Chapter Twenty-Five
Bitterness and mortification have me in a dual chokehold.
There are only two things that can get me out of my own head: magic or the forge.
And since I don’t have use of the former, the latter will have to do.
But I can’t hammer steel in a gown, so I stomp into the castle to my quarters, trying to ignore the strains of music and the accompanying images of Darrius and Zahre wrapped together in a sultry dance.
Where did you go? The thought blasts into my head. Of course it’s the king, undoubtedly wondering why I’m ruining the important feast with my disappearing act.
Shouldn’t you be busy dancing with your almost betrothed? I shoot back waspishly.
She’s not my . . . Where are you?
None of your business.
He growls. It is my business when Masi?ta is no longer here. I told you that you could be in danger. Don’t be reckless, Suraya.
I hiss out a tight breath, unnatural jealousy riding me. Why don’t you ask your fiancée? It’s her father, after all. Perhaps this is all part of some great plot I contrived to assassinate you.
Then I fling up my walls and block any further connection.
Sands, I hate that I’m so pathetic. Why am I feeling this unhinged?
My eyes sting as I hasten up the stone steps.
When I reach my quarters, I dismiss Ziba and the handmaidens with a forced smile.
I don’t want anyone to witness whatever this is.
Chest aching, I remove the king’s necklace, wanting to fling it away.
Instead, I clutch the opal in my fist and feel the hopeless tears streak down my cheeks.
Gods, what did I think? That the precious gift had meant something?
That I meant something? A sob catches in my throat as I set the necklace carefully on the dresser.
I kick away my slippers and tear off my stockings before dragging the pins out of my hair, feeling the heavy curls loosen to fall down my shoulders.
Then I curse because I’ve sent everyone away and the stupid fastenings for the dress are on my back, which means I’m stuck.
Unless . . . I reach for my dagger and prepare to cut the bodice, when I’m reminded that the material is impenetrable.
Damn every spelled thing in this wretched place!
Suddenly, the bedchamber door flies open and crashes into the wall.
“What are you doing?” I shriek, as a wild-eyed Darrius peers around the room, onyx sword drawn. His gaze snags on the dagger in my hand, and he lets out a savage growl. His eyes flash gold.
“Why the dagger? Is there someone here?” he demands, his stare scouring me from head to toe. “Where’s your necklace?”
I narrow my eyes at his tone but stay calm, not wanting to bait his temper more and incite a shift—especially not when the tournament is imminent. Surreptitiously, I wipe my face, hoping he doesn’t notice my reddened eyes. “No one is here. And the necklace is over there.”
He doesn’t look happy about that when he spots it. “You’re certain no one followed you?”
“I’m fine. There’s no one else here, Darrius. I dismissed the handmaidens.” I wasn’t paying attention as to being followed, but there are guards posted everywhere. “Are you expecting an attack?”
“I’m always prepared for that.” He breathes in deeply, expression troubled. “What you did with the basilisk, even with your magic contained, heightens the threat. I don’t trust anyone not to abduct you for their own ends. With your magic restricted by those cuffs, you’ll be defenseless.”
I lift my dagger. “Not entirely defenseless. And why would they do that?”
“Anahima says that for some reason the Aspa?anā believe you can cure this rot that has been plaguing the steppes.”
I frown. They do? “Why would they think that?”
“Your magic cured the basilisk before its death. Word of that has spread.” Finally convinced that I’m not overlooking assassins under the bed, he lowers his sword and sheathes it into his scabbard with a deep sigh.
“I am sorry to have barged in here, but I was worried. Masi?ta and Azes both vanished when you left the feast. And I know you’re not defenseless, but you are vulnerable. ”
“Why do you care so much? Weren’t you occupied with Zahre?” I can’t help but say.
Obsidian eyes meet mine as Darrius stalks closer. “Jealous, Starbright?”
“Hardly,” I lie. “You seemed busy, that’s all.”
“She means nothing,” he says, scraping a hand over his chin. “She was a possible alliance when I thought things would go differently.”
“With your rejected soul-fated,” I interject, tucking my dagger back into the harness wrapped around my thigh. “Ani told me.”
The king lets out a humorless groan. “My sister can be painfully direct at times, and while I love her for her plain-speaking, this is not one of those moments.” He bends and looks at me. “Why have you been weeping? Your eyes are red.”
“I haven’t,” I whisper, but a lone tear trickles out, disproving my words.
“Please don’t cry,” he says softly. “None of this is what you think.”
“Then what is it?” I swipe viciously at my cheek. “Gods, why do I feel like this?”
Eyeing me, he inches closer, each step making my lungs contract, though I refuse to move.
“Do you know it is nearly impossible to break a soul-fated bond once a pair unites? At first, it’s a chain reaction of alchemy and magic, biology and physiology.
And then a fated bond becomes an irresistible force—there’s no evading it once certain parameters are met. ”
“Like what?” I whisper. He’s so close that we’re sharing breath and body heat. I can feel my pulse hammering under my skin and see the refracted flecks of light in that midnight stare. His mesmerizing scent makes me dizzy.
A finger traces over my exposed collarbones.
“Like sight and sound.” He leans in to run his nose down my temple to my ear, making me shudder.
“Scent, touch.” He inhales, breathing me in, and then leans back.
His tongue slips out to wet his lower lip, his voice a guttural rasp as his eyes devour me.
His fingertip swipes at the tear on my cheek and he brings it to his mouth. “Taste.”
My mouth dries at the hunger in his gaze.
I can see his magic lashing toward me beneath his iron control of it, and I want his shadows to surround me .
. . to consume me. I want to sink into them, into him.
It’s a dangerous desire. We are treading treacherous waters, and once we go past this point, there’ll be no returning.
I fight through the fog of lust for reason. “What are you saying?” I ask hoarsely.
“We are written.”
His eyes never leave mine. Something lances down to my bones—a coil of delicate awareness—at the oath that sounds too much like a sacred vow to ignore.
Stars above . . . is he . . . ? Are we . . . ?
Once more, I curse the cuffs on my wrists, impeding my magic and any ability to be sure about what is happening between us. That I’m not making a terrible mistake.
“Darrius, what if I’m not who you think I am?”
“I know exactly who you are.” He stares balefully at the cuffs. “And you would, too, without them.”
My heart climbs into my throat when his magic writhes over his skin as though his shadows are desperate to leap from him to me .
. . and he’s barely holding them at bay.
He drops his guard entirely, letting them unravel in a river of darkness toward me.
And then the epiphany hits with the force of a desert sandstorm.
I gape as tangible memories bloom, and then I squint at him—his shape, his frame, his size, and the unique feel of his magic.
Magic that I’ve felt many times before.
I gasp as realization hits. “It was you! All those times in my dreams? In Oryndhr. Did you come to me in my sleep?”
“Yes.”
Those dark eyes hold me captive as his quiet admission makes heat explode in my veins.
Gods, he’s seen me naked. Touched me. I’d always felt those dreams were much too visceral to be figments of a fervid imagination, and now I have my answer. “How?” My voice is strangled.
“One of my numena is dreamwalking. It takes an immense amount of magic to cross astral planes, but I could never resist your call.”
“My call?”
“Your magic’s call, Starbright. I am yours as you are mine.”
The answer is there, rising out of the depths of my mind, but by the stars, I feel it in my bones, in my veins, at the core of my being.
“Because we’re soul-fated,” I whisper.
The realization is like the unveiling of a truth I have always known. It’s the reason my magic recognizes his, the reason his manticore won’t ever hurt me. His mate.
We are linked by the fates and the stars. My mind is racing, chasing over possibilities and mulling over our past interactions.
“You knew me?” I ask.
“The stars had spoken.” The king exhales. “But I could not find you, not until I felt a glimmer when your magic ascended.”
“My mama died,” I say, connecting the timeline. “Her magic hid me from those who wished me harm. Without her life force, the protections diminished.”
He nods. “I resisted, intending to reject the bond, but then you summoned me for the first time, and I could no sooner stay away than I could stop breathing.”
Why would he want to reject the bond? Hurt fills me at that, but my cheeks burn as embarrassment is quick to follow. I know exactly what moment he’s referring to.
I’d just turned twenty, and Laleh and I had celebrated with a little too much of her father’s wine. We had climbed to the roof of my family’s inn to count the stars, while lamenting my sad, solitary state and the fact that I was destined to die a virgin.
“Can’t I find one good man in Coban?” I’d groused. “A girl has needs.”
Laleh had giggled, still sated and flush from her adventures with not one but two lovers in the broom closet of the tavern. “There’s always Cyrill.”
“Bite your tongue, wench!”