Chapter 64
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
GRAY
Gray watches a hooded guard stick a key into the shackles at his waist and turn the lock free. He notices the guard does not dare remove the manacles from his wrists.
Gray strides to the center of the room, keeping his chin lifted high. He remains there as Tynan Dalmar descends the balcony, striding for him with his hands clasped behind his back and a tight—though deeply authentic—smile tucked into his mouth.
“Lion of the Heart.” He says Gray’s given title with a low vibrato, moving his hands in tune to the sound before clapping them together. “It is a pleasure to meet you at last.”
Gray dips his chin—the gesture tight and filled with distaste. He does not take his eyes away from Tynan Dalmar for a single second. “Supreme Commander.”
“Are you ready to play the game?”
“It’s not as though I really have a choice.”
Tynan grins. “May I be honest with you? I actually created it with you in mind. You were the inspiration who gave this artist his muse.”
“Don’t play with the boy, Tynan. I am eager to see my justice served.”
The corner of Tynan’s mouth tightens, but that is the only reaction he allows on his otherwise perfectly polished features. Tynan Dalmar is as smooth and unblemished as the glossy walls surrounding them.
He turns just enough to face King Alastair—the sight of whom fills Gray with a potent, molten rage. The moment the repugnant man strode out onto the balcony, Gray saw flashes in his mind of what he did to Lyra. The way he made her strip nude and bare her body to him only to take a whip to it after.
Gray feels his face twist with his distaste and anger.
The thought paired with his worries regarding Marcella and her safety is almost enough to make his exterior crack and crumble.
But he is the proud son of Sterling Nightenjoy, who taught him how to always keep his wits about him.
So he will not allow blemishes in his exterior.
He cannot let his frenzied emotions overtake his ability to think rationally.
“Of course, Your Highness,” Tynan says, inclining his head.
He squares his shoulders to Gray. “Allow me to explain the rules.” His lips part, but before a word breaks free, he pauses, observing Gray through narrowed eyes while a serpent’s smile curves his lips.
He releases an amused laugh. “Though it seems you’ve already put most of it together, haven’t you? ”
“Do not give him anything.” The growling voice comes from Draven.
Smooth as silk, Tynan holds up a finger to Gray. “One moment, please.” He strolls over to Draven, stopping only once he can gaze into his son’s eyes. Draven holds his stare with a curl in his lip.
Tynan slams his fist into Draven’s gut, then hooks him in the jaw with his other. “You will have your turn, I assure you. So please, do not interrupt me again.”
Draven bows slightly forward at the impact, a small grunt escaping him. Yet within seconds, he stands at full attention, spine straightened and shoulders rolled back. He spits blood at Tynan’s feet. “Fuck. You.”
Tynan grins like a smug cat. “I can’t wait to see if you keep that same bravado when your turn arrives.” He strolls away, hands clasped behind his back. “Telamon, would you be so kind as to encase them?”
“As you wish, Commander.”
The hooded figure to the left steps forward.
He exposes his palms to the sky, raising them up slowly.
As he does, a whitish-yellow energy thrums in the air, pooling above the heads of Lyra, Draven, and Rhea.
He slams his palms downward, and the energy morphs into a solid rectangular barrier, enclosing them.
Barrier magic.
A sound barrier, judging from the glow of it.
As if similarly curious, Gray glimpses Rhea opening her mouth, her face scrunched as if she is releasing a rage-fueled battle cry.
Yet he hears no sound. No signs of their existence.
“Now that we’ll no longer be interrupted, shall we continue?”
Gray says nothing, instead glaring at the man in front of him.
He has always known Tynan Dalmar was a cold and calculated man.
His father made sure Gray was well aware of the rumors surrounding Tynan’s insatiable curiosity for human behavior.
Why his appetite made him such a profound Master Strategist. Made sure that Gray was well aware they were not rumors at all.
Yet even knowing such information, Gray still would have never thought he would be this cruel. This vile.
Tynan takes Gray’s silence as his answer.
“We begin at the conception of a meticulously calculated plan. A plan where a continent has been split and power has been trisected and delegated. We begin where kings’ ambitions lie.
Where the desire for more power roots itself into the powerful.
” Tynan paces, hands folded neatly behind his back.
“But I suspect you’ve already deduced this, haven’t you, Lion? ”
Gray remains silent.
“Aw, come now. You must indulge me a little. It is a game after all.”
Silence.
“Very well,” Tynan sighs. “I suppose the choice to speak or remain silent can be level one of your turn then.” He halts, turning to the large stone doors carved into the glistening westward wall. “Bring him out.”
The stone groans, and a man with manzat manacles and chains around his feet is escorted into the cavernous room by two more guards wearing light-blue hooded cloaks. He has a small binding over his mouth, preventing him from speaking.
The world tilts, threatening to topple Gray with it. He immediately forces his way forward, but two sets of strong hands grip his shoulders, holding him in place. Gray jerks against the holds, and Tynan grins with delight at the sight.
“Ah, ah, ah. No interfering. Only your choices may determine the outcome of how this goes.”
They shove Gray’s father to his knees beside Tynan. His face is pallid and bruised, his normally warm eyes sunken and hollow. He has lost the once packed muscle from his bones, and Gray winces at how gaunt his cheeks have become.
How long have they been keeping him here? How long has his father been a prisoner while Gray was completely unaware?
Gray feels his expression slacken with grief. “Father…”
He lifts his eyes from the ground, finding Gray. They may have stolen his health, but they clearly have not stolen his mind. His father looks at him with the same sharp clarity in his gaze he always has.
So much passes between them in that silent look.
An apology. Forgiveness. A warning and a message.
“Alright, Lion. Your first test of the game.” Tynan moves to stand behind Sterling, where he presses an onyx dagger into his throat. “Tell me the deductions you’ve made, or watch me slit your father’s throat.”
Gray flexes his jaw, grinding his molars against one another.
“Three…two…”
“You are attempting to topple the Anatolé Kingdom and remove the need for a third king,” Gray spits, face scrunched by his pain and anger.
“The only way you can do this seamlessly is by giving the people a reason to believe Anatolé has become a threat to their lives. To their economy and prosperity. So you and the other two kings have been most likely conspiring for years, carefully sewing the seeds of discord, publicly—though subtly—isolating Erandor and Rivara Kingdom from Anatolé and its culture. You mean to make them believe the people have grown dangerous; their king a tyrant who is thirsty for power. Which is why you stoked the flames of the people’s uprising.
You allowed them to choke on the lavishness of nobility purposefully with the aid of the other two kings.
Then you carefully orchestrated attacks and planted evidence that would allow the blame to be pinned on King Yarum, thus giving viable cause for a declaration of war against them.
” Gray’s lips thin, his expression hardening.
“But all you are really doing is ruining centuries of peace for the greed and ambitions of men who only wish to feel the thrill of more power and the hollow satisfaction of more coin in their coffers.”
“Do not let him speak of us in such a way,” King Alastair growls.
Tynan lifts his hand, as if to silence a king. “All in due time, Your Highness.” He drops his dagger from Sterling’s throat and steps back. His approving smile makes Gray feel coated in grime. “Very good,” he muses. “You almost figured it out as beautifully as your father did.”
Gray’s gaze jumps to his father, his brows pinching tightly together.
“Oh, yes,” Tynan confirms, seeming to read the thoughts in Gray’s eyes.
“He has known about our plans for years. See” —Tynan tips his dagger to point at Gray’s father, then King Alastair— “your father here only became King Alastair’s closest advisor to monitor and combat his movements.
He was a spy, feeding intel to Bathara in hopes they would be prepared to combat these exact events. ”
Gray grows very, very cold. “Josiah…”
Tynan’s smile broadens, showing the full row of his perfectly polished teeth.
“Commendable. You truly are Sterling Nightenjoy’s son.
” Tynan paces once more. “Yes, all of that intel he was collecting? All the many actions he was taking to dismantle our plans? He had no idea it was all being rerouted straight back to me by Josiah himself.”
The knife wound stabbed into Gray’s heart at seeing Josiah lead his capture deepens, more crimson blood seeping free from the slice.
“And I am still not thrilled at being made unaware for such a long time,” King Alastair grinds out like a pouting child.
“You now know why my strategist did what he did,” King Erasmus soothes.
“So please, let him continue.” His voice carries an air of titillation.
Like he tried to hide his eagerness to watch all that’s about to unfold but failed.
There is also an expectedness wrapped delicately around his tone.
As though he knows something the others do not.