Chapter 72
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
I t was a relief to put some distance between Wolf and our caravan. Aside from the obvious tension between Rowan and the allies we needed, it was more work than not to monitor the things my father said.
My father always clung especially hard to lucidity when he travelled—or at least maintained enough pride to give the appearance of it—but I didn’t trust his worsening condition with an ally who was already tense with us.
I was considering the many ways I might need to circumvent his madness to thwart whatever schemes Iiro was hatching when Rowan’s voice startled me from my thoughts.
“What’s your favorite food?” she asked abruptly.
I raised my eyebrows at her, but she only looked back expectantly. I didn’t derive the same pleasure from food that my lemmikki did—I wasn’t sure anyone did—but I did have a special fondness for Riina’s array of soups and stews.
“Beef stew,” I answered Rowan, still not sure why she had asked. When she didn’t immediately offer an explanation, I surmised she really had only asked out of curiosity. If our relationship had followed any sort of normal path, these were things we probably would have already known about each other.
I played along, pretending it wasn’t unusual to make small talk with her when I turned the question around on her. “Yours?”
“Cranachan,” she said, swaying happily in her seat at just the idea of whatever that was—though I could guess it was a pastry of some sort.
I gave her a look to expound, and she did, gesturing for emphasis as she described several layers of sickly-sweet horror.
She laughed at my expression. “Yes. You would probably hate it nearly as much as I hated the meat goo.”
I might not have realized she was referring to kholodets if not for the open revulsion in her tone.
“I confess, there was a moment I thought you might actually vomit at the table,” I told her, wincing openly at the memory.
What happened at the Council of Lords would have paled in comparison to how the lords would have despised her if she had gagged on the food that even the nobility rarely got to enjoy.
“There were several moments I thought so, as well,” she admitted, hardly taking a breath before she launched into another question. Though, this one was in an entirely different vein.
“Were you really going to marry someone else in Lochlann if I had said no?”
I blinked in surprise. If she had been anyone else, I would have suspected she was maneuvering toward that question to begin with, but she looked nearly as surprised by it as I was.
“That was quite the escalation from food,” I commented, in part to buy myself a moment to consider it.
She shrugged, meeting my eyes in a familiar challenge. How long had she been wondering about this?
Was this one of the many shadows that crossed her eyes when she said she had anger to work through?
At least this was an easy question to answer. No matter how much I had tried to convince myself I would have married someone else to spite her or for the good of my clan, I never would have settled for anyone who wasn’t her.
And if I had been forced to marry at my father’s whims, I sure as storms wouldn’t have risked a Lochlannian bride who would only have ever been a pale reminder of the one I wanted.
“No, Lemmikki,” I told her in no uncertain terms. “I just wanted to see how you reacted when you thought that was a possibility.” I hesitated only a moment before giving her the rest of the truth. “If I’m being very, very honest, I wanted you to see how you reacted.”
Her mouth formed a small, offended O, like she had somehow failed to notice the downright rabid nature of her jealousy. Then she sucked in a breath to speak again, but this time, I cut her off.
“No, it’s my turn.”
She made a theatrical show of closing her lips, waving at me to continue. Her eyes sparked with satisfaction, though. She was happy I wanted to ask anything, which said a lot for the toll the threats of war and tyranny had taken on us.
I was always curious about her, even when I shouldn’t have been. I had an endless need to know how her mind worked. But we had been forged on the battlefield, prying our answers from one another with a painful precision.
This easy back and forth was entirely foreign to me. Still, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to find out something more, even if it was a question I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer to.
I thought about the weeks after I claimed my blood debt. The sideways glances and blushing cheeks and the way she had burrowed her way into my soul. I had been so sure that she hated me until somewhere along the line she had begun to rely on me.
And then it was more than that, but I still had no scope or reason for the way she had shifted from needing to marry Korhonan to wanting to marry me.
“How long did it take you to stop hating me, after I took you?” I kept my eyes on her expression while I held my breath, wanting to see every moment of the answer play on her incredibly readable features.
She didn’t disappoint. Her brow furrowed while she glanced to the side, considering the question. She tilted her head, pulling her lip between her teeth the way she did when she was debating something.
For a brief moment, she even lifted her chin to lie.
Then she shook her head, taking a breath to visibly steel herself.
“I never hated you. Even when I should have.” Her words were quiet, dripping with as much resignation as truth—like even now, the admission cost her something.
Something eased in my chest at the conviction in her features.
All this time I had wondered if part of her still hated me for taking her that day, but she hadn’t been able to hate me any more than I could return that feeling.
Besides, it was strangely comforting, the way she had forced herself to give me that truth. Because like me, she understood the constant need to stand her ground in a battle that had ended before it ever really began.
When the midnight spires of the Obsidian Palace came into view, Rowan let out a small, surprised gasp, one I was nearly tempted to echo.
Supposedly, before the war, when I was still an infant, my father brought me to the palace to be blessed by the King and Queen of Socair—not that it had done any good.
From what little I knew about our former monarchy, the clans treated them more like gods than people—something the royals encouraged every chance they got.
Looking at the palace now, it made more sense that its former occupants might have considered themselves to be deities when their home was made of midnight stars and liquid obsidian.
Despite a lifetime of traveling in close proximity to the palace, I had never seen it quite like this. Then again, maybe I had never truly looked.
Perhaps the superstitions surrounding the Obsidian Palace were so deeply ingrained into our culture that they had bled over into my subconscious. Or perhaps, Iiro, in his particular brand of ostentatiousness, had added more to the rebuilding efforts than I realized.
I grew angrier with each new display of wealth that was reflected in the palace itself, along with its grounds, wondering exactly where Iiro had gotten the money to invest in his new home.
Elk was wealthy enough, but this went beyond even their coffers.
And still, he claimed to need more…
It was one thing if he wanted to starve his people to rebuild a monarchy he thought he deserved, but it was quite another that he was demanding we do the same.
I clenched my fists at my sides, hoping that the other dukes were just as outraged as I was. If they were, it would certainly make things easier moving forward. Then again, Iiro hadn’t gotten here by accident. He had waited to make his move until he was sure he could, and unseating him from power wasn’t likely to be easy.
Even with the help of Are?s and Nils, and whoever else I could pull over to my side.
“We need to keep up our guard,” I told Rowan as we drew closer to the palace. “Iiro is endlessly conniving.”
She stiffened slightly before nodding.
“Do you think this is about more than the food taxes?” Her voice was low, worried, and her fingers drummed anxiously on her knee.
I considered that. My gut told me yes; to be prepared for anything. There was no limit to what Iiro would do to keep his new crown.
Two roads unfolded in my mind. The one where Iiro was merely flexing the reach of his newfound authority by forcing us to witness him on his new throne.
And another, more nefarious one, where his movements and decisions were still murky to me, but far more sinister.
“I don’t know yet,” I answered her honestly, wishing I had a better answer to offer.
Several moments passed before she spoke again.
“Do you think he knows what you’ve been planning?” Her question was even quieter this time, her tone more anxious than before.
Every muscle in my body tensed. I heard what she wasn’t asking: Are we walking into a trap?
As much as I wanted to believe that my efforts over these past few weeks hadn’t been in vain, I couldn’t help but wonder what I was missing. I considered that second road again. The one where he strategically waited until every card was in play before revealing his hand.
The only problem was, I didn’t know what game we were playing.
“Storms help us if he does,” I said on an exhale.
I couldn’t fight the feeling that we were all just puppets on a string, bending and dancing to Iiro’s will. Between that, whatever Ava was plotting, and the escalation in my father’s deterioration, our odds of making it out of this unscathed were worsening by the minute.
Rowan slid her hand into mine, lacing our fingers together. She gently squeezed, offering a small bit of comfort in that quiet way of hers. I lifted her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles before pulling it into my lap.
At least there was this.
At least I had her, even if everything else was going to hell around us.
I held onto her until the moment our carriage came to a stop in front of the imposing obsidian doors and a servant rushed to open our door.
Iiro had spared no expense in making it clear that this was his home. Each of the servants were decked out in brand new uniforms dyed a shade of purple-black that almost matched the walls of the palace itself.
Gold and silver buttons lined their tunics, trousers, and even added pomp to their shining shoes. Intricate designs were sewn onto their lapels and sleeves as well, rivaling some of the expensive designs of some of the wealthier dukes.
It was an effort not to roll my eyes as they silently rushed past us to escort our luggage to our rooms before whisking away our carriages to the palace stables as we continued to stand in front of the palace. There was a high-handedness in each of their actions, like they were above us. At least, all of us who did not yet have the title of Duke.
The steward motioned for all of us to go inside while he actually took the time to speak to my father.
“Sir Aleksander,” he said with a small dip of his chin. “We have been looking forward to your visit. Please let us know if there is anything we can do for you during your stay.”
My father blinked irritably at the man. He looked between him and the doors of the palace, his expression going distant in a way that had me wondering if he was reliving some past visit to the palace.
“Thank you, Master Steward,” I said, stepping next to my father to cover for his lapse. “It has been a long journey, and my father would like nothing better than to be shown to his rooms before dinner.”
The man nodded tersely before letting me know that wouldn’t be possible. That our king was expecting us in the Great Hall first.
My mouth formed a tight line as I thanked him again in a tone much less hostile than I felt. Instead, I braced myself as we entered the palace, carefully watching my father as he observed the grandeur of the Obsidian Palace.
The space must have been familiar enough for him, because even in his half-lucid state, his feet led him confidently in the right direction.
As if by muscle memory alone, he led us directly to the Great Hall, where we were met with an even greater display of luxury.
A muscle feathered in my jaw as I looked from the crystal chandeliers to the silk tapestries, then to the polished oak table laden with more food than even the Summit meetings usually offered.
Every display, every lavishly designed portrait, and every jewel-studded egg that sat encased in glass display boxes fueled my fury.
There was a chance, a small one, that the palace riches had been left alone within these supposedly cursed walls, waiting to be plundered by the next king. But there was another chance that Iiro had depleted his coffers to put on this show.
Either way, whether he had sacrificed Elk’s future for the sake of the crown, or that he was simply selfish enough to have so much and still demand so much more from us, didn’t matter.
The longer I stood here, the less desire I had to entertain whatever discussions he had planned for his taxes, let alone pay them.
Rowan stiffened when our men didn’t follow us into the Great Hall, following the steward’s instructions to head to the soldiers’ quarters instead. An itch formed between my shoulder blades when they left, the same one that came whenever I was unarmed.
It was customary when visiting any of the clans not to eat with the soldiers, but that didn’t mean I had to like it.
“Are they expecting all of the clans?” Rowan asked quietly as I led us toward the massive table in the center of the room.
I glared at the table over-laden with food, disgust twisting my stomach when I considered how much would be wasted. It was as if in an effort to show off, Iiro had forgotten he was still a Socairan. Forgotten the value our people—our starving people—placed on food.
“Knowing Iiro, probably not,” I replied just as quietly, helping my wife into her seat before taking mine.
I didn’t miss the way the table was set with far fewer plates than would accommodate all of the clan dukes and their families, nor that we didn’t have a single ally in this room.
After some polite greetings, two large doors made of dark, intricately carved ebony wood swung open to reveal the most pretentious man I had ever met.
I blinked several times, trying to process the new levels of ridiculousness that Iiro seemed to reach every time I saw him. From his heavy brocaded robes to the excessive crown he had worn to our wedding and the smarmy aalio expression plastered to his features, every part of him exuded audacity and a level of arseholeishness that only he could attain.
“Welcome, Clan Bear,” he greeted us in an overly serene tone.
I wasn’t sure if it was better or worse that my father responded first, greeting him by the title of Majesty, just as Iiro had hoped for.
Was it because he thought he was the former king? Was it because he was determined to lend his support to this man after whatever happened at the Summit?
For better or worse, I had a feeling that I would find out before this visit was over.