Chapter Twenty-seven #2
The princess looked distant for a moment. ‘Far away from this place.’
Thea wondered if it was a note of yearning she detected in Jasira’s voice, but her attention was drawn across the table, to where the king had addressed Wilder.
‘Did you glean any further information from our prisoners, Warsword Hawthorne?’ King Artos asked, sipping at his wine.
‘None that your men hadn’t already gathered, sire,’ Wilder replied blandly. ‘I’m afraid the monsters didn’t live through my interrogation.’
Thea’s blood went cold. She was suddenly aware of the fact that the hands that had wrung such pleasure from her had wrought such pain on others only hours before.
‘Good,’ the king said. ‘Two fewer creatures of evil in these realms.’
‘I share the same sentiment, Your Majesty.’
King Artos raised his glass to the Warsword and drank deeply. When he was done, he dabbed the corner of his mouth with a linen serviette and turned away, carrying on a conversation about the latest social season as though he hadn’t just approved of death by torture.
All around them, the nobles were getting drunker. Plates and cutlery were cleared and Thea felt herself drawn back to the melody drifting towards them. It seemed to coax out her magic, Artos’ royal magic too. The air was thick with it, and Thea could feel her own power surging at her fingertips.
Beside her, Jasira fidgeted. She wondered if it affected the princess as well.
In between songs, a herald announced that the ballroom was now open, and the throngs of nobles were directed through grand double doors to the far side of the Great Hall.
‘Now would be the time to escape, if you’re so inclined,’ Princess Jasira murmured, gathering her layered skirts in her hands and eyeing another exit.
But the music drifting in from the next room fascinated Thea, and she found herself taking a step towards the doors the herald had indicated. ‘I’ve never been to a ball,’ she told the princess. And I doubt I’ll ever get the opportunity again , she added mentally.
The princess laughed. ‘This isn’t a ball, but my father would be pleased to hear you’re impressed. He puts a lot of effort into these things.’ Jasira herself sounded anything but impressed. ‘I’ll bid you goodnight, then, Thea. Enjoy the dancing.’
And before Thea could reply, the princess slipped away.
In the flurry of movement, Thea had lost sight of Wilder too, so she headed to the ballroom alone, swept up in the crowd of jewels, silk dresses and fine tunics. In the next room, the fiddlers had been joined by other musicians, forming a seven-piece band that graced a stage at the front.
As Thea moved through the nobles, she realised that many of them were staring at her, others giving her a wide berth.
At first she met their gazes in question, but after several men bowed their heads in reverence to her, she realised: they knew who she was.
Not a lost heir of Delmira, not a storm wielder, but…
‘Wraith slayer,’ someone murmured.
‘The next Warsword of Thezmarr,’ another whispered.
‘The Shadow of Death…’
Thea nearly scoffed at that, but as she tried to scan the faces around her, someone blocked her path.
King Artos himself.
She bowed low. ‘Your Majesty, thank you for your generosity this evening,’ she said. ‘The room, the gown, everything —’
He waved a hand, silencing her. ‘Nonsense. You are a defender of the midrealms now, Althea. Not to mention, I owe you a life debt. The least I can do is treat you like an honoured guest in my home.’
‘Sire, I —’
‘No objections, Althea. I came to ask you to dance.’ He held out a hand and smiled kindly.
Thea froze, staring at his outstretched palm. She couldn’t say no to a king, but… she also couldn’t dance – not fit for royalty.
King Artos waited.
‘Your Majesty,’ she said quietly, keenly aware of all the eyes suddenly on her and the King of Harenth. ‘I… I don’t know how, not properly.’ She didn’t elaborate that her sole experience with dancing involved her and her friends throwing knives at each other’s feet.
He took her hand. ‘It’s easy. I helped teach Jasira. I can show you as well.’
Thea swallowed. There was no going back now. Her hand was grasped firmly in his and he was already leading her out into the centre of the ballroom floor, her face aflame.
A new song began. King Artos lifted her hand with his and placed his other hand on her waist. ‘This one is a simple waltz. A matter of counting your steps, like so… One, two, three and one, two, three…’ He moved her with him as he stepped confidently across the floor.
One, two, three, one, two, three , Thea counted in her head. It wasn’t too dissimilar from a footwork pattern Wilder had shown her on the road to Delmira.
The music increased in pace, and King Artos led her around the room, the nobles clearing a path for them and watching on with curiosity. Thea didn’t have the capacity to worry about what dancing with the king might imply on a broader scale. She was busy trying to keep up and not step on his feet.
‘You’re a natural,’ he told her kindly, his rich tone matching the warmth that had started to blossom in her chest. Thea flushed with joy.
Once she was sure she wasn’t making a fool of herself, or worse, of the king, she felt herself relax into the melody and the pattern of their movements.
King Artos spun her around effortlessly, and for a brief moment, Thea wondered if her own parents would have taught her and Wren how to waltz, or if they would have had royal tutors for that.
The thoughts left her head as soon as they appeared, the breathtaking melody sweeping across all her senses, her body becoming lost in the rhythm, her feet following the steps easily.
She wished Wren, Sam and Ida were here to see it, to swirl across the ballroom floor themselves.
It had been Ida who had forced them to include an element of dance in Dancing Alchemists, to prepare them in the event that they should ever attend a ball or wedding.
Thea had always doubted she’d ever see such a thing, and yet here she was.
The music built and built, and the king spun her around and around. A laugh spilt from her lips —
‘May I cut in, Your Majesty?’ came a deep, rumbling voice.
And the spinning stopped. The strange warmth blooming in her chest faded.
Wilder Hawthorne had just interrupted the king, and something evaporated around them, like a bubble had burst.
But King Artos didn’t miss a beat. ‘Of course.’ And he passed Thea to the Warsword. Wilder’s grip on her was firm and oddly grounding.
Thea knew the smile Wilder offered King Artos was fake. ‘Thank you,’ he said, leading her away.
‘Did you just cut in on the king? ’ she asked in disbelief.
‘I did,’ Wilder replied casually.
Thea felt suddenly sick.
Wilder seemed to sense the shift in her, because he held her upright when her knees buckled. ‘Look at me, Thea…’ he murmured.
She did, and gasped at what she found. His silver eyes were aflame with fury.
‘What’s going on?’ she managed, leaning into him.
‘I believe the king just used his empath abilities on you,’ the Warsword told her, placing her hand on his shoulder and drawing her close by the waist.
Thea gaped. ‘What?’
‘Dance with me, Thea… We cannot talk of it here.’
Doing her best to recover herself, Thea straightened and took in the sight of the warrior before her, clad in black finery, poised to dance with her.
‘I thought you didn’t dance?’ she muttered.
‘I don’t. Haven’t for a long time, anyway,’ he replied. ‘Except with you.’ He didn’t wait, just swept her up in a brilliant waltz, the music wrapping around them, leading them through its own form of magic.
Where Wilder touched her, Thea came alive.
The warmth she felt in his arms was different.
Rather than a blanket over her senses, it came from within, rich and golden, a symphony of feeling.
She revelled in his strength and rhythm, in the fact that she was the exception for him.
The music, the Warsword, the magic – it enraptured her like nothing else, and she felt her own power simmering, rising inside her —
‘Easy, Princess…’ Wilder murmured. ‘If I can feel that, there’s a good chance the royals can.’
But it was like a drug, like a cyren’s call, and Thea fell to its lure.
Wilder swore under his breath and practically hauled her from the ballroom floor, pulling her out into an abandoned corridor.
If there weren’t rumours about us before, there will be now , Thea thought abstractly, as she swam in Wilder’s quicksilver stare.
‘You need somewhere to blow off some steam,’ he said quietly, looking around, checking that they hadn’t been followed.
Thea’s blood instantly heated, her cheeks burning at the memory of what he’d done to her in front of the mirror earlier.
‘You’ve got a filthy mind, Apprentice…’ Wilder told her, surveying her parted lips with a darkening gaze.
Thea was too tightly wound to laugh.
Wilder’s voice was hoarse when he spoke again. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
‘Where to?’ she asked, feeling utterly untethered from herself.
‘Where all the Warswords used to go when they needed a night off. Come with me…’