11. The point of no tangible return #4
As I went to plant my clean hand against the firm plane of his chest and shove him away from me, my marked palm burned something fierce. Against my lips, Maksym muttered, “Alea iacta est.”
The wet graze of his tongue brushed against my bottom lip before he backed off, an all-too-pleased smile curving his blood-stained mouth. He wiped away the traces with his thumb as he said, “There.”
“There?” I squawked back as a new flush crept up my chest. “Was that necessary? Wasn’t it enough to cut me open and—”
I glanced down—my palm was no longer cut open, and our blood was gone.
The pattern Maksym had drawn on me had sunk into my now completely healed skin. A cursory glance told me the king’s mark mirrored my own. That the mark of a blood bargain would seem so literal shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise as it did.
Maksym’s smile only grew, and he did not answer my question.
“Is there anything else you need of me at the moment, Miss Wynn?” He set about cleaning off the ceremonial blade with a cloth his stalwart mage passed over in silence.
“Loathe as I am to admit it, it would be in mine and Jasper’s best interest if we tried to salvage the tribal negotiations you saw fit to interrupt with your own personal negotiations. ”
The thinly amused glance he slid at me did little to quench the heat of embarrassment pricking away at my skin. “There isn’t, no. And I…I’m sorry. For interrupting.”
Another smile tugged at the king’s mouth, but he didn’t look at me as he set the blade back in the carved box his mage had first retrieved it from. “Oh, no need for apologies. We love unbridled enthusiasm here. Don’t we, Jasper?”
The mage sighed from beside the king but nodded.
Truthfully, I felt a little bad for this man, forced to endure his king’s unpredictable whimsy. At least he would be someone to commiserate with in the future, seeing as I was certain whimsy was the least of what I was about to have to endure from Maksym.
“Oh, and Miss Wynn?” Maksym said as he settled himself back on the edge of the table, the picture of casual grace again. “The Night of Frenzy is in just a couple of days, and you’ll start training shortly after, so please rest while you can.”
I stiffened. “The Night of Frenzy? What is that?”
Maksym swept an expectant hand toward his mage, who seemed incapable of speaking without sighing first.
“It marks the official start of the season of the Agōn Ferr.” Jasper didn’t even look up from the paper he was scrawling away on.
“The current Elixia will draw to determine who participates in this round. They will eat and drink unreasonable amounts and wander into Embervale at the crack of dawn to put out a call for participants for the Initium.”
I cast a confused glance at Maksym—at this rate, not only did I need to learn history, but a new language too.
He, at least, tossed me a small smile. “It is the initiation. Happens the night after the feast and ensures only the most strong-willed actually enter the main events.”
“Including me, right?”
He nodded. “Including you. I have the utmost faith you’ll pass it easily and move right into your training.”
As much as I dreaded the idea of a banquet and whatever hell this initiation was, the prospect of moving into training afterward completely superseded that. There was nothing that could fix the state of my head quite like days spent beating the absolute hell out of my body.
Accepting that, I bid the king and his mage a quick goodbye and intended to make haste back to my room to curl back up in bed, but as my fingers brushed the door, I hesitated and turned back. Maksym and Jasper were already fussing over something spread in front of them on the table.
“Actually, Maksym, there’s something I’d like to know, if you’ll humor me,” I said, even though it might’ve been the most nerve-wracking ask of all.
The king took a few slow steps towards me, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Go on.”
“What are you getting out of this entire arrangement? I’m not a fool. There’s some benefit for you in all of this, and it’s not just charity.”
A long enough beat of silence passed with his amber gaze focused on me that I thought the king wouldn’t deign to give me an answer, that I was about to experience the first of many swift shutdowns from my future husband.
But he spoke.
“I owe someone a great debt from many years ago,” he said with a heavy measure of caution before he headed back to the table. “They were Odessan, and I’ve always struggled with how to truly repay them. I think this suffices.”
“Repay,” the mage scoffed, obviously privy to far more of the king’s history than I would ever be.
But just like that, Maksym left me with a thousand more questions than I had—a simple clearing of his conscience hadn’t been a factor. It must have been a hell of a fucking debt for the only thing worthy of repaying it to be tethering yourself to someone for the rest of your life.
“I will see you at the feast, Miss Wynn,” he added, and, just like that, I was well and thoroughly dismissed.