Chapter 52 Bryony #2
“The box, honey. Keep up. You want it, I have it. I know exactly what’s inside it.” He spreads his hands. “When two parties hit a wall, they negotiate. Usually with less attempted murder.”
“What do you want?”
The Dark King grins again, circling me in a slow, predatory stalk.
“So many options. I could see how many organs I can remove before you stop breathing. The record is seven, in case you were wondering. Or maybe I’ll keep you.
Wind you up like a pretty doll and make you dance for my court.
The irony of a Devaliant serving drinks to the people her family tried to slaughter?
Perfection.” He pauses, considering. “Really, it’s an embarrassment of riches.
Which would you prefer? I’m feeling charitable enough to let you pick. ”
“Before you start contemplating body parts, you should know the Wolf’s my Chosen. I need the box for him. Alexios covered his Claim so you’d kill first and ask questions never.”
He gives a little laugh. “Oh, right. I did hear whispers about the Wolf losing his mind over some human pussy. Hard to believe Evander’s standards dropped that low.”
“The laws protect Chosen—”
“The laws protect legitimate Claims. But all I see is a Devaliant with no proof except her word, and that means less than shit to me.”
That’s it, that’s the last straw on this terrible day. I’m tired of everyone’s shit. No more playing nice.
Screaming through my teeth, I lunge at him and slam the Dark King into the nearest pillar, burying my dagger into his shoulder. It’s a clumsy strike, wild and artless. A final blaze of glory since he’s probably going to kill me anyway.
He just smiles, and it’s the most beautiful, terrifying thing I’ve ever seen.
“Oh, fuck yes.” He yanks the knife free, twirling it between his fingers as the wound knits shut.
“I knew you’d be—” He freezes, studying the blade with sudden intensity.
Then he asks with deadly softness, “Where did you get this knife?”
I step back, my heel catching on an uneven flagstone as I hurry to put space between me and the intense emotion radiating from him.
Trap trap trap, something in me gibbers. Caught caught caught.
“I-It’s mine. Not that it’s any of your—”
“Did you steal it? Buy it from a fleshtrader?”
“Of course not! I—”
The Dark King seizes my throat and slams me into a pillar hard enough to make my teeth rattle. “Then let’s try this again.” His fingers tighten. “Tell me where you got the knife, or I’ll ask your corpse.”
Stars burst across my vision. “Gift—during Aethertide. A-Ama—” I claw at his grip as pressure builds. “Amara. Her name was—”
He wrenches his hand away. I collapse to my knees, gulping desperate lungfuls of air. The roaring in my ears drowns out his next clipped words.
“—trained you how to use it, too. Didn’t she?”
I squint up at him. “Sorry. Hard to hear over the sound of you trying to crush my windpipe.”
“You move like her,” he says with an impatient gesture. “Those turns, those strikes—that’s her style all over.”
I nod. Anything to keep his hands away from my throat.
He stares at me for a long moment, something raw and complicated moving in his expression. Then he sighs, shuts his eyes, and mutters, “Fuck.” He offers the knife and jerks his head toward the door. “Take your knife and your fucking box and go.”
I stare at him as I accept the blade, not understanding the sudden rigid line of his shoulders, the set of his jaw.
None of this makes sense. The Eternal that parents invoke to terrify unruly children into obedience is just…
letting me go with my organs where they belong?
After all this? Because I mentioned Amara?
“Why?”
He exhales sharply. “Because if Amara gave you this, she’d be pissed with me if I made your corpse dance. And I try not to disappoint her, even if I’m shit at it.”
I force myself upright on shaking legs and grab my prize before he changes his mind.
“Wait.” He jerks his chin at my withered arm. “I can’t heal your other injuries, but I can repair the necrosis.”
He crooks his fingers before I can cringe away, and a pulse of his magic sparks beneath my skin. Not the same consuming arousal as Evander’s, just… warmth. Like liquid sunshine in my veins. I watch as healthy flesh flows over the rotted black, whole and unblemished once more.
“There.” The Dark King meets my stunned gaze, his face giving away nothing. “Good as new. Don’t mention this to my Chosen, and we’ll call it even.”
Understanding slams into me. The reason for his mercy, the softness limning his words.
“You.” My mouth opens and closes. “You’re Amara’s Chosen? The one who she—”
Regrets.
So that’s why all those demis bowed to her in Caelestis during Aethertide. She’s bonded to an Eternal. Not just any Eternal—a scary as shit death god. No wonder she had all that paint warning everyone off.
At my words, the Dark King’s expression frosts over, as remote and pitiless as the void between stars. “Get out.”
He turns away in a whisper of shadow and indigo feathers, his wings stretching.
‘I’m halfway across the atrium when his voice rings out again, softer this time. Almost hesitant.
“Was she… okay? When you saw her last? Did she look well?”
With his guard momentarily lowered—when he sounds like that, as if he’s been yearning for years—I see what Amara must have seen. What made her Choose him despite everything.
I hesitate, choosing my words carefully. “She seemed happy. Strong. Still lights up any room she walks into.”
“Good.” There’s a slight bend to his shoulders, as if hearing that answer pains him. “That’s good. Glad to hear it.”
“Would you…” I bite my lip. “Would you like me to say something to her? As thanks for letting me live?”
He blinks. “No.”
Hard. Final. Whatever vulnerability I saw is gone, replaced by the ruthless Eternal of Nyholm, head of the Dark Court.
“Okay.” I clear my throat. “I’ll just be going, then. Alexios has Evander, and I’m here because I negotiated to unbind his powers. This was one of my tests.”
“Well, who am I to judge someone’s suicidal devotion to their Chosen?” He gestures to the door. “Get out of here before I change my mind. And Princess? Next time Alexios wants to use you as bait? Tell him to go fuck himself.”