Chapter 35 #2
I eat breakfast with Vander, who between bites tells me tidbits about this world, before heading off to whatever mysterious duties heirs attend to.
The ball is in just two days. I spend all the daylight hours in the library, that night practicing the dancing steps, and then when everyone is asleep, I sneak food to Raker.
He isn’t sick anymore.
We don’t talk. Every time I get an urge to say something, to let him know what I’ve discovered, I stop myself. I can’t trust him. We are contingent partners, nothing more, nothing less, and if he knew my plans, I worry he might try to make alliances on his own sword, all by himself.
Maybe I don’t need him, I think, if I’m able to actually get oaths on my metal. Maybe this is where we part ways.
I ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach at the thought.
The next morning, just one day before the start of courting season, Vander stands from breakfast and says, “You’ll need a dress.
Heartfall is full of dramatics.” That’s the name of the months-long courting ball, I’ve learned.
He rolls his eyes. “A person’s clothing signifies their importance.
You are human … already lowly. You’ll need to show your strength in your outfit.
” He looks at my weapon, considering it. “One that will showcase your sword.”
I think about all the hideous dresses in the wardrobe. Those won’t do.
He seems to hear my thoughts and frowns. He sighs. “There’s a room.”
I raise a brow. “I’m listening.”
“A dress … can be made for you there.”
Does he have tailors? I nod happily. Then the rush of excitement dies when I think through exactly what that might entail. “I don’t … I don’t like anyone seeing me naked,” I say quickly. “I could take my own measurements.”
“That won’t be a problem,” he says.
Relief floods through me. “Okay. I’ll need something … that covers. Covers everything but my face.”
He looks like the last thing he wants to be talking about is a gown. “Also not a problem.”
He motions for me to follow.
The room Vander spoke of is small and rounded. It’s in one of the turrets of the castle. Besides large, open windows, with long, sheer drapes, it’s empty. But not completely.
There’s a magic to this room. A force. I can taste it on the tip of my tongue.
Vander frowns as he presses a hand against the stone. “A dress that covers everything but her face,” he tells the room. “In any color other than silver.” Of course. Silver is the color of the gods. “Don’t be too fussy.”
Then he turns and closes the door.
I blink, dumbfounded. Am I supposed to wait? Is something supposed to appear?
After moments of silence, I walk slowly to the center of the room, toward the drapes that curl gently in the wind. They reach out, tickling my ankles before they blow back toward the wall.
A whisper sounds close by, followed by more.
It could be the breeze, but no … these are words.
They have a rhythm. I listen as closely as I can, but I can’t make out anything specific.
The tone changes, though. It sounds a little like an argument.
Many voices, weaving together, until it melts into one single sound.
The wind blows harder. The curtains lift higher, brushing my arms. Smoothing against my skin.
Then, all at once, they violently uncurl, whipping toward me with a crack.
I gasp and stumble away, but they wrap around me like arms, tightening, until all I see is fabric.
The whispers have returned, and they’re louder now.
Many voices, locked in a debate. I don’t breathe, trying to listen, but I gasp as something tightens around my waist. Then fabric is torn.
I feel the breeze upon my bare skin for just a moment, before it’s erased, and the curtain become a flurry again, ballooning around me.
Then the drapes settle, and the room goes quiet.
I blink, not knowing whether to thank the room or cut its curtains with my sword. But then I look down and decide on the former.
I’m wearing the most stunning gown I’ve ever seen.
It’s deep blue, with delicate white stitching, a tight bodice, a high collar, and a silky-smooth skirt that just barely kisses the floor.
I admire myself in the reflection of the partially open window, blinking, questioning if this can even be real. If I could even look like this.
I’ve never—I’ve never felt beautiful until now.
The door opens, and I see Vander leaning against the doorframe. He nods. “That will do.”
In the last few hours, I’ve visited the room more times than I can count.
Vander hasn’t stopped me. And the room …
I think it’s starting to like me. It’s made me all sorts of dresses that I know I’ll never wear, but I like to look at them.
I like to pretend, even for a few seconds, that this life could be mine.
It isn’t. I know that. It’s just a break from the endless hours spent researching in the library.
That’s where Vander found me a few minutes ago, far after midnight. He asked me if I would join him for some tea, and here I am, sitting on a thick balcony, knees pulled to my chest, overlooking the gardens.
“Your house is magnificent,” I say, glancing at Vander.
He looks at me curiously. “They don’t have homes like this on Stormside?”
A pang of sadness hits me. “They did, once.” I swallow. “The ones that are left … they’re nowhere near as grand as this.”
Vander Evren might be slightly terrifying, and have a massive ego, but he has shown me kindness. He has told me more than I thought the heir of a Great House would. I turn to him. There’s something I’ve been wondering for days now. “Have you ever been to the Land of the Gods?”
Vander blinks, as if pulled from a thought of his own. He shakes his head.
I lift a brow at him. “You are the greatest heir alive, as you and everyone in this house has reminded me.” I roll my eyes. “Why not journey there yourself during the quest? Why not try to get the magic?”
“The gifts of the immortal cup are unpredictable,” he explains.
“It’s the same reason humans often don’t drink it for immortality.
Few are strong enough to survive the Turn.
For our kind, drinking the cup can lead to greatness …
but it can just as easily become a curse.
There are horror stories throughout the years that keep most of us from trying.
” He lifts a shoulder. “We immortals value our lives more than you do. When you live this long, death isn’t an inevitability …
It becomes something to fear.” I remember when Daphne said something similar. Daphne.
“I didn’t take you as one to be afraid, Evren,” I say.
A ghost of a smile plays on his lips. “Not for me,” he says.
“I don’t have an heir. If I fall, the future of this house and my people is uncertain.
They rely on me to protect them.” I get the sense he’s going to have to find a match at this ball.
I wonder who will be enough for this impatient, prideful immortal heir.
“Protect them from what?” I ask.
His head tilts. “So many questions, human.”
Yes. So many. He doesn’t answer more of them as we walk back to the library.
I expect him to leave me here, as he usually does, but he walks to the center of the room.
The map pours from the silver of his sword again, melting across the table.
“This is the farthest I’ve gone,” he says, pointing at a stretch of desert far east of here.
The bottom of the sands Raker and I chose to avoid.
“I made it all the way here … and turned around.”
“Why?” I ask, not imagining this immortal warrior turning away from anything. Especially so close to the Land of the Gods.
He rubs at his jaw. “There is a creature there that is deadlier than all the rest. It makes men their own worst enemies.”
I don’t know what that means. With the expression on his face, I know Vander won’t tell me. He looks haunted. Wounded.
“Why are you helping me?” I finally ask. Yet another question that has stirred in my head in the last few days. I know it isn’t just Stellan. As Vander said, he’s responsible for much more than just himself.
“Because the gods took something from me too,” he says. “And I’d like them to pay for it.”
The door whispers closed as he slips out of the room.
The morning of the ball, I’m in the library when Vander says, “Not him. He’s a snake. Try him.” He points at the list of Houses I’ve made.
I jump. “I didn’t even hear you coming,” I mumble under my breath, cursing his immortal speed and quiet.
His eyes sparkle with amusement. He offers his hand. “Let’s see what you’ve learned, human.”
I oblige him. While we get into the steps, he says, “Why did you take House Rodin off your list?” I know why he’s asking. It’s the house closest to the Land of the Gods.
“It serves the God of Death, according to your books,” I say. “He’s the god after me.”
Vander seems to consider that. “Put him back on. House Rodin historically has served the God of Death, but secretly, the last few centuries, he’s been working against him.”
“You think he’ll help me?” I say.
“If it means opposing the God of Death he hates so much … then yes.” I nod.
And we dance. In the middle of these books, in the muted light, we dance. Vander adds some variations, but I know the pattern well by now and adapt. That seems to shock him.
“Impressive. For a human,” he says.
I give a poisonous smile. “Kind. For an immortal,” I say, as he twirls me. I see his sword, leaning against one of the shelves. He doesn’t ever carry it unless he has to. I wonder why. I also wonder about something else.
“How can you make that map, with your sword?” Is it something I could learn with mine?
In response, Vander uses our joined hands to summon his blade. It floats right above us. Then, in mesmerizing slowness, I watch as the metal turns liquid.
The paladian peels apart, and long silver curls begin to swim around us, sparkling and casting light like they each contain galaxies.
“This is a morphblade,” he explains. “A sword that can change properties.” All at once, the metal melts into a half dozen daggers. Then, a mess of throwing stars. Finally, it fuses again, forming a sword, and glimmers as Vander makes its blade longer, curving it into a scythe.
“It’s also a godsword,” I say, and Vander’s brow raises. He doesn’t ask where I learned that.
“Correct. A blade can be more than one thing, Aris. They can be just as multifaceted as people, gaining skills and powers over time.”
We continue our dance, with his blade still floating above us. “Just like people?” I say. “Is this you trying to convince me you’re misunderstood? You’re not the monster everyone whispers about?”
His lips twitch. Mouth already open in retort, he gently turns me for my first spin.
But whatever he was going to say dies in his throat.
He’s still gripping my hand. I turn back toward him, smiling, before I see that his gaze is fixed firmly on my wrist. And the sleeve that has ridden up over it.
I pull my arm back, stumbling. His sword is still gleaming above. I’ve seen how easily he can bend the metal to his will.
There’s no escaping him, but I try. Slowly, I step away, until my spine hits the books. My heart hammers in my chest.
Vander just looks at me. A moment passes.
Then he takes a slow step forward, with all the smooth gracefulness of a creature happening upon easy prey.
“Don’t be afraid,” he says, as if he can smell my fear. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead.” He says it so matter-of-factly, I swallow.
He reaches toward my hand again. I should cut his damn hand off. But his sword is just as good as mine, and I have nowhere to go.
I don’t dare breathe as his fingers grip my sleeve.
He hesitates. “Is this okay?”
No. No, it’s not. It shouldn’t be. Still, I might be afraid … but not of him. Not anymore. I nod.
He lifts my arm, so it’s right between us. I close my eyes as the fabric slowly rips, down my wrist. Lower. Lower. Cold air spills across my bare skin as it’s revealed, inch by inch. He stops right above my elbow. And I hear a sharp inhale.
“Silver” is all he says. It’s enough.
I open my eyes, and he’s staring at me like I’m not some lowly street rat, or thief, or blacksmith’s apprentice. He’s staring at me like I am something to marvel at, in this castle where everything is ancient and priceless.
“Now you see …” I say, my voice raw and brittle. “Now you see why I need to hide. Why my dress … why my dress needs to cover.”
“No,” Vander says, with pure conviction. “You don’t need to hide. You never need to hide, Aris. If you want to survive, you won’t hide at all. You will show them exactly what you are.”
I take a shaking breath. His eyes are still on my wrist. “And what is that?”
His rough fingers gently scrape down my pulse, down my knuckles, down my markings, and I gasp. No one’s ever seen me and marveled.
He leans down, and I can feel his breath right against my pulse.
“Magnificent,” he says.
Then he pulls away. “I’ll have something sent shortly.” He walks out.
And I’m left gripping the wall, wondering if I’ve just made the biggest mistake of my life, trusting an immortal heir.