Chapter 37 #2
The last heir other than Vander is tall, and handsome, with light-colored hair and piercing green eyes.
He’s the heir of House Drake. Instead of a sword on his back, he wears a bow and a quiver of glimmering arrows, tipped with a glittering metal I don’t recognize.
He turns to me and bows. “I will offer my invitation … if you promise to visit me, should you survive the journey. And if you consider my hand.”
My hand. He wants to be … matched. I can tell from the look on Vander’s face that this is a big deal. An immortal heir … considering a human worthy of his House at all.
My brows slightly lift. He is handsome. I’m sure he would make an excellent match for anyone. But I can’t offer anything resembling a future.
Still—I nod. Because even though I already have the invitation I need, the end of the quest is uncertain. I’ll take as many promises as I can get.
His green eyes sear into mine. Slowly, very slowly, he lifts my hand to his lips, smoothing them against the silver markings. Then he buries his bow into the ground. It glimmers with the oath. I press my metal to his and feel it like a whisper through my blood.
He raises to his significant height and turns to Vander. “I’m leaving,” he says. “She’s the only one I want.” He looks over at me, glance heavy but not ogling. “I’ll see you soon, Aris.”
Then he and his bow vanish.
I turn to see Raker still glaring at the place he left. That glare makes its way to me. “You didn’t have to make every oath,” he says.
I frown, shocked by his anger. “These oaths could make the difference between life or death.” He doesn’t look convinced. “They could be the difference between making it to the gods or not.”
That doesn’t do anything to dim Raker’s fury.
Of course not. He hates it here. He hates every one of these heirs.
I can almost understand why. He’s a warrior, from lowly birth.
Seeing these heirs, perhaps he doesn’t think they earned their armor and metal.
Not the way he did, on countless battlefields.
“And you?” I ask, turning to the immortal bloodbane. “Ready to get on your knees?”
Vander smiles, recalling our conversation just hours ago. “In time, human,” he says. “In time.” He looks at my blade. It’s twinkling with the new invitations. “You know how to summon me, if needed.”
I nod.
Suddenly, Ethel steps into the room. She’s holding a magnificent scabbard crafted of Starside steel. Stories have been carved into its metal, endless etchings that must have taken decades to make.
She gives it to Vander, turns her nose up in my direction, and strides back out of the room.
He hands it to me.
A pinch forms between my brows, and I don’t even open my mouth, unable to find words, carefully taking it.
Vander smiles, sharp teeth gleaming. “No one, not even a blacksmith, will be able to summon your sword when it’s in here.”
It’s invaluable.
“Thank you,” I say, the words breaking. He’s helped me more than I ever could have expected.
“Human,” Vander says, the word spoken with a shadow of appreciation that wasn’t there before.
“As much as your attitude speaks otherwise, you are not immortal. Portaling with your sword will expend significant energy.” He looks over at Raker warily.
“Especially with someone else. Your invitations will grant you hospitality at the Houses you travel to. Eat. Rest. And … I hope you complete your quest.”
“So do I,” I say, nodding my thanks again.
“The other heirs will be ratting you out as we speak, to gain favor with their gods. Your journey will be more perilous than ever. Go.”
We do.
As we get farther from the music, and the laughter, and the wonders of this mysteriously long courting ball, part of me, that pretending part, withers.
That isn’t my life, I think, passing by the beautiful woman in the transcendent gold dress, the one Vander was watching so intently. It’s someone else’s. It’s hers.
This beautiful moment will never be mine again.
As we fetch the rest of our things, Raker remains quiet.
“What?” I finally ask once we’re outside, striding toward the gates, his silence unnerving. It’s like he’s slipped back into who he used to be weeks before. The knight crafted in stone, the monster behind the mask.
He doesn’t say anything. Of course he doesn’t.
We pass the threshold, where Vander portaled me in, and I can’t take it anymore. I whirl to face him, throwing my hands up in frustration. “Clearly, you don’t agree with my plan. Is it just because I came up with it? You’re used to making the plans, not following them?”
My anger seems to call to his, because he finally speaks. “You give yourself away so easily?” he spits. “I would have thought someone like you would have a bit more pride.” He says the words with clear derision. As if he has any right to judge me. As if he has any right to me at all.
“Why do you care?” I demand, yelling, my voice spilling through the empty grounds.
I can’t see his face. It’s beneath the hood again. His hands are in fists. His entire body is coiled tight.
Then, in a flash, he’s pressing me against those open metal gates.
My mouth goes dry, remembering how he felt against me, without armor on. How he glared as his body responded to mine. How he hated it. How he leaned in just the slightest bit anyway. How his eyes seared into steel as I ground against every inch of him.
My blood pounds with need, remembering. Waiting to see that firm, well-practiced control snap once more, for good.
His hands are on my hips. He’s staring down at me, curved low, and no.
Now that I’ve seen him, I don’t want to look at shadows.
I reach up and tear his hood back—and he lets me.
He’s not wearing his mask. My heart stutters, just seeing his face.
My voice is a whisper. “Why do you care?” I ask again, and I wait.
I wait, and when he doesn’t say anything, I place my hands on his, not knowing if I want to remove them, or just feel them under mine.
He grips my hips harder. My breath hitches. His eyes darken into ink, bleeding into mine. Slowly, they drop to my neck, and the diamonds sparkling there. “Take this off,” he demands, instead of answering.
I scoff. “Are you back to ordering me again?”
“It means more than you are aware of.” Again, I am reminded of my limited immortal education compared to a king’s knight.
I lift my chin. “And what if I don’t care?”
At that, his eyes blaze. “You should care about being claimed, Aris. I would have thought that was exactly what you were hoping to avoid.”
Claimed? I rip the necklace off and shove it at his chest, pushing him away. “How convenient that you tarnish every shred of happiness that comes my way. Not everyone wants to be as miserable as you are, you know.”
I nearly slip out of his grip, but his gleaming gray eyes keep me still.
“This?” he demands, holding up my jewelry like it’s worthless and not valuable enough to feed villages for centuries.
“This makes you happy? Shiny, pretty things?” He shakes his head in near disgust. His head leans low.
His gaze slips down my dress and back up again.
“I’ve seen you, beneath these fabrics. You don’t need diamonds. ” My lips part with a gasp.
He must have heard what Magnus said—how the diamonds now made me shine “brighter than the stars and moon combined.”
You don’t need diamonds.
The words echo through my mind, and I hate him for it. Because he doesn’t just get to decide to say something like that after insulting me.
We glare at each other, chests heaving. He gets closer, as if to say something else, something he wants me to hear clearly.
Then his gaze flickers to the side, toward the shining gates at my back, and I watch him shudder. Shudder.
I turn, wondering what could make a warrior as fearsome as Raker flinch, but there’s nothing there. Nothing but his reflection.
“I wouldn’t want to take away any more of your happiness,” he says, dropping the necklace into my hands.
He turns to go, but my voice stops him. “I told you. The only thing I care about is reaching the end of this.” I shrug. “And the promises mean nothing. I don’t plan on living that long anyway.”
“So you’ve said.”
“So you’ve said,” I say through my teeth. “Almost exactly.” I tilt my head at him. “Or have you changed your mind about my chances of survival?”
He says nothing.
He doesn’t need to. I did it. I got Raker medicine. He’s recovered. I got invitations that will get us to the Land of the Gods in mere days.
I push off the gates, shaking away these feelings that are making it way too hard to focus.
The quest is all that matters. It must come first.
And now more than ever, I see a path to the end of it.
Breaking up the portaling by going smaller distances might be what’s best for my energy, but I don’t care.
I don’t want to waste another moment. My mind is full of my purpose as I dig my sword into the dirt.
Power pulls me down, as if something is being drained not only from my metal but from my very bones. “House Rodin,” I whisper.
Raker’s hand grips my elbow—and then we’re gone.
If Raker is surprised by our destination, he doesn’t show it. If anything, he seems pleased we’re skipping all the Houses but one. In any case, I don’t give a shit.
Not when he’s been so unpleasant, even after everything. Does he think I want to beg these men for their oaths? Does he think it pleases me to make promises I almost certainly can’t keep?
The black iron gates we landed in front of begin to part by themselves, emitting a high-pitched howl.
And it’s immediately clear that this house is meant to honor the God of Death, at least in appearances.
House Rodin is crafted of pure dark obsidian. The walkway is lined in towering statues. All with the same subject. A man with every muscle imaginable, wielding a menacing sword.
Fear inches through my blood. This is the god that wants my head. The same one who is collecting stolen brides.