Chapter 15
S alt and sea clings to my hair.
The wind is violent this far out from shore, especially on the comically small boat we used to get to the waystone. Sin wasn’t exaggerating—it really is a slab of rock in the sea. Far enough off the coast someone from a foreign boat wouldn’t be able to magick themselves here and swim to shore, but too close for a large sailing vessel designed for the tumultuous depths of the ocean.
I step onto packed sand that is stained dark still. Sin checked the tidal calendar before disconnecting from Torin to determine in which hour the tide would be at its lowest. Given this isle is hardly larger than our bedchamber, most of it must be covered during high tide, only the top of the waystone visible. But now, with the waves barely cresting over the sand, the waystone stands tall and proud, a beacon in the sea.
Aldred and Vox disembark behind us, a low whistle coming from the former. I assume the Black Art’s commander is always on the receiving end of its connection, given his mundane nature and from the way he rushes to it, not bothering to mask the fascination glinting in his eyes.
I approach, my limbs heavy as if even they are apprehensive of the magicked artifact. Or maybe it’s just from the manacles that bind my ankles together once more, their chain connected to the collar at my throat. With my injuries healed, River helped slather cosmetics on my neck and collarbones, and more around my ankles. Painted bruises and iron burns for the Black Art’s pet.
It was too risky to leave our home isle without looking the part. This particular waystone is on Aegidale’s territory, and Torin won’t approach without us extending an invitation through the ether. It would be an act of war otherwise, but Sin gave orders to allow a Baelliarah vessel through our barricades. And we couldn’t risk them spotting the prisoner being dressed in her chains through a spyglass.
Magic stirs in my gut as I approach the stone, the cool breeze against the back of my neck suddenly feeling like a warning. The rock, blanched from goddess knows how many years baking in the sunlight, is striated with ribbons of blue and green. The base of the stone is rectangular with a ring of packed stones stacked on top, forming a wide circle with an open center, similar to a window on a ship.
The surface has been made smooth with the wear of the ocean, and the corners turned rounded. Small, foreign symbols are etched into the stone on the northern side, but it’s not just the symbols that hold my attention, it’s the rock beneath them. Perfectly preserved from the elements—the stone still a deep, dark gray, rough and porous. I study the ring more carefully, looking through the naturally formed window and searching for a glimmer of the magic enchanting it, but only turbulent waves look back.
“It’s called a causeway,” comes a smooth voice.
I startle, not having heard Vox approach, his footsteps even more silent on the sand.
He gestures to the ring that sits like a diadem on the waystone. “Magic is sort of… caught in there. It bends and moves differently, its cycle eternal, and its life never ending.” His usual angular features seem to soften as he speaks about it, his tone thoughtful. I glance back to the strange encryptions.
Elvish.
I hadn’t realized I said it aloud, but Vox nods. “Don’t tell me you thought such awe-inspiring magic was capable of being channeled by mortal men, blood mage.” There is an edge of tease in his voice, but his gaze remains downcast as he studies the rock, his hands pinned against the small of his back.
I glance behind me to find that Aldred has returned to Sin, the two of them speaking in hushed tones about what’s to come from this meeting. I briefly consider why they have muted their voices, and wonder if the Black Art is paranoid that Torin can somehow hear us through that stone.
“I thought it manipulated the collective,” I say, brows furrowing. A force the elves have often spoken about with condescension. “Sin said?—”
“I do not mean it offensively when I say this,” he interrupts, “but your betrothed is often confidently incorrect and speaks without consequence. The waystones are engraved with elven runes, and I’m unsure how much you’ve learned of our culture thus far, but our language is binding. Absolute. Unlike the wayward word of kings.”
I start to object but quiet when he silences me with a look. “It does not make you a disloyal partner to acknowledge his faults.”
No, it doesn’t. And I have no qualms with confronting Sin when I think he’s done something wrong, but hearing his word questioned from someone else has me biting back a rebuttal through my teeth. “And I do not mean it offensively when I say that most men are confidently incorrect, Commander,” I lie, knowing goddess-damn well I do mean it offensively.
Vox lets out a rough chuckle. “Perhaps. I never claimed to be without flaws, blood mage, but I also would have never thought less of you because of your gift.”
I flash him a grin that’s more a baring of teeth. “Yet you had no reservations about sacrificing me to your Source.”
“ Our Source,” he corrects, but to hell with that. Right now, I have a slew of more important things to figure out than the true origin of blood magic. His gaze turns to the sea, both our braids whipping out behind us as the breeze rips across the isle. With how rigid he stands and the final rays of sun glancing off the sharp angles of his face, he could very well be carved from marble.
“What do you make of our relationship?” he finally asks.
I look at him curiously. “Excuse me?”
“Are we friends?”
The question is so… blunt , juvenile almost, that it takes me a moment to make sense of his words. After a moment, I don’t find his question to be juvenile at all, just honest.
“Friends don’t sacrifice each other for power.”
“And lovers don’t chain each other to their thrones while they pretend to be their slaver and rapist. If you want to get specific, that is.” There is almost, almost, a tug upward of one corner of his lips, but he smooths it away quickly.
I glance behind me to find Sin and Aldred still in discussion, his commander’s hand stroking his own jaw as he listens intently to whatever the Black Art shares with him. I turn back to Vox, not bothering to mask my vexation. “Why are you asking?”
A too-casual shrug of his shoulders, the worn-in leather there sighing with the movement. “Friends swap secrets, do they not? Since I’ve given you a reason to distrust me, I will share one without asking for one in return.”
He stops, his eyes sweeping to mine to gauge my reaction. I want to stay irritated with him, but curiosity pecks at me like a vulture. Fine. Besides, any secret the elf wants to share with me can only be to our advantage, right?
“I’m listening,” I bite out.
At that, he does smile.
“Aeverie foresaw that one of you would perish that night. We were unsure why, but when they attacked before the blood moon… it was like the last piece of a grim puzzle finding its place. I knew you asked her about that before, if she knew.” He trails off for a moment, tearing his gaze away again as he studies the water, his lips slightly parted. Something is off about the elf tonight, a tiny fracture in his sculpted image, but I can’t quite place it. “I want you to know that I was betting on you. By all accounts, the magic should have overtaken you, but even so, my wager was always on you, blood mage.”
She knew. They knew. They fucking knew.
I whip towards him, rolling onto the balls of my feet as I lurch towards him. “Is that supposed to earn my respect? You were willing to sacrifice either of us, but it’s alright because you had a hunch I might make it out?”
Surprise eclipses his face, my reaction seemingly unexpected to him, though I don’t know why he’d expect anything else. “If he hadn’t died, none of us would have made it out. You needed to wield his power.” Vox lifts his chin, staring down at me over his slender nose.
I’m suddenly aware of the silence behind me, Sin having stopped talking the moment I raised my voice to Vox. I feel his stare on us, and so easily I visualize how his jaw and hands have clenched, but to his credit, he doesn’t approach. The warlord may speak without consequence to his subjects, but he does no such thing with me. Sin is many things, but he is not a fool.
“You once asked me why in all my years I have not committed myself to another. I have a duty to my people first, blood mage. The same duty Singard accepted when he swore his oath. Some of us don’t have the privilege of breaking ours in the name of love.”
“He has not broken his oath.” The words breathe out of me like fire.
“Perhaps he has not yet, but if my centuries on this earth have forewarned anything, it is the motivators and weaknesses of men. If it came down to saving only you but every other man, woman, and child would perish, or protecting the entire realm but you would die… why, it would be an awfully lonely existence for you, blood mage.”
The commander’s words lash through me like a crack of a whip. It is not often I find myself without refutation, and for once, I am grateful when I hear Sin’s voice intervene, now directly behind me.
“Any particular reason you’re shielding your conversation with my betrothed?”
“Shielding?” I parrot, not looking away from Vox.
He shrugs and finally tears his dark gaze away to look over my shoulder. “Didn’t want our chattering to distract you from your briefing is all.”
“I assure you it is more of a distraction when I am acutely aware of you privatizing your conversation with her.”
He was masking us . Making it so our words could not be overheard by Sin or Aldred. Interesting.
“Apologies, Your Grace, I did not realize she could not speak outside of your earshot. If your curiosity is so piqued, by all means, ask her what it was we were speaking on.”
I exhale sharply. “Let’s not do the we talk about Wren like she’s not standing right here thing, okay? We have a stone to activate, do we not?”
Sin and the commander share an extended beat before he finally looks over his shoulder and motions for Aldred to return to the boat. He leaves us then, helping his head-of-war moor the small boat along the shore, leaving Vox and I alone once more.
For a moment, there is nothing but the cresting sea roaring between us, until finally, he steps around me to walk away. He pauses when he’s parallel to my shoulder, and not meeting my eyes, Vox says, “There would have never been chains with an elf.”
Vox’s words drum through me, again and again, even as Sin withdraws his dagger and nicks the palm of his hand before pressing it to the stone. Fortunately, the scent of his blood pooling into the indents beneath the elvish carvings is enough to drag me out of my haze.
It happens quickly. A blur of powder blue smoke clouds the inner ring, and a second later, a single strike of white light blinds the isle on the opposite side of the causeway. The scent of magic invades my nose—rusty and sweet, like an iron-thorned rose. The fog swirls and swells, rising up in a tower of pearl blue before it collapses in the form of two silhouettes, their shadows winking in and out before solidifying into flesh.
Two forms. Neither belonging to the king.
They’re donned in their signature silver plated armor, their sword and shield crest burned into their chest plates. They share a strong likeness—surely brothers. Each possesses a head of blond hair, though only one of them has the hints of strawberry, lightly tanned skin, and a narrow chin, but their likeness extends beyond their physical features. It’s also in their stances—feet slightly farther apart than their shoulders, their weight leaned back with their hands close, but not quite touching, the weapons on their hips.
Vox and Aldred shift at the same time, both reacting to the brothers’ subtle aggression, but Sin remains motionless, his mask refusing to slip. The guards sweep their gaze across all of us, lingering on me for a few extra seconds. The one with the reddish hair cocks an eyebrow at my attire, and his tongue darts out to moisten his lips, but he says nothing. Sin does react to that, in the slightest shifting of his shoulders to obscure me more from their view.
“Where’s your king?” he asks tightly.
“General Marlowe,” the lighter-haired one introduces. “We share the name, so you only need remember one. King Torin is waiting in the vessel. He should only require a few minut?—”
“We agreed to meet here. Forgive me, Generals, but it is insulting to think I would step blindly onto a potentially hostile ship.”
Vox scoffs in agreement, but Aldred remains a statue, only his eyes moving as they flick across the sea, scouting for Torin’s ship.
“Not you, Your Grace.” I don’t have time to register his words before Marlowe’s attention flicks to me. And then they become startlingly clear. “Only your pet.”
“No.” Sin’s growl is gravel, and he takes a step to the side, this time his effort to shield me not going unnoticed.
“It was King Torin that proposed the conditions of this meeting, and in a show of good faith, we opened our waystone for you,” Aldred interjects. “His refusal to come here himself is a grave insult to His Grace, not to mention a tremendous show of mistrust.”
“Our king assures you that no harm will come to the witch in his care, and she will be gone for only a few minutes. There is no need to?—”
“No one is stepping a foot off this island, General,” Sin snarls, his mask now definitely slipping to reveal the warlord beneath. “Anything your king wishes to say to the witch can and will be spoken in front of me. She is mine. Either Torin enters the causeway, or one of you returns to drag him here yourself, but I do not lend my toys out to others.”
The fair-haired brother drops his gaze, his eyes widening and his lips parting as his expression morphs into one of disgust. It’s then I notice that Sin’s claws have sprung forth, and he makes no attempt to sheathe them. And why should he? It isn’t as if Torin and his flunkies weren’t made well aware of what he is.
The reddish-haired brother steps around Aldred to take a better look at me, and the commander pivots so he still remains between us.
“I just wish to look at her,” he says. “Forgive my curiosities, but there isn’t much that intrigues our king, and I am simply wondering what it is about this… thing that warrants his interest so completely.”
I step around Aldred, tuning out the argument that is now progressing between Sin and the other brother. Aldred shoots me a warning look, but I dismiss it as I step closer to the general. “I’m inclined to say the shifter king keeps me around for my charming personality, but he wouldn’t know a tolerable woman from his own ass. You should see the company he brings to his bed. Quite pathetic, really.” I part my lips then, just enough to brandish my teeth. “I just keep holding out hope he will eventually feed them to me when he grows bored of their unimaginative forms of pleasure.”
The guard beholds me with a furrow in his brow, his expression a mix of bewilderment and curiosity, but not fear. “You’re awfully bold for a witch without her magic.”
“A witch without her magic, sure. A witch without her appetite? Oh, goddess no, General.”
“Retrieve your king, or we take our leave,” Sin demands from my left. There’s just enough fury in his tone for Aldred to look towards where they argue.
That’s all it takes.
That one lapse.
I don’t have time to react before the guard dives for me, his words hot on my face. “This won’t be pleasant, witch.”
And that’s when the world turns gray.