Chapter 46
The next time I hear footsteps, I perk up and give my visitor my full attention. Lynx peers at me through her mask from the cell entrance. The guards open the gate, and she gestures impatiently to me. “Well, come on.”
Stiffly, I get to my feet, and as soon as I am beside her, she lays a hand on my shoulder and jumps us out of the brig and into …
somewhere else. I slowly breathe through my nose, trying to ward off the sick feeling in my gut.
We’re standing in a passageway before a door, with two guards plus the Terraforger already there.
This time, the Terraforger is unmasked, light brown eyes teeming with so much emotion that I’m inclined to keep my mental shields firmly up.
“We don’t have all day, Pendry,” Lynx bites.
The Terraforger seems to hesitate, but then she snaps her fingers and the chain between my shackles disconnects with a rattle.
The cuff on my right hand breaks apart next, and all the pieces float into Pendry’s waiting hands.
I’m left with a simple manacle on my left arm and the continued dampening effects pressing into me.
Lynx steps forward, close enough for me to be overwhelmed by the scent of roses and bitter herbs. As if she’s attempted to cover up something more medicinal with far too much perfume. I stand still as she grasps my arm and lifts it, checking the shackle. Satisfied, she drops my arm.
“Tidy up, get dressed, and be ready for your summons from the sovereign. All your clothes were left untouched.”
She takes a couple of steps, then vanishes as if walking is beneath her.
Pendry seems inclined to say something to me, but her pouty lips pucker even tighter, and she turns on her heel to hurry off.
I dare to peek at her emotions; her guilt barrels into me with such strength that I nearly lose my balance.
The guard opens the door to the bedchamber for me, and I step inside.
There’s a familiar, massive bed, black curtains drawn over the large bay window, and multiple swords hanging against one wall.
Lynx’s words suddenly make sense. My clothing …
Because this is my chamber. The last time I was here, I’d come to change out of my knight’s armor and into a suit for the Feast.
To dance with Durvla.
The ache in my chest becomes unbearable, and I rub at it as I force myself to push past the sentiments. A bath and fresh clothing should do me well. Then I’ll figure out what in hells my next step will be.
There are no servants to fill my bath, nor do I have the freedom to fetch the water myself, so I scrub the filth off my body with a washcloth and tepid water from the basin in the bathing chamber.
I trim my beard close to my face and stare at my scraggly reflection in the mirror. I’ve seen better days.
But I’ve seen even worse days.
My hair is in need of a trim as well, but time isn’t on my side.
I pull it back into a bun at the nape of my neck and slip into a fresh shirt and lightweight trousers.
My maroon uniform stares at me from the wardrobe.
I run my fingers over the material. Five years in Carys’s service and just as many in the Royal Brigade.
Just when I’d gotten used to being my own man … here I am again.
A sigh drops from me as my door swings open. I’m fully clothed, but I feel naked without weapons. No swords, no daggers, no Wielding. Only my mind.
“Let’s go,” says Lynx.
My steps appear sure, but my legs feel shaky as I follow her out of the room and down the hallway. We walk past several doors, making our way swiftly toward what I’m certain is Iywan’s study. Or Rheon’s now.
The burly man sits behind the desk. I’m reminded of the many times I’ve been summoned to his office or tent during my active duty with the Royal Brigade.
How many times have I stood before this man and received orders I was reluctant to carry out?
How many horrendous laws have I enforced in the name of justice?
How many Forayers did I train? How many Grounders were hanged or banished because I felt obligated to follow Erleya’s twisted laws?
“Welcome,” Rheon says, standing from the desk and dismissing a man with dark brown skin and flowing robes.
Jac! I glare at the youngest Master Historian Erleya has known as he bows to Rheon. That pretentious shit can irritate me by mere proximity. He’d always sided with Iywan, and now Rheon? He averts his gaze before sweeping out of the room. I’ve never trusted him and neither did Carys.
I turn back to Rheon. “You’ve retained the Council, I see.”
Rheon smiles with a coolness that I’m too familiar with. “Jac is the only survivor, evidently.”
My back straightens. I feel my nose wrinkle before I school my features into disinterest.
“Ah!” Rheon says lightheartedly as a clanging sound comes from somewhere behind me. I glance over my shoulder as a couple members of the kitchen staff file into the room with dome-covered silver chargers. A savory aroma reaches my nose as they walk past me and into the adjoining dining chamber.
Rheon holds his hand out toward the chamber, smiling courteously. I give him a nod and make my way into the next room. He follows me. “I hope you enjoy lamb and leek pie. We also have fresh mussels and seasonal vegetables.”
It’s an odd combination of foods, but the golden crust of the meat pie does look tempting. “I do,” I say to Rheon, though it feels like there is a rock in my throat.
“Sit.” He gestures to a chair.
I highly doubt he’s cursed the chair or anything, but it still takes me a moment to sit down. A tan young woman with curly blond hair glances askew at me as she fills Rheon’s goblet. As she moves to fill mine, I gently hold my hand up. “No, thank you.”
Surprise and intrigue lifts her brow.
“You mistrust me,” Rheon says, and the young woman straightens, glancing between us. Unease rolls off the other servants, a crawling sensation down my spine.
“I don’t generally consume alcohol.”
“You’re not on duty.”
“I’m always prepared.” A smirk twitches at the corner of the blond woman’s lips, amusement lighting up her green eyes.
“You can leave the bottle,” says Rheon. “You’re free of duty now, thank you.”
The blond dips a gentle curtsy and leaves the room silently while one of the other servants cuts the pie, dishing out slices for Rheon and me. The other servant piles vegetables and mussels onto our plates.
“Enjoy,” Rheon says after dismissing the servants with a wave of his hand.
I lift my fork to dig into the pie, but that rock in my throat slips down farther with the first bite I take.
For a while, there’s only the sounds of the metal against porcelain and quiet chewing.
Even as the rock descends farther and settles into my stomach.
I place my knife and fork down, folding my hands atop the table.
Rheon’s eyes land on the manacle enclosing my left wrist and I keep my gaze unfaltering when he meets it again. “That must be uncomfortable,” he says.
“I’ve been in worse discomfort.” The scar along my neck itches, and I resist the temptation to scratch. “Why have I been brought here?”
“It seems your patience has dwindled over the years, soldier.”
I shrug. “I’m no soldier.”
“Ah, see that’s where you’re wrong, lad.” He waves his fork in the air before unceremoniously popping more pie into his mouth and chewing. “Once a soldier, always a soldier. We’re brothers—bound beyond blood. Ties that cannot be broken.”
Bullshit. Needing something to do with my hands, I pick my fork up again. “Commander, if you could be straightforward with me, I would appreciate it.” Before this fork accidentally ends up in your neck.
“Join the Zenith. That’s all. Join our cause, fight for the winning side, and you will be pardoned of all misdeeds.”
“Misdeeds?” My knuckles go white on my fork before it drops onto my plate with a clang. “Do enlighten me.”
Rheon gently places his utensil down and leans back in his chair, his dark blue eyes narrowed on my face. “Your involvement with the rebels and their attempted slaughter of the princess five years ago. You never served your sentence.”
My stomach plummets. The sentence was fifty lashes prior to being hanged. “Are you threatening to hang me, Commander?”
He forces his jaw to unclench as he smiles through the annoyance jabbing at him. It takes great control not to grin knowing that not calling him Excellency is getting under his skin.
“Not if you join our cause.”
“Queen Morwenna pardoned me years ago,” I say.
“The queen is dead.”
The words feel like a physical blow, even knowing what I do.
Silence fills the space between us, and long gone is my appetite.
As risky as it is to fully open my mind, I gently do so, prodding at his.
The man radiates a strange energy I can’t place—it feels dissonant and unnatural.
Yet I can’t sense any Wielding within him, and his emotions come to me so scarcely.
I’m almost certain he has something that protects his mind. Everything about him feels wrong.
“Your beloved princess nearly burned down the castle. The entire council room was ash by the time I arrived. Councilors included. Jac survived because he hadn’t been present at the final meeting.”
My heart lurches. “How fortunate for him.” The bastard. “What is expected of Zenith members?” I inquire, shifting my focus so as to not dissolve under my hatred for Jac and Rheon.
“Support in our endeavor to create the strongest army Erleya has ever seen. The strongest army the world has ever seen.”
Queasiness stirs in my gut. “A Mage army?”
“Indeed.”
My jaw nearly unhinges. “How do you intend to do that when, for years, we have enforced anti-magic laws?”
A wicked glint appears in his eyes. “Perhaps it appeared that way on the outside, but I have been recruiting Mage soldiers for years now. Slowly. Surely. Patiently.” He grins at me then lifts his fork to resume eating. Mince falls from the tines as he shovels more pie into his mouth.
“You have no powers, though. Why do you think you’re the right person to lead a Mage army?”
He takes another mouthful of food and chews with a strange, closed-mouth smile. He drinks a few sips of wine and says, “Because I’ve given them sanctuary in a kingdom that has sought to and succeeded in killing their ancestors. Because I am the hope of Erleya.”
Damarlach smite me … With an argument like that … We are in for a world of trouble.