Chapter 46 #2
I’d rather eat a plate of live insects for dinner at Mama Tina’s than have the conversation she implies, but she’s not the one to argue over it with, so I keep my mouth shut.
The interior of this building looks like any elegant home would, I guess, except this is the gloam version.
Surprise, surprise. I suppose if a gloam master can call a river monster from the depths, then they could create something such as this.
Everything moves like it should only be misty gloam…
I brush my hand against what should be a foggy wall and find that my fingers do, in fact, meet something solid and cold.
I shiver at the oddity. Gloam creatures are common enough, but I’ve never seen it used this way, and it’s more than concerning. I didn’t even know it was possible.
Like the walls, there’s nothing to indicate that a floor exists beneath mist that wafts around my boots, but somehow it holds the echo of footfalls on wood. The sensation makes me wonder when I last ate or drank, that maybe I’m not quite right in the mind after what I’ve been through.
Gretta leads me through a grand, but narrow, hallway with four closed doors on either side and two large open ones ahead.
Already I glimpse a dining table and hear the deep voices of a group of men.
I straighten my shoulders to prepare myself as I step through in all my blood-covered glory.
I stand there, expecting the room to pause.
I wait for the gratifying flash of anger at the state of my appearance in his, the supposed king’s, home.
But he sits at the head of a long gloamy table… and grins.
I didn’t realize it was possible for me to scowl any further.
Not one person seems bothered that I show up the way I am.
In fact, the men who line both sides of his table don’t even appear surprised, though they’re dressed in what must be their best and cleanest in a camp such as this. One that seems much too permanent.
He stands slowly, the grin never leaving his face. “My future queen, Avenara. A Black Tulip.” He says the last part almost reverently.
He gestures my way, as if everyone isn’t already looking at me. The weight of their gazes deepens, and I bite my tongue to keep myself from screaming that I am no one’s queen.
He swings an arm to the seat at his right that is noticeably empty. “Come, join us.”
What did Tatania tell me? We must play the game if we want to win. Fine. I’ll play the blazing game. And well.
I stride his way, holding eye contact with him even though my instincts scream to look away as the blue of his eyes triggers the sorrow I’ve so carefully ignored since I left my room.
I walk around the back of his chair, and he moves to help me with my seat.
I was doing so well, but as soon as I sit and feel his hands behind me, I’m reminded that the last man to help me with my chair was Ikar, and I unintentionally scootch it in almost violently.
Can anyone else tell I’m as fragile as a vase full of spider cracks waiting to collapse?
I blink to clear my eyes, and my hands shake as I stare at the feast before me—a feast I should want to devour.
Two varieties of perfectly cooked meat, a delectable smelling soup that reminds me of one that Maurine serves in her small bakery back home, and crusty bread with fresh butter and an assortment of root vegetables glisten as if freshly cooked.
It’s all perfect… except for my distinct lack of appetite.
Even that reminds me of Ikar, because, for the first time in years, I actually felt like my belt might be getting a little tighter since he kept me so well fed.
Guess I’ll be back to punching holes in it again.
It’s fine. Hunger and I are good friends.
Dinner begins, and I sit silently in my chair, doing my best to avoid conversing with anyone.
Especially the man to my left. The man to my right laughs and says something to the man beside him about some sort of creature I’ve never heard of before.
I look up to see if I can figure out what he’s talking about, my curiosity piqued.
“Avenara,” Renton says.
My gaze swings around, and at that moment, I realize my plate is piled with food. When did that happen?
“You should eat.”
Why? the numbness whispers, but I play the game.
I tentatively cradle the gloam fork, which looks as light as dense fog but feels like the cold of silver in my hand as I decide what item on the plate will go down easiest on a stomach that has no desire.
I choose one of the vegetables and stab it with my fork.
It’s not very satisfying. The gloam fork’s prongs pierce it easily.
I lift it to my lips and chew without any saliva at all.
It’s while I’m chewing that I realize how hungry I am. And thirsty.
I snatch the goblet like a heathen and drain it, feeling a little life trickle into my limbs.
I take another bite. And another. I grow full after several, and I realize how dull my senses had become.
For a moment, my mental clarity is back, the numbness fades, and I can think.
I allow myself to lean on instinct to fight for my survival, which has always had to be strong, habitual, even.
I block out the heavy blackness in my soul that is grieving and focus on Mama Tina and Renna.
I know they’d be crushed if I never returned. Can I do this for them… if not for me?
“Who are you?” I ask him quietly, aware of the other dinner attendees and the fact they may try to listen.
“If you’re finished, we can discuss this privately.” He places his hands on the table and moves to stand.
“I’m not.” I shove a large bite of meat in my mouth and force myself to chew.
He watches with a raised brow and lowers himself back to his seat. I don’t want to be alone with this gloamy murderer.
“I guess we can begin a formal introduction here, while you… eat.”
Gorge myself is what he means. I’ll keep eating as long as it takes to avoid being alone with him.
I grab a handful of wild berries from a tray near the man to my left, triggering him to look my way with wide eyes and a respectful nod as he shoves the plate closer.
I don’t have enough feeling left in me to be embarrassed.
“My name is Renton, King Renton.”
“King Renton of what kingdom?” I ask with my mouth full—don’t want him getting any ideas that I might be finished.
“Of Moneyre, of course.”
I nearly choke. The audacity. I reject the urge to narrow my eyes and widen them with curiosity instead.
“I’m true heir to the throne of Moneyre. King of a people locked away by Lucentia who are ready to free ourselves and reclaim what is ours. Being banished has lost its… shine,” he says with a wry, sarcastic smile. “I’ve heard us called gloam masters, by some.”
I frown. “Gloam can’t be mastered, only destroyed with enchanted weapons and lucent. It’s simply a waste product of using lucent, and it eats away like rot at our kingdom,” I say bluntly, still certain this guy is a whole other level of crazy. That is why enchanted weapons are so expensive.
“Really?” He chuckles, his eyes shining as if he finds me amusing. “Suddenly you’re the expert when my people and I have been controlling it for over three hundred years?”
I stare at him, pressing my lips together. He lies.
He takes my reaction as permission to continue. “Were you ever told that Lucentia has a brother?”
I stare at him, forgetting to chew. The guy is out of his mind.
“Hm. I didn’t think so. Not surprising, but still, disappointing.
No one likes to talk about the dark family secrets…
” He drifts off a little as he says it. “His name is Gloam, and he is the one who gifted me with the magic. We call it gloam to honor him, of course. Ikar Moneyre, the current… or shall I say past… king, is the grandson of my twin brother, Ricard, who was unfairly given the throne.” His eyes darken. “I’m the true heir.”
The pain his words cause makes it difficult for me to follow his story, and I’m left wondering if my mind is just too far gone to understand or if he’s actually telling me he’s hundreds of years old. “How are you still alive?”
He leans back in his chair as if to relax, but his fingers tense on the armrest. “We were banished, almost died… but gloam saved us. We are no longer captive to the passing of time as mere mortals are.”
The man just became twice as terrifying.
Renton glances down the suddenly quiet table and smiles. “It appears we are finished here.”
A tactful way to say that we need the very privacy I’ve been trying to avoid. In a panic, I attempt to grab a few more berries, but he snatches my hand before I get my fingers on them and pulls me firmly, albeit gently, around the table.
What in the blazes am I supposed to do?
“I wasn’t quite finished yet,” I rasp.
He chuckles as if we’re friends and he’s known me for years. “You were done ages ago.”
He tucks my arm around his and clasps a hand over mine, where it rests on his forearm, then instructs everyone else to continue the meal as he pulls me out a side door and into a shadowy hallway.
I look longingly back at the crowded table that sits silent as their king leaves, but when I see all of them staring after us, I quickly turn back around. This can’t be good.