Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
RHEA
Rhea Brooksley stands with her chin held high next to a man she’s only just met—Klytis Hilthrop—and she watches silently as Tynan displays the two of them like some sacrificial offering to the Three Kingdoms.
Fuck the Three Kingdoms.
Fuck Tynan Dalmar.
And fuck anyone who thinks differently.
The older man with aged white hair and soft blue eyes steps forward and stands beside Tynan once more.
He addresses the room, his voice a calm melody oozing with quiet power.
“The next recourse, as some of you might have already begun to ponder, is how these newly conscripted wielders will be assigned an aggregate. As most of you are already aware, once wielders pass our entrance exams, they are then personally Selected by a captain and extended an offer to join that captain’s aggregate.
This is a pivotal decision for our examinees—once they join an aggregate, even after they graduate, they remain a member of that unit even when acting as fully-trained Jurafen.
Naturally, there were many considerations when deciding the best course of action.
By allowing wielders to simply choose, we risk a power imbalance.
But having the captains Select wielders they’ve not yet spent time assessing poses risks as well. ”
Rhea actively suppresses the urge to roll her eyes. Men just love talking about how they arrived at their decisions. They turn it into such a spectacle—making grand speeches which make it seem as though the fates of the world rely on what sentences spew from their mouths.
Oh, Tynan most certainly made a grave error when deciding to bring her here.
Before, she had to remain silent and subservient.
If she didn’t, she would have been crucified in as cruelly of a way as Tynan’s twisted mind could imagine.
But now, it’s like she’s been handed the key to unlock the jail cell she’s been shoved into for a decade.
And now that she’s loosened her shackles—now that she will finally be able to operate outside of Tynan’s watchful gaze—she can dedicate her every fiber to achieving what it is she wants most.
Draven’s freedom. And her revenge.
Her eyes rove toward the shadows—toward him. She locates him instantly. His lip is curled like it always is, his features lined by a mask of cool indifference.
The fucking coward.
She hates him. Hates everything he stands for.
Hates what he took away from her—all that he cost her.
And the thing about hatred is it doesn’t fade.
It remains in the shadows, growing—festering.
They say time forgives all, but hatred does not operate within the bounds of time.
So as the years passed and Rhea served under Tynan’s thumb, her hatred only deepened.
Twisted over itself like gnarled roots sinking into rotten soil, sowing soured weeds that clotted in her veins.
Now, her starving hatred is only ready to be fed.
A wave of something almost pleasurable sweeps through her as she imagines it: the blade, the look in his eyes, the finality of steel plunging through his icy chest.
Yes, no matter how long it takes—no matter how much she must plot and scheme—she will get her revenge.
She will see the one who stole everything from her murdered by her hand.