Chapter 19
The palace is tintedin light like liquid gold as Herinor escorts me down the stairs to the throne room. In front of me, Odja sets a pace that keeps me thinking he’s not satisfied with the limited speed my ridiculous heels allow.
The pain in my shoulder nearly pushed me to black out, had it not been for Clio who helped me breathe through it like she’s done that a hundred times. She examined the tattoo with much curiosity but few words, merely wanting to know if I’ve always had that and if it was the first time it hurt. The skeptical expression on her face, as she traced the inked bird’s outline, didn’t help with my confidence, but eventually, she smoothed the frown off her face and helped me into a dress made of a lighter shade of red satin for the flowing A-line skirts and silk blossoms patched together to make up the bust. The neckline is too low for my liking, and the large hoop earrings keep tangling with the loose strands of my hair falling from the bun she coiled to the back of my head. Not a lady’s maid, the warrior princess, but she did an incredible job hiding the red blotches from the tears I’d spilled when we discussed the future Ephegos and Erina have agreed upon for me.
Maybe this is a different sort of torture Erina has come up with—let me go through the horror of believing he wants to marry me, let me believe I will live rather than die a painful death, just so he can strike with even more cruelty when the time for my execution comes.
How far will he take it? How long will he let me hope there is a chance at survival? Does he have his henchmen ready in the throne room? This might be my final walk, and there is only one thought swirling in my mind:
I’d rather die than marry the King of Tavras. Even if I’d never fallen in love with Myron—and lost him—I couldn’t marry a man who despises my family, let alone someone I don’t know or don’t have feelings for. So perhaps it’s the more merciful option if Erina is awaiting me with a blade to run me through and bleed me out because my heart couldn’t take betraying Myron’s memory even in name only.
Vala help me, my hands are shaking as we reach the bottom of the stairs and the golden double doors of the throne room come into view. The formerly empty hallways are filled with courtiers and guests—nobles residing in and around the city, I assume—their conversations forming an atmosphere of amusement and too much wine by the end of the night. I experienced such events from the sidelines as a child.
This time, however, I’m the main attraction. Groups of chatting ladies and lords part to let us pass, their eyes greedily falling upon me like on a chest of treasure. If Erina intends to kill me today, he sure has summoned an audience to witness my passing.
My shoes click along the polished floor as I take a slow step forward, the court’s eyes following me with rapt attention … until they notice Herinor, and a healthy flash of fear crosses their features. A few of them hide their gasps behind their hands, tucking their heads together as they whisper about the fairy in their midst. I wonder how many of them see one for the first time and how frequently Ephegos walks these halls.
The moment I think his name, the male steps out front between the spectators, bows at the waist as if in respectful greeting, then holds out his arm for me. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you, Wolayna.” He closes the gap between us when I stop, ignoring Odja’s murmured complaint that the king is waiting, and picks up my hand to place it in the crook of his elbow.
Herinor shoots me an unnecessary glance of warning to play along. There is no escaping this, and the last thing I want is for Ephegos to realize how close to breaking I am. He can’t know, or he’ll push even harder. Seeing me shatter is what he lives for these days.
That and whatever benefits selling me off to Erina gets him.
My bland smile is the only thing protecting me from the scrutiny of hundreds of eyes as Ephegos leads me into the throne room, past a long banquet table, and straight to the dais where Erina is presiding in his sepia uniform. While earlier today, he seemed more casual, he is now wearing the ornate crown I’d last seen on his father’s head. The jewels set into the band and spikes shimmer just like his dark eyes.
“Good evening, Wolayna.” He inclines his head as I curtsey.
Herinor stands at my side, one hand braced on the pommel of his sword while we all know only Ephegos could outmatch him in these halls. The rest of them are human like me.
Not like you, a voice whispers in my mind. I recognize the goddess of water and try not to shiver.
It’s not a kind voice, more like a reminder of my guilt, the role I’ve played in the deaths of everyone I ever loved. No surprise that guilt manifests in the voice of the creature granting me power.
Then, perhaps the voice is right. If the drug Ephegos and Herinor have been giving me is truly subduing my powers, that means I still have magic. And humans don’t have magic—at least not since the last Mages of Eherea.
Ephegos has hinted at it before, that I’m not entirely human.
Before I can elaborate on the thought, Ephegos pulls me forward, and I need to hold onto his arm to keep my balance. I hate the way my fingers dig into his russet finery, the way the bronze buttons of his jacket shimmer as he twists the slightest bit to watch me gather my balance with a smile that could be mistaken for kindness, concern even.
I know him better than that. He’s betrayed Myron and Royad, the two people he’s been friends with his entire life—because his half-sister died from the effects of the curse. It wasn’t Myron’s fault, or Royad’s. Neither of them could have changed a thing about it. Even if she might have fallen for him, Myron didn’t fall for her, or the curse would have been lifted back then.
He fell for me. And now he’s dead.
“King Erina will be pleased with you,” Ephegos murmurs, his mouth brushing against the ash blonde tresses shifting from the bun to my shoulders. “You have something wild about you tonight, and the king has been known to tame wild women.”
I don’t even want to know what he means by that. Instead of telling him as much, I give him my best indifferent smile and train my eyes on Erina, who has gotten to his feet and is meeting us halfway at the bottom of the stairs to the dais.
I have to admit, he looks like a real king in his attire. His regal posture adds to the image as does his refined manners.
“You are a sight to behold.” He picks my hand from Ephegos’s arm, entirely ignoring the Crow bowing at his waist, and indicates a kiss to the back of my palm. So very Tavrasian. So very unwelcome.
I smile through it, keeping my revulsion to myself while Herinor stands an inch closer to my side. At least, the other guests have resigned to observing from a distance, and I’m positive I have the menacing Crow to my right to thank for it. Ephegos gets a few glances, but he doesn’t have a cruel air about him the way Herinor does.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Keeping to court protocol seems to be the safest option for now. Who knows what will happen if I call him by his first name in front of everyone? Familiarity is my enemy here. It breaks down natural barriers protecting me from unwanted touches and words I intend to never hear. There are no blades ready to cut me down, no torture masters. Only Erina and his appraising eyes that tell me I’m not here to die, and a shiver of revulsion runs down my back.
If Erina wants to make me his bride, he’ll have to drag me to the altar. Not even Myron did that when I still believed he was a monster.
Erina is the opposite of the Crow King, though, with his politeness and clear display of social status. He is nothing if not a king, and the whole room knows it. His rule isn’t a brooding, dark, and desperate one the way Myron’s was. In this palace, pomp and glamor rule as much as the House Jelnedyn.
The jewels on his hand gleam as he holds out his hand in invitation, gesturing at the banquet table with the other. “Please, sit with me.”
Refusing isn’t an option; I don’t need Ephegos’s and Herinor’s confirming glances to know, so I place my hand in Erina’s warm palm, thinking of the wind on my skin when I stood on the Wild Ray’s deck, looking out over the turquoise waves of the Quiet Sea.
One day, I’ll sail again.
The knife Clio transferred from my earlier skirts into the pocket of this dress is a reassuring weight against my thigh. I won’t hesitate to use it should it come to it—away from prying eyes, of course.
Memories of my last wedding night press to the front of my thoughts, how Myron pressed a knife into my hand, equipping me with a tool to save myself from him should he lose control over his Crow temper. He didn’t call it for what it was back then, but I know now. I know he would have never hurt me, even when he hadn’t developed feelings for me yet.
Erina is a whole different story, though. I was sent to the Seeing Forest on his order, sentenced to a fate worse than death. It seems Ephegos got the missive and is following in his footsteps by placing me in that very same position.
Sold as a bride.
“She will make for a beautiful bride,” Ephegos says to Erina, the two men tall enough to talk over my head in the literal sense.
It costs me everything not to scoff or scream or try to pull away from Erina’s hand, which is clutching mine so hard now I remember what shackles feel like. The pressure puts my stiff wrist at an awkward angle, making pain throb there for the first time since the battle against the Flames. I swallow the hiss when the pain shoots all the way to my shoulder until the tattoo stings like it’s been set on fire. Good the dress has short sleeves covering the general area of the inked bird mid-flight. I’d hate having to explain anything to Erina or his court. It’s enough that Herinor, Kaira, and now Clio—and apparently Ephegos—have seen it. The rest of the world can remain oblivious for all that I care.
Clio’s odd silence at the sight of it creeps back into my mind, and I fight the urge to reach for my shoulder and touch the bird hovering there like a real presence.
At my carefully blank expression, Ephegos raises a groomed brow. “Have you informed her, Your Majesty?”
Erina shakes his head, his grip pulling me outward and forward, guiding me into a chair one of the servants is pulling out for me. The sepia upholstery is repulsive, as is the golden paint covering the wooden frames of the chairs.
“I thought the honor would fall upon you, my friend.” That Erina is calling Ephegos friend… My stomach reminds me how little it can handle food with the constant nausea from the news being sprung upon me every other minute.
“Well, Wolayna.” Ephegos waits for Erina to sit to my right at the head of the table before he takes a seat across from me, bracing his scarred hands on the meticulous white tablecloth as he captures my gaze with a fake friendly one of his. “Since you lost your former husband, I’d hate for you to fall back into a life of poverty and stealing.” He clears his throat when his already soft voice breaks into a whisper. No one pays attention to our conversation since they are all whispering and murmuring their own speculations over the seating arrangement at the end of the long table. “So, instead of tempting you to loot King Erina’s ships again, we made an agreement. You become his bride.”
His words hang in the air as if unfinished, and my brain is working overtime to fill in the blanks while keeping myself from reacting to the obvious insults in his statement. “What do you get out of the bargain?” I ask in my sweetest courtier tone, remembering every painful moment of my mother dragging me to noble receptions throughout Meer. I can do this. I can be strong, unbreakable. I can be the Ayna who defies all odds—for Myron, who defied all odds for me.
Erina braces his elbows on the table, leaning into my space as he whispers the answers I’m demanding from Ephegos. “My friend came to my general with an offer I believe everyone in the human realms will benefit from. You are the price, Wolayna. But since you should be already dead, sacrificing you doesn’t feel like too much of a price, does it?”
The gasp escapes my lips—I can’t help it—and I could swear Herinor tenses behind me. I don’t know how far away he is, but I know he won’t leave me alone in here—even when it’s not for my benefit. It’s his orders that keep him glued to me. And perhaps a little bit his honor.
A sour taste rises in my throat, and it has nothing to do with the odor of the colorful, fish-topped salad a servant is placing in front of me. My stomach dips at the thought of potentially more magic-subduing substance in my food.
If only I could feel the power slumbering in my system… It’s been silent for too long, and I wonder if they’ll let me go without the drug long enough at some point for me to recover at least a fraction of it. A fraction would be enough to overpower a human guard and fight my way out.
Absently, my hand makes it to the side of my thigh where it comes to rest upon the outline of the knife, fingers itching to draw it and stab Ephegos in the eyes he’s blinking at me like he can’t quite believe I am finally showing a reaction to the news.
Erina’s mouth is still too close, his breath hot on my cheek and his nose grazing the shell of my ear. I can feel all eyes in the room on us as the courtiers observe what they believe could be a scandal—or their next romantic sensation.
“I will not marry you.” My voice is toneless, so soft I can barely hear myself speak, but determination rings true in it anyway. With all the strength I can muster, I turn my head so my face is lined up with the king’s, put on my sweetest smile as I draw back an inch, and repeat, “I will not marry you.”
Across from me, Ephegos shifts in his chair as if he wants to respond to a comment he obviously isn’t supposed to hear while Erina’s face turns unreadable as he studies me with dark brown eyes glinting with resolution. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice, Wolayna. Try to refuse, and I’ll destroy the one thing you hold dear.”
“There is nothing I hold dear anymore.” The words are out so fast I can’t believe I spoke them. But I did, and their meaning makes my life appear even bleaker than it already is.
“Are you so certain? Would you bet your life on it?” His finger comes to rest beneath my chin, tilting my head up an inch so I can’t look away, no matter how much I want to. “Or, let’s say … the life of the male you love, perhaps?”
My heart stops—literally stops. I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t remember to keep my expression blank and my emotions locked away. In my shoulder, a light tingle spreads as if something is fighting for my attention.
“Everyone I love is dead. You and your friend”—my eyes dart to Ephegos, who’s doing his best at pretending he isn’t listening in on the conversation, fingers interlaced at the edge of the table—“made sure of that. And your general of course. Everyone I love is dead.”
How Erina remains unfazed is beyond me. He merely twists his mouth into a regal smile, leaning back in his chair, releasing my chin. “Are they now?”
The air is thick, the pressure on my chest making it impossible for me to take the deep breath I so desperately need.
“You will marry me, Wolayna. If you refuse, I will destroy him.” Reaching into his pocket, Erina retrieves a shiny black feather, twirling it between his fingers like he is musing about the meaning of it.
It could be any bird’s feather. Any Crow’s. Ephegos could have forced Herinor to give up one of his.
The panicked pounding at the center of my heart tells me, though, that it belongs to Myron. And that I’m about to lose him all over again.