Chapter 68 Rhea
Chapter Sixty-Eight: Rhea
Sweat coats my forehead and back, the trembling of my hands now joined by the chattering of my teeth. But what ails me isn’t due to the weather.
Xander adjusts his stance on my right, shifting his gaze to me every few minutes it seems, but I avoid it as I have since I learned about Bella being a shifter and his involvement with her death.
“We’re almost done,” he murmurs, his arms crossed over his chest as wind blows his dark hair across his face. “It’s a smaller group.”
I’m sure that statement is meant to be helpful in some way. I’m so tired that I don’t know if I even have enough in me to heal another two guards, let alone another few groups of them.
When I don’t respond, Xander runs a hand through his hair. “Tell me what’s going on.”
I keep my gaze on the incoming men, all without their armor. They stay clustered together, their expressions ranging from confused curiosity to utter disdain. That has been a recurring theme since I started healing them at the king’s request. I don’t pretend that I don’t know the reasons why.
Xander and I are stationed near the guard barracks to the west of the palace, hidden from view of the castle’s occupants.
The barracks themselves are a standalone gray stone structure that houses only the guards at the palace while the rest of the king’s army lives closer to Vitour, so I had been told.
I had known from history books that because mortals lacked direct access to magic unlike the sirens, mages, shifters, and fae, that they had been given strength in numbers and the ability to reproduce more easily.
I had known, and yet seeing the sheer size of just one part of King Dolian’s army had been shocking.
“Look at them all,” the king had said from a private balcony that peered out over just one of the army’s training spaces in the distance. “Aren’t they magnificent?”
In truth, they were. The men that sparred with each other—doing target practice with arrows or perfecting their skills with all manner of weapons—were incredible.
Bodies in motion were stretched far and wide, hidden from the view of my tower because of the angle of the castle, but now spread out in front of me in a way that reminded me of an overflowing anthill.
“This is only a fraction of the power I hold,” he continued, drawing his lips up as I stared at the rows and rows of men. All prepping as if war was not some impossibility but an inevitability. “You will heal them all.”
With the command from the king, I was brought here for the first time some days ago.
While healing the sirens had been a slower process, the king demanded that I heal more than one man at a time, and thus, groups were brought to me, their size growing daily.
Some were outright terrified, begging me to stop once they saw the magic glowing in my hands.
Many tried to run, while others attempted to attack me.
Xander had brought men that he trusted for protection, including Brisk, who still guarded my door every day and accompanied me when Xander couldn’t, and together, they were able to keep the men contained.
I had to pretend their terrified screams were innocuous.
I tell myself now that I’m not actually hurting them.
If anything, I’m giving them a better chance at living a more normal life—one without fear of dying once they pass through the Spell.
But that is nothing but a lie, a placating statement whispered by the part of my mind that doesn’t want me to completely fall apart.
These men are bound to the king, servants to his will alone, and if I know anything about my uncle, it is that his vengeance is a slow burning flame.
With his army healed, he can march into any kingdom he wants.
I’ve lost count of the days that have passed.
What’s the point in keeping track when each one is spent either forcing me to reach a depletion of my magic that I have never felt before or in the company of people who have the king’s favor and look at him as if he’s some sort of god and I’m the roach he’s affectionately taken in?
Sometimes I feel as if I am standing outside of myself, watching things happen to me.
I can’t admit it—out loud or in my own head—but the numbness that accompanies those moments is welcome.
It is relief, a temporary pause in the battering of the churning sea I’m stuck in.
“Rhea.” Xander’s voice cuts through my wandering mind, and my eyes snap to his. “Are you okay?”
I nod and refocus my gaze on the men in front of me, magic pooling in my hands.
“So the rumors are true,” one guard says, a scar bisecting his eyebrow and crossing his eye, the iris a milky-blue color. “The king’s whore is actually a mage.”
“Watch it,” Xander snarls threateningly. “This is your future queen, and His Majesty has demanded that you respect her.”
I try to smile in the only form of gratitude I can muster, but the movement feels foreign. The muscles atrophied from lack of use.
“You know what she did, Commander,” another man says, elbowing his way to the front and eyeing my magic with an accusatorial glare.
I swallow and push down the ever-present screams of the men I killed to the back of my mind.
“A mage as queen? After King Dolian insisted that mages were the root of all our kingdom’s plights? Seems a little suspicious, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t question the king’s choices, and neither should you.”
Gods, his loyalty to the king seems so believable.
But had he thought that when he was tasked with killing Bella?
Had Xander really just viewed her as another casualty to further his own cause?
Did he make it quick? Was the last thing she saw the same cold and unforgiving gaze he had given me after Alexi died?
That’s what makes interacting with him hard now.
I know he has so much to protect, beyond just himself.
That people are relying on him and his secret machinations to create a better life for all.
But I am tired of those most important to me being sacrificed.
I’m petrified that anyone who gets close to me is inviting death to their doorstep.
And, despite myself and the memories that haunt me, I have grown to like Xander.
In another lifetime, perhaps, we could have had a friendship built on organic trust. But now his hand has caused the deaths of those closest to me, and I just don’t know if I have the strength to separate his two personas.
I’m just so tired.
“She is going to use her gift on you so that you can pass through the Spell without harm. There are no ill side effects. It will feel strange at first, but it will be over quickly, and then you can return to your duties,” Xander shouts, and the guards all tense.
It’s funny to hear him repeat the line about how my magic will feel, considering he hasn’t been healed. Nor has he requested to.
My magic vibrates at my fingertips, the sensation traveling across my arms and chest where it connects to that deep well within me that I now have limited access to.
Falling into the only sort of reprieve that I can conjure under the circumstances, I allow my eyes to close and, with a slow breath, release my magic towards the guards.
There’s an instant sense of relief as I pull more power up, warmth tingling all over my body.
Unbidden, the corners of my mouth rise as white light pours from me, and I don’t need to see to know that the guards’ bodies are lit from within, bright streaks running through them as if their veins are made of lightning.
Despite the chilly air that cascades over my body, I tilt my head back and bask in the sun’s rays.
I get lost in the heady rush of using my magic.
Why had I ever fought this? Why had I denied myself this connection when I should have been celebrating it?
My chest flares hot as my fingers twitch, almost like my magic is answering. Yes. It could always feel like this.
Help me, the rasp of my voice echoes in my mind.
Help me. Cold rises from my stomach, and for the briefest of moments, I feel them both—life and death.
It all settles heavily on me, an answer to my pleas.
Then, having met the requirement for healing the guards, my magic abruptly dissipates until I’m completely severed from it again.
My eyes flare, hands still outstretched towards the glowing guards.
I can’t help the quiet whimper of longing that slips out before my knees crash into the grass, knocking the air from my lungs.
“That is the last for today.” Xander’s voice booms before he squats next to me and waits for the men to leave, the garden falling silent except for the sound of my heaving breaths. “Rhea—”
“I’m fine.” I grasp the final drops of my energy to push myself up, only to nearly topple back over. Xander steadies me, and I allow his touch for a few seconds before stepping out of it.
“Did the king hurt you that night?” he asks, the words rushed and so unlike him that I whip my head in his direction. “You know I have people in this castle that I trust. One of them saw you and him in the hallway outside your room and…” He takes a breath. “Did he hurt you?”
My gaze falls to the ground, the shouts of those men on the beach echoing more loudly in my head. It’s at least preferred to the memory Xander brings up. “You’re asking a question you already know the answer to.”
“I am trying everything that I can, Rhea, to get that ring off of you,” he says, a desperate edge to his voice. “To work around the king’s magic so that you can—”
“I know,” I interrupt, my thumb pushing at the cool pearl ring on my finger. I had tried to find something too, only to come up empty handed.
“Come with me to meet the resistance. See the men and women anxious to help not just me or you but all of Vitour. All of the Mortal Kingdom.”
“I don’t think that is a good idea,” I answer, stepping past Xander towards the castle.
Every part of me aches, my eyelids growing heavier with each step.
Behind the pain and exhaustion, a hollowness lives within me.
Reminding me that I’m nothing but a blank canvas for the king to paint his worst plans on.
A shell of a woman, more than ever before.
“Why not?”
“It isn’t safe.” Not a lie, yet not my whole reasoning.
“Look, it’s none of my business—I know this—but I want to help you. I know it was hard hearing about Nox—”
“That’s not— He isn’t— This isn’t about him.” Hearing his name spoken out loud flusters me.
“Then tell me what happened.”
I stop, my chest already heaving as I squeeze my eyes shut. I don’t want to do this right now, but I force myself to turn and face him. “I know about Bella.”
Xander’s eyes grow wide with shock. “What do you know about her?”
“King Dolian told me everything. How she was held in the dungeon. The torture you both inflicted on her. Her death.” My voice shakes, but the anger loses out to my fatigue.
Xander doesn’t move, doesn’t seem to breathe as his eyes bounce between mine.
I turn and resume stalking to the palace, Xander’s steps falling behind my own a few moments later.
He follows me silently to my room, where Brisk takes up his post. Shutting the door, I cross the sitting room to my bedroom, undressing just enough to crawl back into bed, where I shut my eyes and beg for sleep.
I manage to avoid dinner with my uncle, and later Eve’s knock at my bedroom door stirs me from a light sleep.
Her blue eyes flare with something that looks like concern when I open the door, but she masks it beneath a pretty smile as she waves a small white paper bag in front of me.
It’s nondescript, but even if it weren’t for the sweet scent emanating from it, I’d recognize it.
It’s from the confectionary shop Alexi used to visit.
“The king asked that I pick up some things at the city center, so I just had to have you try the chocolate creams there!” Turning, she returns to the sitting room and lays the chocolates out of a napkin on one of the tea tables, talking about the flavors of each one.
When she realizes I haven’t joined her yet, she lifts her gaze back to mine. “What’s wrong?”
“What isn’t?” I scrape out, and immediately regret it.
Her expression dims as she takes a step towards me, her hands nervously fidgeting with the white apron of her dress.
Despite the late hour, she’s still working, and guilt barrels into me for that.
Because I can’t bear to wipe the smile from her face completely, I force my lips into a grin and walk to the tea table, taking a seat on the ground before grabbing a chocolate at random and popping it into my mouth.
“Tell me again about how you keep avoiding Edwin’s propositions,” I say as I chew.
She laughs, her shoulders relaxing before she undoes her blonde hair from the tight bun she keeps it in, and launches into another take of her and the man who loves her.
But even the light conversation doesn’t change how the chocolate tastes like ash in my mouth, nor does it chase away the numb feeling that pricks at me when we finish and she bids me goodnight.
Lying in bed, I stare at the ceiling for a long while, until my eyes grow watery and eventually close. I sink into welcome darkness, and quietly hope that it will hold me in its clutches forever.