Chapter 68 Vera
Vera
Iresist the urge to shrink away from Renton’s nose beside my ear. “It wasn’t I that ordered it, I’ll have you know. You can blame the low kings for that.”
He smiles the smile of one who believes he’s gained everything he wants, and fiery rage builds in my chest because it appears he has, and I’m helpless to stop it. Here he stands, whispering in my ear, attempting to convince me that I shouldn’t hold this against him.
He eyes the flower. “We’ll wed, first. You may choose to leave after that. You’ll soon see that I can, indeed, be merciful.”
Merciful? Does he mean he won’t force me to watch the man I love be executed?
I grit my teeth as he rounds the table. “I think we have different ideas about what mercy is.”
His eyes darken. “I could make you stay and watch. Is that what you’d prefer?”
He doesn’t wait for me to respond as he steps forward, leaving the shadows and entering into view of the crowd of people and soldiers spread before us.
It grows quiet all around us. “My people.” He gestures to me with a gallant hand.
“Here, our precious Tulip, who will restore the gloam masters to their rightful rule. Fortunately for me, you discarded the power you were given years ago when you chose to raise up originators to save your kingdom. But I see the treasure in your midst and will restore the Black Tulips to their intended glory.”
Silence covers the crowd, so deafening that my eardrums buzz.
Already his magic stirs in the air between us, dancing around me with wispy threads.
It’s cold, not offering the pleasant balance that Ikar’s heat brings.
Instead, the longer his lingers around me, the colder my magic seems to grow.
If I bridge with him, I will be forced to grow used to icicles within me for the rest of my life.
“Shall we begin, my flower?” Renton asks as if he truly cares for me. When I fail to respond, he looks over the crowd of people as he brings a wisp of gloam to his hand. “Did anyone tell you how quickly King Waylon died on his throne?”
The wisps flutter around his fingertips, and I know he’s threatening those who watch, those who would become his people—if they survive.
But for all the fear he’s instilling in me, I can’t pull my eyes from Ikar, who watches with an indecipherable expression.
A hot tear tracks down my cheek. I would never have guessed that life as I knew it would end in unimaginable betrayal.
But if I don’t do what he asks, all these people…
I know he’ll kill them, one by one until I comply.
I stare at Ikar until Renton guides my chin toward him with a gentle thumb. “This way, my dear.”
Moments later, I speak forced vows with him.
Vows that, with every word, rip my heart to shreds with poisoned knives I know will leave eternal scars.
Within minutes, we’re married. Sealed with a firm, chilled kiss that would’ve gone on had I not broken it off early.
I feel as if I’ve died and left my body empty of the soul that gave it life.
I stare across the crowd toward Ikar again, only to see his head hanging low, looking more defeated than I’ve ever seen.
Chest-crushing betrayal threatens to suffocate me, so heavy that I can’t draw a proper breath, and I stumble when dots blur my vision.
The crowd before us remains silent. Mournful.
Gray clouds churn on the horizon as night falls, and a lonely breeze gusts and stirs through the crowds.
I battle for control of my body—my head wants to preserve my life, but my battered heart aches to kill.
Renton slips an obsidian ring onto my limp finger, then places my hand over the stem of the tulip. My fingers stay flat against its smooth surface, and rage grows within me—pushed too far. This flower wasn’t intended for him.
“Hold it,” he growls.
Have I finally found the end of his patience?
The wisp of magic leaves his fingers and snakes smoothly toward the people at the forefront of the crowd. “Now, my dear.”
How many people would I be willing to watch die?
None.
My trembling fingers twitch, but I pause, attempting to sift and reason through muddled thoughts.
Can Renton even bridge with me if he’s not an official king of Moneyre?
If I don’t try to bridge, Renton will begin killing innocents…
If I do, Ikar will be killed, and all of us will be subject to his rule, but they might all die anyway.
How do I win?
My heart breaks, and another tear escapes the corner of my eye. It appears I can’t, but if I bridge now, these people might survive… and maybe I can save them somehow later. It’s a depressing thought. My life will never be my own again. All I wanted was freedom; now I have less than ever before.
“I love you, Ikar,” I whisper almost silently, attempting to send the words on a streak of lucent that I highly doubt, but hope he will hear all that distance away.
Feeling like a blazing traitor, my fingers curl around the thin stem, and immediately the ends of my magic unravel in answer, ready to officially bridge with another’s.
But before either Renton or I can react, a fluffy white ball flashes by, and the tulip slips from my fingers.
I stare at my hand, flat upon the cool iron-etched table, no tulip to be found.
“Shoot it!” Renton shouts.
My eyes lift to find Rupi soaring through the dark sky, tulip within her tiny grasp, small wings pumping hard to gain higher elevation.
Arrows fly toward her, then gloam hawks shoot from Renton’s side and speed toward her.
They’ll eat her in one bite. A muffled scream followed by choking comes from within the silent crowd, and a sob erupts from my throat.
The cold. The death. I panic as I watch Rupi struggle amidst a cloud of gloam, dodging weapons and gloam hawks until she drops the tulip, and it flutters and twirls back to the ground, landing somewhere on the platform.
Renton’s going to take her away from me too.
I lunge toward him, grabbing his arm as I scream for him not to kill Rupi, but her daring seems to trigger a cascade.
I watch with horror as one of the cloaked soldiers lifts his sword overhead and slams it toward Ikar, but instead of killing him, the chains break with a spray of sparks.
A wisp of hope rushes through me. Simultaneously, Drade and Renton shout orders to their soldiers, and suddenly chaos unfolds as citizens attempt to escape, screaming amidst gloam and soldiers at battle.
Renton shouts more orders even as the rogue guard on the platform frees Jethonan, who proceeds to catch a weapon tossed his way.
The cloaked man pushes the hood back to reveal his face.
Rhosse. I nearly collapse with relief. That is, until I hear the screeching of glass that can mean only one thing. Shard beasts.
Rhosse tosses Ikar an enchanted sword, and they jump into battle, fighting through gloam soldiers swarming toward the platform.
Darvy works to release the originators, who immediately race to battle with soldiers who already rally around Ikar.
Then gloam spreads from Renton in thick waves, spreading like a black ocean as soldiers from both kings pull swords on the other.
All around me the sounds of battle ensue.
I can clearly see Darvy and Rhosse battling side by side.
Then there’s Nadiette and her originators sending any bit of lucent magic they can, which is a dreadfully small amount.
But I can’t catch sight of Ikar, and a wave of panic engulfs me as small flashes of lucent light mix with clouds of gloam until I can hardly see past the steps.
Gloam monster’s roars and screams from the crowd overwhelm me until I’m tempted to clap my hands over my ears to escape it.
But I don’t have time for escape or hiding.
I don’t allow myself to overthink the great advantage Renton still has.
I waste no time helping in any way I can.
With a lunge that rips out every painstaking stitch I sewed into the slit of my dress I ram my shoulder into Renton’s, hoping to distract him from the focus he’s put into his gloam creatures and the awful streams of it leaching from him that slither toward his soldiers, fueling them.
When my shove hardly budges his large frame, I pull the lucent magic that still makes me who I am, shove my hands toward him, and push my magic and all its light into him, hoping that, like the deathstalker in his camp, he’ll simply explode into gloam bits.
No such luck. He roars in pain and backhands me so hard that I fall to the ground, seeing spots and fuzzy edges of blackness in my vision.
“Bridge with me now, or I kill them all. The tulip did enough of its job.”
“You are not the rightful heir,” I grind out. “It won’t work.”
“It appears I am,” he snarls.
His magic comes at me so forcefully that my arms shake as they hold me up from collapsing on the cold stone.
It violently travels my body, searching for the waiting edges of my magic, forcing his to complete mine.
My body grows so cold my teeth chatter, but I hold the edges of my magic to my soul, unwilling.
He grabs my hair and yanks my face up to his. “Now.”
A dark form charges up the steps to my left, and Renton is forced to form his own sword of gloam, black as the deathstalkers snarling within the crowds.
Drade appears, swinging a blood-soaked fae sword in an invitation to fight, and I’m reminded all over again how Drade secured his throne.
The eager violence in his eyes is chilling when he sees the way Renton grips my hair.
Fae soldiers surround him, protecting his back as Renton releases me and prepares to fight.