Chapter 16 #2
Time stutters. Sunlight kisses my skin with warmth, as real as if I'm awake, and Darkan's heart beats steady in his chest. I have never felt his heart beat before.
“You—no,” I whisper, trembling.
A veil pulls away from my mind and I know, I understand.
He's been manipulating me for years, muting my questions, even the desire to ask questions, so I don't consider all the incongruities.
Words tear out of me. “What have you done? Why?”
His lips press against the top of my head. “You are my anchor, my inevitable, though I fought to never fall victim to my father’s obsession. I told him I would be different. Now I know why he simply smiled.”
I swallow, my throat dry. “Why would you need an anchor?”
“I am too old, Aerinne. Sanity is the dream of my distant youth and I no longer know the way back. I should not have done this to you, but I will make you strong enough to bear me and in return anything you want will be laid at your feet. Including me.” The back of his fingers brush my jawline.
“I know who you are. I know?—”
Shock and horror choke my words in my throat. My knees buckle and I fight to wake, the misty place dissolving as my Dark angel releases me.
No. Not mine. Never mine.
And yet. . .as much mine as my own soul.
“Rinne— ”
The awful familiarity with which he says my name.
“Don’t. Don’t speak.”
The annoying familiarity with which he slips into a lecture at the worst possible time.
Can't imagine a life without him. Can't imagine the emptiness. Can't imagine the agony of giving him up. Because now I must.
I never understood true internal conflict until now.
Because now I know his real name, not the girlish moniker I gave him at fourteen when I realized “Dark angel” was melodramatic.
Slowly, so slowly, I turn.
Stare into blue, blue eyes, and for the second time, shatter.
No.
The garden shudders.
He sighs. If I am frantic in my panic, he is frozen in his weariness. His disappointment.
“Never make decisions out of fear, Nyawira. Remember, when you’re ready. And accept the white flag.”
I open my eyes. The acrid stench of burning flesh and scorched stone fills my nostrils. For a moment, stars glitter around a crown set on an ebony head, a blush of pink the only color on white cheeks, those same stars pinpricks of light in the gray storm of his eyes.
“Congratulations,” the Prince says in his death voice, his hand cupping the back of my neck when I blink awake, “you have distinguished yourself by your success in annoying me.”
The pressure of his fingers slowly cuts off my air. When did he pull me to my feet? Why can't I remember. . .there is something I desperately need to remember .
I shut my eyes to push through pain. I have to remember. My jaw clenches with the force of the need, angry tears rising in my eyes and blood on my lips.
So weak, a feminine voice murmurs. So easily manipulated.
Renaud's power presses against me, warning me not to move. As if I could with his arm locked around my back.
He lowers his mouth to my ear. “I will make you another offer, as I am aware you would rather die than bow and I find myself uninterested in either your death or the further thinning the populace of my city. . .the wyverns, the wyverns. Manuelle and I will soon discuss his decision making process. He forgets himself. Or perhaps it is me he forgets.”
I’d agreed to it.
You’re a child, Darkan snaps.
But you keep saying ? —
He withdraws, rather than address his inconsistency.
Renaud waits. I'm tempted beyond anything to answer him with a blow to his teeth, but again I have to rise above my own nature and for once the wild creature inside is quiet. Failure lasts a very long time. I might not be able to kill him now, but one day. . .
“Your offer, Prince?”
“Accept a white flag. Cease all hostilities and meet me at the negotiation table, the High Lord of each House and their Heirs and Commanders. We will resolve these disputes through diplomacy.”
“I don't think we understand the word diplomacy in the same way.” Especially as he said the word like one repeating an unknown phrase someone prompted him with in a foreign language .
Renaud’s eyes flash, but for once I'm not being sarcastic. “Understand this to be a highly unusual concession, Aerinne, and do not be a fool.”
He overuses that word. I nod. My head aches. My entire body aches. I almost can't think past the burn. Worst injuries ever, burns.
Terreille told me—if there comes a point where accepting a white flag makes sense, do it. The Prince’s fingers press into my side, his arm a barrier but not a cage why is he holding me why is he holding me like this.
We aren't going to win this. The wyverns are vanquished. We have no other tricks. Maybe that's why the Prince took the time to beat me down—he understood I'd only concede on the verge of death.
I want my people to live.
Maman would want me to do this. Baba would want me to do this.
Gentle words pierce my spiral. “What say you?”
I can't quite bring myself to say the word submit. I'm not that selfless. But I nod.
“You will attend, Aerinne,” he adds, voice deepening, then releases me.
I nod.
The Prince produces a long white ribbon from somewhere and lifts my least injured arm, wrapping it around the wrist. His fingertips brush up my arm and my pain retreats, even the ache of the burn.
He is slow to pull away.
And his eyes are calmer now. “It's third degree. I will send Ishaan to you. Do not refuse him. ”
I nod.
Renaud stares a beat, one dark brow winging up. “. . .good.” He takes a step back. “You will come to the negotiation table.”
He says it in the dubious, forceful tone of a male who feels like he must repeat himself to be understood and obeyed. Or maybe all the nodding did it. Does he think I need another multi hour beat down to cooperate? Another demonstration of his destructive capabilities?
I'm not that stubborn.
But all that nonverbal skepticism raises a point. I'm tired. The negotiation table is the last place I want to be. That's Baba's job. “I don't need to be there. I am not the diplomat of Everenne.”
“You cannot enforce your will when you send others to execute it. That is the second lesson of rule. Some matters require a—” his gaze roves me “—personal touch.”
The Prince turns and walks back to his palace.
Numair jogs toward me. “What happened?”
“I think—I think we negotiated a ceasefire.”
Nausea roils in my stomach, and I collapse.
1 ? It occurs to Emma this is one of those things that the Mortal Reader may miss—he can’t lie, after all.
But shades of meaning isn’t lying. He's not actually threatening her right now.
He's triggered, and he's warning her to stay down because he knows he’s in a dangerous state.
Aerinne, of course, doesn't hear it like that, and who can blame her.
2 ? This is Arddie’s redeeming trait. He's a complete asshole, but he's fiercely loyal. He would never disobey Aerinne in public in front of enemies. Their squabbling is strictly behind the scenes and a family matter.