on a throne. Now run back to your pathetic little region and wait for your betrothed to return.”
Green movement draws my attention just over Marks’ shoulder. Verdant vines crawl slowly across the brown stone walls. Vines of my own making come to life without so much as a command from me. Vines with a mind and a power of their own.
The temperature in the room plummets suddenly, the fire extinguished by an icy wind that ripples through the room.
“Down, pup,” Marks snarls at Cal, dropping his hold on my face. “You know what it will cost you. But you …” His attention is back on me now, black spots forming at the edge of my vision. “You have no idea what it will cost you. Foolish girl, daring to play the game without knowing all the players.”
Wisps of black shadows swirl over the Lord General’s arms, skating across his chest. His head drops, eyes following them as they twist around his massive form. He waves a hand dispersing my misty black bands into nothing as his head lifts slowly.
Preternaturally golden eyes drag up the length of my body until they lock onto mine. The muscles in his face and neck look primed to snap. A wolf ready to unhinge his jaws and rip out my throat.
“Go. Home.”
Each word is forced through clenched teeth, his voice a low, foreboding growl that causes the last remaining servant in the room to faint. The Lord General pushes past me, the fur of his cloak flaring behind him as he crosses the room in giant strides.
“Come, Callan,” Marks commands.
Cal shoots me a single, unreadable glance before reluctantly following his commander to the edge of the room. Marks halts when he reaches the door, pivoting to face me so quickly that Cal nearly runs into him.