Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
He’s lost in the crowd before I can take a single step toward him. I do go after him, though, after a moment’s pause. Bad idea? I know. Especially when he might not be himself? Definitely.
Phaethon.
An Eosphor.
“Not bright like the Eosphors. They are the only dragon speakers, masters of howling, crawling across the vault of the skies.”
If Jai is pretending to be one of them, to host a second soul in him, then he’s a damn fine actor. Not that there aren’t any fine actors out there. Maybe I’m seeing one of his hidden talents.
And yet…
And yet, what if it’s true, and I just spoke not to Jai but to an alien creature? What are the clues I should look out for when it’s Phaethon speaking?
Well, strange, incomprehensible words seem to be preferred, check . A cruel twist of those fine lips, check . Insults and oracular-sounding declarations, check . Gold flashing in his eyes? Also check .
Could it be that simple?
I mean, none of it makes a lick of sense. He sounds crazy. Arkin, Neere, everyone is saying so. He’s lost his marbles.
But what if…? What if it’s Phaethon who is the insane one, not Jai? How about turning this on its head and actually believing Jai?
Tru knows about this. Arkin, too. I wonder who else. I doubt many people do. Does the king know? Hard to believe he wouldn’t. These strange fits aren’t exactly something you can keep under wraps.
How much does the king know? What is his connection to Jai?
“My word.” Amaryll is coming to stand beside me, a glass of wine in her hand. Her cheeks are flushed. “That’s one scary man. Pretty, though, I’ll give him that. Mm… dreamy.” She puts a hand on my arm, then gasps. “Wait, what’s that thing on your shoulder?”
She leans forward to look, squinting myopically, and I take a step back as the darakin flaps his wings once, almost clocking her in the face.
I gesture for her to stay back. Is she blind? Can’t she see what I’m carrying on my shoulder? How many drinks has she had?
“Oh, goodness. Is that a dragon? A tiny dragon. You get all the scary pretties, don’t you? First Athdara, and then this… this… is it a young drak?”
I sigh. I’m starting to think she wouldn’t recognize a darakin if it bit her in the ass right now. And is she comparing Jai to a dragon?
“Come, it’s time for the ceremonies to start.” She reaches for me, and Remi snaps at her. “Goodness me. Stop that. Bad dragon.”
The darakin doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave, and my arm is getting tired. Can I dump him on a chair somewhere? Shoo him until he takes off? Would he become aggressive if I tried?
Glancing back, I scan the crowd for Jai one more time, but can’t spot him anywhere.
And without warning, the darakin does take off, flying low over the crowd, eliciting squeals and curses.
Well, then. I shake out my arm. There goes my escort—and my token, if you can call Remi that—for the night. I might as well follow Amaryll, who has neither.
Wise girl.
Yet, worry for Jai is eating at me. It shouldn’t. It can’t.
Blood. Voices. Words I don’t understand. A malice that is seeking a way out.
I have no need for this concern. No need to lose sleep over him.
“The king will make a speech!” Amaryll is drinking from her glass as if it’s water. “Exciting. Okay, not really. I’m not what you’d call a fan of the fae king,” she says, way too loudly, and I shush her as best I can, grabbing her arm and shaking her. “What? As if it’s a big shock for everyone here.”
Amaryll…
“If he had a family,” she says, “and had to leave them, walk willingly to his death, would he do that? This isn’t all right.” Now she’s gone from laughing to tears. “It’s so frustrating, having to pretend I’m all right with what’s happening. But it’s also exciting being here. Am I going mad?”
Well, she wouldn’t be the only one, and why does that make me think of Jai again?
For shame. It hasn’t been even twenty heartbeats since he vanished in the crowd. He may be wrestling Phaethon back in his box. Or drinking and flirting with other women. What is it to me?
But although he’s probably doing the former, I can’t imagine him doing the latter, the mere thought leaving me breathless. I’d rather he be fighting himself than being interested in some other man or lady, and doesn’t this make me a hypocrite?
Or an idiot. Because none of it should matter to me. And I shouldn’t miss his gaze on me, that bright smile on his face when he called down the darakin, or the way my body responds to him.
As the sky darkens more, two fires are lit in huge bronze braziers on either side of a raised dais. The flames are pale and tinged with blue, rising like blades.
Magic.
Then I see who is controlling them. It’s the fae king. He climbs the dais, his arms raised, wearing a tall golden crown and white robes, the color matching that of my gown.
I shove that little fact back to focus on the way he demonstrates his control of the fire, raising the flames by lifting his hands, then pushing the flames down by lowering his arms.
People are whispering around me, apparently also shocked that the king can control fire. It looks like I wasn’t the only one in the dark about it, quite literally.
Fire and shadows.
Like Jai.
“He’s getting the hang of it,” someone says from behind me, and the familiar rumble of that male voice has me turning around.
I fight to keep the relief off my face when I find Jai standing there, the darakin on his shoulder, but a weight lifts off me to see that he’s okay.
“He’s learning to land softly when he wants to perch and take off again without running first,” Jai goes on, a soft smile on his face. “Look.”
Oh. He’s talking about Remi, not the king, as I initially thought.
And Jai demonstrates, shrugging those mighty shoulders, and the darakin takes flight once more, flapping his leathery wings as he rises and flying between the pillars and beyond, into the gathering night.
But I barely pay any attention, giving Jai a quick—and unnecessary, I know—once-over.
It doesn’t reveal any injury. When did I think he might be injured? I know it makes no sense.
I don’t know what exactly I feared, and it shouldn’t concern a man I have only met. I barely know him, and already my body wants him, and my mind is in knots about him.
And they say he is insane.
The insanity intensifies when he reaches for my hand, lacing our fingers together, and I let him.
“When I don’t sound like myself… ignore it,” he says quietly as the king causes the blue flames to arc over him and the dais, making his crown shine so bright it seems to catch fire.
I throw him a disbelieving look. How can I just ignore it?
“I’m working on fixing this,” he says, “trust me, please.”
I shrug. Yes, of course. It’s that simple, is it? But his hand around mine is so warm and solid, his body a protective wall, his scent reaching me through that of the night flowers decorating the terrace and the perfumed oils the fae are wearing, taking over my traitorous body.
I had thought I was past those needs and instincts. The need to be protected, cherished, held. The lust and warmth and the worry.
“Just live in the now,” he whispers, answering my thoughts, and the warm cadence of his voice is like a hug. “Take what you need.”
What if he’s right? If I can’t kill the king, where does that leave me? One last day, one last night before the second trial that is likely to mean my end.
Be human tonight.
The magical flames fall until they barely glow in the bronze braziers, blue dawns in the making. The king stands before us, still as a statue, gold and white, his hair glinting the same gold as his crown, as the embroidery on his robes.
“Three hundred years,” the king says, his deep voice rushing over us. “We have inhabited this world for three hundred years by the grace of the all-giving Pillar that pierces the Nine Worlds, that gives light and magic, and transforms the universe. In this closed, hollow world, we persevered, founding a new home, finding new allies, and preparing for new battles.”
The crowd susurrates.
“I greet you,” he says, voice rising, “my bold and gallant people who followed us through the gates, who had the courage to leave a dying land behind and brave a new world. Three hundred years. We made this world our own, suppressed any resistance, secured our future. Now we celebrate on this, the longest night of the year, the Pillar’s fastest rotation, here in the Central Sea, defying the treacherous, malevolent ocean and its creatures. We are the victors in this battle. We are the survivors, and we are here to stay.”
Or not, according to what he told me. Is he keeping his true intentions a secret from his people? And why does he want to lead them to another world if they are so happy here?
The fae break out into cheers.
Two of them climb onto the dais to stand on either side of him. One of them is a woman, her gown black and gold in the colors of the fae empire, her crown black against her pale hair. The other is a man, broader at the shoulders than the king, his head bare.
“His aunt Semaj,” Jai says softly. “And his uncle Karr.”
The fae nobles lift their hands over their heads and clap, their hollow hats amplifying the sound.
Wait. There had been a reason for the ridiculous design? I’m bizarrely impressed.
It’s all fascinating, but Jai’s hand around mine distracts me. He holds most of my attention. Who is he? What is he? After watching him and interacting with him for days, after asking his best friend about him and hearing what he had to say, I’m still unsure.
The king’s right hand, whoring himself to the enemy, or a savior of his people, risking his life to pull them out of the sea, protecting me from bulling fae, climbing into my bed every night to keep my sleep nightmare-free?
Why can’t he be both? The most dangerous snakes are those hiding in plain sight.
The most dangerous snakes are the prettiest, most colorful ones.
Though that would exclude Jai, I think wryly. The only color on him right now is the light flush on his pale cheeks, making the black designs on his cheekbones stand out starkly. Otherwise, he’s a study in black and white, cut from shadows and light, austere and solemn, the lines harsh and yet fitting perfectly together, from the long lashes shielding his dark eyes to the lush bow of his upper lip and the long column of his neck.
Until he catches my gaze and smiles, instantly softening those lines, the smile turning him from austere to sexy and beautiful. Why does my heart ache so?
“Rae,” he whispers.
Bright heat washes over my face to be caught staring. If that’s a spell, if he’s influencing my mind… Then again, I’ve never heard of fire magic or shadow power doing anything of the sort.
This is all me. I’m so easily swayed. Amphitrite never thought to train me against male beauty before sending me here. I’ll file an official complaint from the afterlife.
Who knew the fae king’s most lethal weapon would be his second in command’s good looks?
Yeah, because the rest, the kindness he’s shown, the gentleness, I won’t even think anymore about those.
Right.
Guards surround the dais, their tall spears glinting, as drummers take place on either side of it, starting a pounding rhythm.
Masked fae are gathering, clapping their hands over their heads, their amplifying hats making a booming sound. They form a line as they approach the dais and parade past it, heads turned to the Pillar, a multicolored ribbon of people winding past the glittering king and his family, the stone-faced guards and the drummers.
More and more fae pass us by, securing their masks on the sides of their hats so they hang over their faces—masks representing birds and dragons and other, unrecognizable animals—before they lift their hands and start to clap.
The noise is dizzying. Maddening.
Neere marches past me, thankfully unaware of me, her gaze seemingly fixed on the dais. The mask she lets fall over her face is that of a white falcon to match the bird fluttering on her shoulder.
Music unfolds from somewhere to our right and turning, I find fires being lit around another dais.
On it stands a skeleton.
No, I realize, it’s a man in a skull mask, and even from here I recognize the wild gray beard and hair streaming over bulwark shoulders.
It’s the telchin. He’s standing there like a storm god, directing the winds and the heavens.
“We call on the Eosphors to watch and protect us!” he calls out as the drums start to beat faster. “We call on the gods and revered heroes of our past. We see you. We see you in the crowd, mingling with us. Don’t forget us. Look over us.”
A strange shiver chases down my spine.
“We call forth the human contestants who survived the first trial to parade before the dais and receive our blessing,” the telchin continues. “We see you all…”
It doesn’t mean anything. He’s only speaking ritualistic words. Being the priest overseeing the Death Games, he has a role to play. So what if I think I feel his eyes on me?
The human survivors form a somber line leading to the dais. The gowns given to us are pale and almost colorless, mine being the only white one.
It’s just that I also think I feel the king’s gaze on me.
Paranoia. I’m not even looking at the king. I can’t know what he’s doing.
“We should join the line,” Jai says and lifts his arm for the darakin who comes flying back down. “You should try calling him yourself. You don’t need a voice to call your dragon.”
My dragon? This time I stare at Jai for entirely different reasons. Call him? Easy as pie, is it?
He offers me his other arm as Remi settles on his shoulder, and grins. “He seems to like me, too. I mean, who wouldn’t, right? I’m a great catch.”
Because you’re so hot? I mouth.
“Exactly. You’re every woman’s envy tonight.”
Or maybe because you’re so likable? I tap my finger on my lips, pretending to think.
“Can’t it be both?”
So full of yourself.
His grin widens. “Aren’t you a lucky lady?”
Fighting an answering grin, I elbow him in the ribs—or the hip, since he’s so fucking tall. You’re lucky I decided to let you be my escort.
“True,” he says quietly. “I am.”
How dare he look so serious when he says it?
“And I wouldn’t want to escort any other woman,” he goes on, more quietly, and my heart flips inside my chest. “Only you.”
This is worse than teasing, this almost makes his presence beside me real, the feel of his strong arm around me exciting.
The darakin hisses. It sounds strangely like laughter.
Then he flaps up and lands on my shoulder, almost taking me down to the ground. Locking my knees, I manage to remain standing, and after a few moments, I get used to the weight.
Jai tugs on my arm, and we move forward. Horns sound as we reach the line of the humans. Flutes play. We are the last to join.
“The Lady of the darakin,” people whisper in hushed voices as we pass by. “The Pale Lady!”
I suppose it’s better than being called cursed .
Which I may be, but that’s no excuse to call it to my face.
This is all so nice and civilized, the speeches, the parades, the light shows, the gleaming costumes and the artful masks. But even if I bow my head and stay in line tonight, that doesn’t mean I’ve given up. Tomorrow’s Death Game might kill me—or not. And if not, then you can be sure I’ll be back in this palace, hunting for the king.
This time, I’ll have my power back. Once back in the water, I’ll demand the geas be broken, and I’ll crawl into the palace and kill the king dead.
I’m not hopeful. I’m stubborn . There’s a difference. I don’t feel optimistic, but hells if I’m not going to die trying.
For Flynn. For my parents. For all the humans dying at the hands of the fae.
And for the boy I loved, taken from me way too soon.
The telchin lifts a golden cup and drinks, then pours the rest on the dais as we parade past him. His voice thunders. “Let’s drink!”
Yeah, let’s drink before the war.