Chapter Twelve #3
Ani backs away as the tension in the room ratchets.
The king’s shadows whirl and snap like coiled whips, and if I wasn’t so provoked, I’d be mesmerized by their sinuous dance.
Every cell in me bristles. If I had magical tendrils like his, they would be flaring like vicious, vexed creatures, too, ready to take him on in a heartbeat.
For a second, I imagine such a thing and feel a force in the center of my chest unspool through my veins like molten lava.
What is that?
The flood of power—adrenaline?—makes my lungs feel unnaturally tight.
In fact, I might be hallucinating, but out of the corner of my eye, I notice that the cuffs on my wrists in my lap have taken on a crimson glow.
Though I’m intensely curious about what made the runes come alive, I refuse to drop the king’s cold stare.
“You’re very angry, you know.” I tap my mouth thoughtfully, easing off the bed and standing to my full height, which is not much at all, especially compared with his six and a half seething feet of intimidation.
“Don’t you know that anger is dreadful for your constitution?
I’m willing to bet that you’ve been quite constipated of late.
My aunt makes the most incredible carambola juice that just gets all those pesky blockages flowing.
I’d be happy to whip up a batch if you direct me to the kitchens. ”
Those dark eyes flash, nostrils flaring, but I ignore the obvious warning that I’m treading a very fine line.
King Darrius probably expects everyone around him to fawn and grovel.
I might not know how I ended up here and have fuzzy gaps in my memory, but I do know that I grovel for no one. Especially not kings.
I blink, wondering where that thought came from.
“You insolent—”
“It’s no trouble at all,” I say, cutting him off with an audacious wink, ignoring Ani, whose panicky blue gaze is darting between us. “We’ll get you unclogged and call it a day.”
Face suddenly inscrutable, though his vengeful eyes tell a different story, the king scoffs. “Stick instead of carrot, I see. Maybe your tongue will loosen then.”
I beam as if I don’t have a care in the world, though my instincts are firing with warnings of imminent danger. “Mind my tongue, loosen my tongue? Which is it, Your Majesty? You seem to have quite an obsession with said appendage.”
I school my features to stone as his eyes flick to my mouth, something sinfully heated flaring in them that makes my breath absolutely fizzle and syrupy heat slide through my core.
For the briefest of moments, he looks at me as though I’m a treat he could quite happily and voraciously devour in the wickedest, best kind of way. I swallow a gulp.
Stars above . . .
That sensation behind my rib cage tugs and thickens, some indefinable tether reaching out and straining toward him. The king’s eyes widen as if he feels an answering pull, too, but then he whirls on his boots and strides out of the room with a vicious curse.
Suraya Silvertongue, one. King Killjoy, zero.
Instead of examining my very confusing reaction, which includes the pounding of my heart and a very unwelcome molten sensation between my thighs, I grin at an ashen-faced Ani. “What’s his problem?”
“Y-you’re not afraid of him?” she stammers, still staring at the door and then focusing that chary stare at me.
Oh, I’m fucking terrified. But I shake my head. “To show fear is to give your adversary power.”
The words loosen a deluge of images in my brain.
Visions of a gory battle, an altar, and an offering .
. . the face of a man—one I . . . love?—on the cusp of death and destruction left in the wake of a gleaming, tumultuous magic .
. . an arena of sand that smells like blood and a lavish room full of beautiful people dancing .
. . a gorgeous palace with ornate cupolas and towering pillars, and an intricate maze that is the spitting image of my mother’s painting back in Coban. It’s clearly the capital city.
How do I have such a visceral memory of the capital city?
My head starts to pound as I try futilely to hold on to the images that disappear as fast as they have come.
“I’m sorry I dosed you with that herb on the king’s orders,” Ani says, but then frowns at me as I grasp my skull between my palms and sink into a crouch with a groan. “Sura, are you well? What is it? Do you remember something?”
I exhale, rubbing my temples. “Yes, but just fragments and pictures that make no sense whatsoever. And I understand about the king. It’s not your fault.”
“Thank you. And give yourself time,” she says, leaning down to peer at my irises. “You’ve been through a traumatic few days, and while our healers’ magic can work wonders with physical injuries, they cannot return lost memories. I pray you remember something soon, for your sake.”
“You and me both.”
“I’ll find you some shoes,” Ani says, “before the king returns to drag you away himself and march you through the entire court in bare feet.”
With a sigh, I rise carefully. I wouldn’t put such spite past the man. But I suppose I did bring this upon myself with my infernal taunting.
Honestly, Sura, did you have to go that far? Because gloating satisfaction aside, there’s no real winner in this scenario.
As an outsider in a strange realm, it’s certainly not me.