Chapter 60 #2
Is he about to make her feel like a fool for what she’s just done? Is he going to gloat? Find a way to boast his highborn greatness because, lo and behold, Rhea is evidently twisted enough to somehow be attracted to him after all, wondering what it would be like for a moment if he kissed her?
Damn it to Merikh’s realm and back. Why the hell had she just let herself do that? She is a fool. An absolute fo—
“Fuck it.”
Finlay swallows Rhea’s face with his hands, his grip tight as he slams his lips into hers. The kiss is not gentle. It is not soft nor testing. It holds a burning furnace behind it, his mouth aggressive and rough with hers.
Finlay threads his fingers through Rhea’s hair—narrowly missing her hairpin—and tugs at the strands forcefully.
It draws a moan from Rhea’s lips, which forces a growl from Finlay’s.
Their tongues clash like dueling swords as their lips devour each other. Rhea lifts her hand to the nape of his neck, where she also grabs a fistful of Finlay’s hair. It is soft. Silky, even.
She yanks on it right as she pinches her teeth into Finlay’s bottom lip, slowly dragging the grooves of them over his plump skin.
Ecstasy coats her skin at the low moan he seems unable to hold back.
His hand slides down from her face and over the slope of her breasts to bracket her hip, where he digs his fingers so deep against the curve of her, his nails bite into her, bringing about a dull stinging pain.
Rhea is sick for how much it turns her on.
She plants her palms against Finlay’s chest and pushes him backward until his back hits the thick trunk of the cypress tree.
She sees him glancing down at her, the uncertainty in his eyes at him being the one pinned against something.
Until his mouth hooks up at the corner, and he reverses their positions.
Rhea scowls at him, but Finlay only chuckles. “For once, just do as you’re told.”
She cocks her head, blinking at him with saccharine sweetness. “And what is it you’d like me to do?”
He growls again, the sound low and deep in his throat. “Whatever I tell you to.”
“And will you praise me as a good girl if I do?”
She is still teasing him, her tone nothing short of mocking. Yet Finlay’s eyes flare with a desire so palpable, it is like fingers caressing her skin; the pleasure she feels from it hums the same.
He leans in even closer, his breath a warm cloud on her lips. “You, Rhea Brooksley, are anything but a good girl.”
“Does it make you want to punish me? Force me to behave?” Rhea’s hand roves down to find Finlay perfectly hard for her.
The bulge in his trousers is so firm—so swollen—Rhea almost licks her lips.
Thankfully, she manages to hold off on that action.
Instead, she tightens her grip, molding her fingers around the large shape of him.
She taunts him with slow, toying motions.
Finlay’s head falls forward, his forehead pressed against the trunk of the tree just over her shoulder. “Fuck, Rhea. Do not do that if you aren’t prepared for what happens next.”
“And what happens next, Finlay? What are you going to do to make me stop?”
He lifts his head from the tree to look at her, his eyes an inferno so at odds with the usual iciness filling the turquoise color. His lips crash into hers again, somehow even more hungry than before.
Rhea welcomes it, her stomach clenching and unclenching with desire.
Finlay slides his fingers from her clavicle, down the center of her breasts, along the slope of her stomach—Rhea not even flinching when he reaches that part of her body—until they reach the top of her pants, where they still. “Tell me you want me to go further.”
Rhea, who is breathless and a mess of delirious heat, only holds his simmering gaze with defiance, not wanting to do as she’s been told.
Finlay realizes it instantly. He repositions his fingers to toy with her on the outside of her billowing pants, just as she had done to him.
The festival clothes she has on are much thinner than her usual attire, which means she feels every teasing stroke he makes against her in vivid color.
“Tell me,” he demands against her mouth.
“Tell me you want me, Rhea. Tell me, and I will be yours.”
He has increased the speed of his fingers as they rub against her, sending blissful shocks of warm heat flooding her entire body. She shuts her eyes and bites her lip, sparks of color popping off behind her closed eyelids.
Gods.
She had no idea he would be so skilled with his fingers.
“Tell me, Rhea.”
Heat builds and builds inside her, and crazy though she may be for thinking it—for feeling it—she does want him. Gods, she fucking wants Finlay Fjolla. All of him. Every last icy piece.
“I…I want…”
Before she can get the words out, an authoritative voice bellows from only a few marks away, “Fire-wielders, halt!”
It is an immediate bucket of water to their senses.
Rhea stiffens, and Finlay’s eyes widen before he pulls back from her and crouches low. “Get down,” he demands, his hand finding her shoulder and pushing her downward before she even has a chance to do it herself.
She doesn’t protest.
They both peek their heads out from around the large cypress tree to assess the scene. The blood drains from Rhea’s face at what she sees.
Figures wearing hooded cloaks are lined up in four neat rows stretching from east to west. There are so many of them, they aren’t even able to see where the line ends. They can only see where it begins—a few marks east from where Rhea chose to hide away from the bustling city.
A man whose hood is removed stands before the cloaked army, a long, jagged scar marring his cheek. “Wielders, prepare your lakt?.”
In perfect unison, each person exposes their palms to the sky, an unnatural energy sharpening the air. Lights from the magic accumulating in all the wielders’ marks glow against the darkness, and Rhea swears she can smell the distinct scent of burning embers.
“Well, what a sight this is to see.”
Finlay goes rigid beside Rhea.
She spins around, fingers already reaching for the dagger sheathed at her ankle.
Audwin Fjolla stands behind them, hands clasped neatly behind his back while his tilted head observes them like caged animals meant for entertainment.
Finlay drops to one knee and bows his head. “Father.”
“Hello, Finlay. I wish I could say I’m surprised to find you with this girl at your side, but frankly” —he purses his lip— “I am not in the slightest.”
To Rhea’s surprise, Finlay ignores the comment. “What are you doing here, father?”
“What does it look like I’m doing, boy? I’m overseeing the start of a gods-damn war.”
“War?” Rhea echoes.
Audwin slides his eyes to her, his lips twisting as if he’s just tasted something unpleasant. “Please, do not speak unless spoken to. I have no time to explain matters reserved for men to you.”
Finlay lifts his head and rises from the ground, his hands balled into fists at his sides. His tone is clipped when he replies, “Fine, then I shall ask you the same question. What do you mean overseeing a war?”
Audwin sneers at his son. “Have you truly been so blind? You probably have.” He sighs pointedly.
“The people are rebelling. Noble houses are turning against each other, pointing fingers and looking to place fault. Our biggest threat has been neutralized—broken—and our next biggest threat, the Anatolé Kingdom, has formally been pinned with the blame. Which means all that is left to do is officially declare war. And this? This is our proclamation.”
The man whom Rhea now assumes to be a commander bellows instructions into the air a few paces away from them. “Wielders at the ready. Aim. Fire!”
In perfect synchrony, the fire-wielders all pool a large ball of flames into their hands, casting a warm glow in the surrounding dark.
There are hundreds of wielders, resulting in hundreds of fireballs.
They send them racing into the outer perimeter of the city, shooting their magic in a straight line to start.
Rhea goes slack at the sight of it. “No,” she whispers, forced to watch the first line of trees and the same abandoned alleyways their hideout was in erupt in a blaze of light.
She stares at the vermillion glow, unable to fully process what she’s witnessing.
For a moment, everything becomes dreamlike.
Until she realizes…
“Draven!” She moves to sprint, but strong arms grip her waist immediately, pulling her back. Rhea twists her chin over shoulder and snarls like a rabid animal. “Let me go.”
“No,” Finlay says. “Draven will be fine. I’m not letting you run into a city condemned to burn.”
“You should listen to him, girl. He’s giving you sound advice.
” A small flurry of ash sways in the wind, falling down onto Audwin’s shoulder.
He glances at it, swiping it from his fine clothing like a pesky insect.
“Besides, I can’t have you running off anyway.
I am to deliver you somewhere for a very special game.
One which Draven will be in attendance for as well.
From what I gather, he may have need of you. ”
“Fuck you.” Rhea spits at Audwin’s feet.
With his arms still securely around her waist, Finlay lifts Rhea off the ground and turns, setting her down gently behind him. When he squares his shoulders back to his father, Rhea realizes he’s just put himself directly in between her and Audwin.
“You’re not taking her.”
Audwin laughs. “Are you really going to attempt to defy me now for a girl you just called the Dalmar’s charity case mere months ago?”
Rhea sees the way Finlay’s muscles tense. Still, he does not relent. “Whatever plans you’ve made, leave her out of it. Father, please—I have never asked you for anything, but I am asking you for this.”
Audwin frowns. “You have never asked me for anything because you’ve never been in a position to do so.
Because you have always been so incompetent—so worthless—you knew to never dare request something from me.
” He strolls forward, a look of genuine confusion pinching his features.
“Truthfully, I don’t know why you are attempting to play the savior now.
I know you were assigned a private mission by Bathara’s council to find Lyra Izacalli yourself.
That you have been in close correspondence with Cahlmon Orius, detailing for him Draven’s movements.
It was a big aid to us, honestly. I was even going to reward you for all you’ve done.
Now, however, I am not feeling so kind.”
A jolt colder than ice lances down Rhea’s spine. “You betrayed Draven? Again?”
Finlay turns to face her. He looks like he wants to reach for her, hands twitching in front of him while a silent plea fills his eyes. He takes a step toward her, but when Rhea mirrors his movements in the opposite direction, he halts. Finlay drops his hands back down to his sides.
His eyes harden. “No. I did not betray him in the end.”
“You helped them track us, though? Fed them information?”
He bites down, popping the muscle in his jaw. “It’s not that simple, Rhea.”
“Isn’t it? Because it seems pretty fucking simple to me. Either you helped them, or you didn’t.”
Finlay glides his tongue over the grooves of his teeth, bracketing his hands on his hips and glancing up at the sky. Until his eyes return to Rhea. “I’m telling you, I didn’t betray anybody this time.”
It’s too late. Rhea’s mind is made up the moment ghosts of impaled bodies on bloodied walls scream at her.
“It was you,” she hisses. “You are the reason this army is here—you told them where to find us, didn’t you?
” Rhea shoves Finlay’s chest. Hard. “It is always you. You betrayed Draven—betrayed me—for yet another time, you piece of shit.” She slams her palms into the panes of his chest again.
And again. He doesn’t budge an inch. Though he doesn’t attempt to stop her, either.
Finlay only shakes his head. “No. I never sent the final letter with our coordinates, Rhea. I thought about it—I was in communication with Master Cahlmon for a while—but I never—”
Rhea slaps Finlay across the cheek, the sound echoing ten times louder than its actual decibel. She feels the brokenness splitting her glassy gaze apart deep in the hollows of her ribs. “I hate you,” she whispers.
It is the quietest she has ever said the words to him. The softest they’ve ever spilled from her lips.
It is also the most she has ever meant them.
Finlay does reach for her now. “Rhea…”
Without another word to him, she strides past Finlay, her shoulder clipping him as she goes. “Take me to Draven,” she demands, facing Audwin.
“Rhea!” Finlay shouts. He sounds panicked. Desperate, even. “Rhea, listen to me—it’s not what you think. I didn’t do it this time. Not again. I couldn’t do it again. Please. I–I need you to know that. Rhea!”
She doesn’t stop to listen nor turn to face him. Her eyes instead remain forward, locked on Audwin, who looks at his son. “It’s time you come home to Aderwynn Castle. I will expect to find you there when I return.”
The thought is sour in Rhea’s mind. You finally got it, Frosty. You get to go home at last.
Audwin guides her away, leading her to a waiting aether-wielder. And when the aether-wielder calls open his portal, Rhea steps through without hesitation, determined to go to the one person who has been there for her as her only constant. The only true person she could ever put her faith in.
As she does, she pretends those aren’t tears slipping past her eyes.
Pretends her heart doesn’t feel oddly broken.
She scowls at herself.
Fuck a broken heart.
And fuck Finlay Fjolla.