Chapter 16
My heart beatsout of my throat as I struggle to keep my feet in place when Erina’s hand slides down my arm until it rests on the side of my elbow. Herinor doesn’t blink. He doesn’t save me. He can’t save me from anything. I wonder why a part of me believed he might try.
“Welcome, Wolayna,” Katrijanov says in that cold, assessing tone of a commanding officer. His uniform is impeccably clean, and the only wrinkles are those around his eyes and the slight lines around his mouth where his mustache was drawing attention the first time I met him. My stomach is mercifully empty, or I’d throw up on his polished boots. “I didn’t expect to see you so … alive,” he finishes with a cruel smirk.
“Must be the climate,” Herinor says in the same icy tone he used on me a moment ago, and my heart dares to beat. “Early summer in Askarea becomes humans.” I’m almost certain there is a flicker of sarcasm in his voice—or a lot of sarcasm… All right, it’s dripping with sarcasm, but I doubt either Erina or Katrijanov pick up on it. They are too busy staring at me as I refuse to fidget under their scrutiny.
“I must say, when you told me you found out she was alive, I was wondering what you’d bring me, General Katrijanov.” Erina’s eyes crawl along my form, lingering on the loose hem of my shirt where the skirt pulls in at my waist, revealing more than enough of my shape even when the shirt is covering up enough of my torso with its straight cut.
“Last time I saw her, she didn’t look quite as … vibrant.”
What’s with all those deliberately picked descriptors Katrijanov chooses when talking to me, about me, or talking in general? It gives me the distinct feeling I’m missing something—again. I’ve had a whole few months of missing too much and ending up almost dead. Of losing the male I love because I was too ignorant to realize what it takes to break a curse.
Not again. I can’t do this all over again.
Herinor shifts his weight, the sound of leather scraping over metal disrupting my downward spiral long enough for me to force a breath down my lungs and blink a few times to clear all emotions off my face. It was his advice, and even if he wasn’t on my side, it’s good advice. They already have enough ammunition against me. Anything else I give them could be disastrous.
“Ah, perfect.” Erina’s gaze swings to the man in black uniform returning through the hidden side door followed by a row of servants in sepia and skirts and white aprons, each of them carrying a tray with tiny dishes as they keep their eyes on the floor in front of them on their way to the small table and four chairs a handful of men are carrying into the room. They curtsey and bow when they pass their king before hurtling on to set up our meal. Erina watches in silence, his attention undoubtedly making the servants uneasy. A young woman with bronze curls pinned to the back of her head under the white maid’s cap stumbles as she accidentally meets the king’s gaze, and I can almost feel her shame as she drops into a low curtsey before she scurries from the room, almost forgetting to set down her tray. One of the older women intercepts her, picking the silver piece from the younger one’s hands and sending her on her way before passing us in a perfect maneuver.
I don’t know if I pity the bronze-haired one or am impressed by the older one who doesn’t even seem tempted to glance in our direction. She must have seen a lot in her years to be able to ignore the massive Crow Fairy standing in the middle of the throne room. The other servants have more issues pretending not to notice him—or me. However, none of them dares make eye contact with Erina. They know the court rules, and so do I.
When they are done, a perfect small meal is prepared by the columns separating the balcony doors, a place with a perfect view of the gardens behind the palace. And a perfect place to shift into a bird and fly away—if only I could.
The way Herinor eyes the clouds lets me believe his thoughts don’t differ much either.
We wait until Erina picks a chair and sits down before I dare follow him to the table.
“Tavrasian specialties from the coast,” he announces with a gesture at the colorful foods. “I had them brought in solely for this occasion.” He turns to me, gesturing at the chair next to his. “Sit, Wolayna. I’m sure you could do with some food that brings forth childhood memories.”
I don’t trust the smile on his lips or the reason he wants me to remember my childhood. I don’t trust him at all. The fact that he’s working with Ephegos is enough to make him a red flag.
Katrijanov follows suit, seating himself across from Erina, which leaves one chair for Herinor, who looks like he isn’t sure he is supposed to sit down at all.
“Please,” Katrijanov invites him with a cold smile. “Ephegos would want you to eat with us. It’s been a long journey for you from the … estate.” His sideways glance at me informs me that he remembers the day he came to the Flame residence to appraise me like a chest of goods for shipping.
It’s more than fresh in my mind, his words echoing as if he were speaking them all over again.
Don’t die anytime soon, Wolayna. We have great plans for you.
Now I know what these great plans are: I’ve been sold to the King of Tavras to continue the punishment for my treason—for my father’s treason in part, I’m sure. The way Katrijanov keeps exchanging looks with the king speaks volumes about the hidden layers of these plans.
Herinor steps behind me, his hulking shape alarmingly close to my shoulder as he shakes his head at the general. My blood stills, my entire body tensing for an assault with one of his blades the way he’d carved me open in the Flames’ torture chamber, but he won’t hurt me unless he’s openly commanded to—by the male he so thoughtlessly pledged his loyalty to. “I believe Lord Ephegos would have objections if his guards ate with a king and a high-ranking general.”
The corner of Erina’s mouth lifts as if he realized the insult Herinor delivered with his words. Not only the refusal but the fact that Adrian Katrijanov is the general of the Tavrasian troops. No one stands above him but the very king facing him across the table.
“Very well.” Katrijanov brushes the insult off, reaching for his crystal goblet of Tavrasian wine the servants poured before scurrying from the room like ants from a focused beam of light. “To the recently recovered Wolayna Milevishja.” His pale blue eyes chill the warmth of nervousness from my body as they meet mine. They are like the death he ordered delivered on my friends from the Wild Ray, like a hand of pure ice as they slide along my features as if in reassurance that I’m truly me, that he wasn’t tricked by a wicked fairy. He lifts the goblet, waiting for Erina to do the same and drink first.
Something about the gesture feels off—orchestrated in a way that I have started to develop a sixth sense for. I only wish I had my magic so I could pull the wine from the goblet and whip it into his face. The power that saved my life in the Seeing Forest hasn’t stirred since the last time I’d woken from the poison-sleep.
In reflex, my gaze slides to my own goblet filled to the middle of the Tavrasian shield crest etched into the crystal on one side. My stomach tells me I need fluids and food, but I don’t trust anyone in this room enough to believe the wine isn’t spiked with the same substance that kept me sedated half of the journey here.
Both Erina and Katrijanov take a deep drink, ignoring me as they help themselves to the meat pastries stacked on gold-rimmed plates. For a while, I watch them eat—Katrijanov across the table, and Erina from the side with secret glances that anyone not knowing my situation might have mistaken for the interest almost any young woman might hold for a bachelor king. At least, I think he doesn’t have any attachments. On instinct, my gaze drops to Erina’s left hand, to his middle finger, where a wedding band would sit in old Tavrasian fashion.
All I find is a sepia gemstone the size of a kidney bean framed in gold attached on his index finger. The same ring his father used to wear.
Right when I come to the conclusion that there is no current Tavrasian queen, my stomach growls loud enough to draw attention, and Erina catches me staring. His brow rises before he smooths his expression and picks up the pastry platter to offer me a piece. “You should eat, Wolayna. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”
His words remind me so much of Myron’s that first morning after our wedding that my hunger turns into nausea, and I swallow the bile in my throat, shaking my head.
One breath, and another, and my heart rate slows enough for me to form a clear thought. “Why am I here?” I ask the one question I maybe should have asked the moment I laid eyes on the King of Tavras, should have demanded an answer to.
Katrijanov’s mouth tightens while Erina smiles at me freely. “Why, to be part of my court, of course.”
The lie is blatant and obvious, and I want to spit at him. Herinor’s forearm brushes my shoulder in warning as my emotions bubble up, threatening to boil over. Keep calm. Knowledge is your friend. Play their game.
I get the message, but I also need to know. I need to understand what is coming for me, if I’m to be thrown in the dungeons eventually and tortured to death?—
“King Erina is turning twenty-five this summer,” Katrijanov explains with so much honey in his tone he almost doesn’t sound like the general at all. “He needs to think about the future of his kingdom.”
Twenty-five.A bit young to think about a legacy when you already have a kingdom at your disposal.
I’m still trying to decipher the merits of my role in said thinking when the man with the black uniform enters the throne room once more, bowing low before stepping over the threshold.
“Your Majesty,” he starts, his gaze darting between Erina, Katrijanov, and Herinor before they land on me.
“What is it, Odja?” Erina doesn’t turn away from me, plate still in hand and a hint of annoyance showing on his features. I try not to look too closely at his perfectly shaved chin or the way his lashes curve around his eyes. He is attractive by objective standards, but nothing stirs inside of me at the sight of him. Nothing other than a deep-seated sadness.
Before I can examine the sensation, Odja crosses the room to lower his head next to the king’s ear.
Herinor’s Crow hearing isn’t the only one to pick up the words when Odja whispers, “The prisoners have arrived, Your Majesty.”