Chapter 26
Nadiette
“You must try harder.” I walk through the groups of originators struggling to pull lucent. “The soldiers you’re assigned to depend on your strength, your magic.”
Sweat marks the white uniforms beneath their arms and down their backs at the effort to keep up a sufficient amount of magic—until suddenly, the lucent is gone.
The orbs of light snuff out in their palms, leaving every originator grasping at nothing.
Several faint, falling to the floor amidst shouts.
I frown with concern as healers rush across the floor to help those who have collapsed.
I look down at my palm, void of any lucent though I try to pull it.
Lucent has been weak for years, but never gone.
“Nadiette.”
I lift my head to find Tryn waving me over to the side of the room.
After ensuring no one has been seriously injured, I smooth out nonexistent creases along my close-fitting white breeches and paste a smile on my face that hides the concern for my originators.
“We are finished today. Take the afternoon off to rest. We’ll begin again tomorrow,” I say before I take my leave and meet Tryn in the shadows of the hallway she drags me into.
“Renton is here to speak with you,” she whispers. The worry in her eyes fills me with annoyance. She gives the man too much credit.
“He’s a simple mercenary, Tryn. You’ve battled far greater than him,” I chastise as we walk down the hall and turn a corner, where I see him leaning against the stone wall, one boot crossed over the other.
“Good day, Renton,” I say as we approach, ignoring the chill draft that suddenly wafts down the hall.
I notice he’s dressed in costly buckskin breeches, soft leather boots, and a jacket that would rival the quality of any of Ikar’s.
He stands and bows low, then rises with a grin so handsome I find my smile wavers.
This impeccably dressed man is much different than most mercenaries I’ve encountered, but I chastise myself just as I did Tryn.
He’s just a mercenary.
If anything, it proves he’s worthy of the job he’s been given, doesn’t it? He appears more than capable and has the confidence to match.
The air around us cools drastically, and I resist rubbing my arms to warm them; it’s odd for the castle to be so chill on such a warm day, but I shake off the distracting thoughts. Focus is necessary around a man like Renton.
We enter an empty room nearby with two small settees and a delicate table with a large vase of fresh flowers atop it. “Please, sit. I’d like an update on your search for the Tulips.”
His gaze darkens, and do I spy gloam about him for just a moment? That’s impossible. I blame the strange thought on my fatigue from training this morning and Tryn’s irritating anxiety.
He relaxes lazily onto one of the small settees, legs wide and arms stretched out, resting along the back. “You act as if I answer to you.”
“Don’t you?” I tip my nose up the smallest bit as I sit beside Tryn on the other settee, unused to being questioned by anyone but Jethonan, Ikar, and Waylon.
I remind myself he is working for Waylon and may be deferring to him. That is neither here nor there—he is here, and I expect answers.
He smirks, but neither confirms nor denies my assumption.
I forge ahead, fighting to stay in control. “We have a deal. You’ll take care of the Tulips, and you’ll return the king and his friends to me.”
“Yes… but wasn’t your precious king just here?” He makes a tsking sound. “If you can’t keep him here longer than three days, what makes you think he’ll want to marry you?”
My neck flushes red, and I narrow my eyes at the man.
He begins again, that annoying smile still on his face. “We’ve been tracking, and I think we may have found a lead on a Tulip. I think you’ll be surprised… if she is who I think she is.”
I clench my jaw, unwilling to play into his drama like a dog after a treat—I don’t care who the woman is. I just need Ikar. “Wonderful. I’m sure you’ll have Ikar back to me in no time. I have three weeks.”
“Oh, there’s a time limit now?” He narrows his eyes.
“Hasn’t Waylon told you?” I lift a brow. “He takes the throne in three weeks if we haven’t married. That won’t happen though, will it?” I ask as if it’s a question, but my tone is threatening.
“No, it won’t.”
Chills race across my skin at the promise, or is it from how cold the room has become?
He smirks darkly, and why do I feel as if he laughs at me behind the blue of his eyes? He stands and straightens his jacket, and I’m sure I see a flicker of gloam about his shoulders. I blink quickly to clear my vision, and it disappears.
He bows once more, a mocking grin twitching about his lips. “Three weeks, then.”