A Bargain of Smoke and Vines

14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

S olena delicately moves the last strand of hair into place, then reaches into the jewelry box and selects an emerald comb. She slides it through the crown of braids atop my head, being mindful of the sharp tines, and does not let go until it sits precisely right. A hint of a smile cracks her focused expression.

“Perfect,” she mutters.

I rise from the dressing table and stand before the mirror to take myself in. Not long ago I would have called this monstrosity, disgustingly opulent, almost grotesque. But now such careless words would be an insult to the maker of this stunning gown. The emerald green fabric, rich and lustrous, clings to my skin like liquid silk. The bodice is daringly fitted, its sweetheart neckline plunging low to reveal the curve of my collarbone and the swell of my chest. Tiny emeralds and diamonds trace intricate patterns along the fabric, catching the light with every movement. Delicate, off-the-shoulder sleeves leave my arms bare, draped in thin, jeweled chains that sparkle against my skin. Cinched at the waist, the gown flares into a skirt that flows like a waterfall of green silk, heavy with the weight of countless jewels and the hem is adorned with intricate beadwork, forming swirling patterns that cascade to the floor, with a train that sweeps behind me like a living thing.

Solena spent a long while braiding my brown hair into coils and pinning them in place, but leaving a curtain of soft waves to frame my face. With a spattering of white powder and a sweep of heavy black eye makeup, I am ready to meet my unwanted subjects.

“You are beautiful, your grace,” she says, an admission that she does not give easily.

But there is a softness to her voice, and she was so gentle while doing my hair and makeup. I’m so nervous about tonight, and a kind word would not go a miss. Is there enough goodwill between us?

“The queen says the thrall houses will not welcome me. What does that mean? What will they do?”

Solena is reluctant to speak at first, and I fear our relationship is unchanged. Formal and unfeeling, but then she exhales. “Most thrall houses are loyal to House Mordorin and will take up their swords when called. But there are some that do not want to go to war again. Their own houses have already dwindled in numbers after The Betrayer’s Battle, and Fae children, especially High Fae, are not easily conceived. It can take years for a couple to produce a child, far too long to replenish an army.” Her eyes scan the room as if searching for prying ears. “House Mordorin needs all the thrall houses to swear an oath to battle if they are to defeat the Legion. That is what Orios says.”

My jaw falls open. “You mean the Blades they have in Baev’kalath are not enough?”

Again, Solena’s eyes dart around my chambers. She leans toward me, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Protection for The Grove. That is what they promised you, isn’t it?”

I nod, hanging on her next words.

Solena’s head dips and she looks up at me from under her brow. “They barely have enough to protect Baev’kalath, let alone your lands.”

My head shakes in soft disbelief. “But that means… if the thrall houses do not accept me…”

“Then both our homes could fall to the Legion,” Solena finishes.

“But I have seen the power of the Mordorin,” I say emphatically. “I have seen Daedalus turn to smoke. I have seen the Blades soar through the air and fight like beasts unleashed.”

“Orios says not only have their numbers waned but also their gifts. Even with runes, some can no longer void walk, and there are even those whose wings refuse to spawn when summoned. He says it is a punishment from the void for their weakness.”

A hundred more questions sit on the tip of my tongue.

But they retreat when Arax opens the doors.

“My princess. Your guests await you.”

Solena curtseys and turns to leave, but I grab her wrist before she can escape. “You will come with me to the banquet as my handmaiden,” I say, my tone firm, but only because I do not want her to refuse me if given an option.

Her head jerks back in surprise. “Your Highness?”

I lean closer, urgency threading my voice. “I know nothing of Fae politics. I don’t know who anyone is or what I’m supposed to say or do around them. I need you.”

For a moment, her glare softens, vulnerability flickering in her eyes. “You… need me?”

I nod, my heart pounding. “Please, Solena. Come with me to this banquet, so I don’t make a fool of myself.”

In this moment of desperation, I lay myself bare before her, vulnerable and exposed, waiting for her answer.

“We would not want that,” she replies. “I will need a moment to make myself presentable.”

A wave of relief washes over me. “Take your time. I am in no hurry.”

As Arax and I wait for her return, I decide not to spare him from my anxiety either. “Will there be many there tonight?” I ask, fidgeting with the jewels adorning my dress, their cool touch doing little to calm my nerves.

He nods, his gaze fixed ahead. “Hundreds.”

My shoulders slump at the weight of his words. “And they all… hate me?”

“Not all,” he says, and for a brief moment, my shoulders lift in hope. “Just most.”

That hope fades as my shoulders drop even lower. Why I thought Arax would be a sympathetic ear, I’m not sure. But slowly, he glances at me from the corner of his eye, his expression shifting.

“Do not fear. You are strong. Fae respect strength.”

A smile cracks the thin line of my mouth. “You think I’m strong?”

“I don’t think. I know.”

“Thank you, Arax,” I say softly, and he grumbles in response, his focus returning to the distance. Yet his words linger, a small kindness that distracts me from my rising nerves and encourages me to stand tall.

Moments later, Solena returns in a soft ivory dress, the lightweight silk draping gracefully to the floor. The fitted bodice accentuates her slim waist, and delicate lace trim adorns the neckline and sleeves. The forest green apron tied neatly around her waist perfectly complements my gown. Her black hair is styled in a simple yet elegant updo, with a few loose tendrils framing her face, and a delicate silver hairpin adorned with small green stones glimmers in the light.

“You look beautiful,” I say.

She seems taken aback, her chin dropping to her chest, a rare moment where I leave her at a loss for words. “It was hard finding green accents.”

“Well, you did an excellent job,” I reply.

I rush to Solena’s side, though the weight of my dress keeps me from reaching her as swiftly as I’d like. When I meet her in the center of the room, I link arms with her, clinging to the contact as if she’s my only anchor in this sea of uncertainty. She looks taken aback by my sudden familiarity, but I remember my wedding and the crushing loneliness I felt among the Fae. I don’t trust Daed to make me feel any more at ease now than he did then.

Comfort is a concept I doubt he understands.

Arax leads us toward the throne room, and it seems every Blade has been summoned to line the halls. As I pass by the arches, I catch sight of ships docking in the harbor, their sails billowing in the evening breeze, while the sky is filled with Fae wings as more arrive by air. I grip Solena’s arm tighter, my heart racing with each step, and I’m surprised when she squeezes back.

I look at her and manage a smile, and when she returns it with a clipped grin of her own, I can’t help but wonder if we are finally starting to understand one another.

We arrive at the antechamber where groups of Fae gather, waiting to be announced. The Fae of Baev’kalath stand apart with their dark hair and steely eyes, but the other Fae here are just as distinctive. Some have red eyes and long, thin sheets of hair that hang below their knees, while others are draped in heavy furs, their heads shaven to the scalp with only a braided top knot remaining. These must be members of the thrall houses.

“House of Sylthara of Thal’Morven,” Solena whispers in my ear, gesturing toward the Fae with red eyes. “Their Lord Sarberos is one of the oldest High Fae. See their runes?” She tips her chin, and I notice the Fae’s pale throats adorned with intricate black tattoos. “They use those runes to conjure ice and sleet. Their runeweaver is exceptional—the lines are flawless.”

“Runeweaver?”

“Those tasked with tattooing the runes onto skin. There are many levels of mastery.” She smiles coyly. “I was a runeweaver before I came to Baev’kalath. So was my mother, and her mother before her.”

“You don’t runeweave anymore?” I ask, hoping I’m using the term correctly.

“Baev’kalath boasts dozens of artisan weavers. I’m merely a novice in comparison. Perhaps one day I’ll return to it, but for now, mastering your unruly hair is challenge enough.”

I furrow my brow as Solena stifles a giggle, and for the first time, I find I don’t mind her teasing.

Arax grows weary of waiting, storming forward and extending his arms, forcing everyone to make room for me at the front of the line.

Although they move, not one amongst them is happy to do so. They scowl and whisper to each other. But just as I have grown accustomed to the constant rain and decadent gowns, so too have I accepted that I am despised by all Fae. Luckily, this dress protects me as well as a suit of armor, and even though Solena and I make a strange pair, it is nice to feel as if I am not alone for once.

The doors fall open and a wave of music, laughter and chatter floods the foyer. The room is dense with Fae and I can not even see the thrones on the dais at the other end of the hall. Arax pauses, and I can hear his surly grumble as he taps his foot impatiently. When we still receive no attention from the jabbering assembly, he pounds his fist hard against his armor chest piece and roars.

“Lords and ladies of Mordorin. Make way for Princess Amara Phaedren.”

My chest tightens. It is the first time I have heard his last name attached to me. But I have no time to digest it. The crowd falls silent and turns in unison, peering over shoulders and shuffling for a better position, all scrambling to get a closer look at the human bride. I am glad I can not hear their thoughts. They move towards the sides of the hall, revealing a grand banquet table that stretches the length of the room, all the way to the stone thrones before the stained glass window.

Silver candelabras rise from the table, casting an ethereal light over the twisted branch centerpieces. The branches, blackened and bare, entwine with roses so dark they could be soaked in the same blood as the wine, their edges dusted with frost. The air is thick with the scent of roasted game glazed in honey, mingling with the sweet, spicy aroma of exotic fruits and the earthy fragrance of wild mushrooms. Platters overflow with rich, decadent foods—meats spiced and roasted to perfection, velvety soups garnished with flowers that seem too beautiful to eat, and desserts that glisten like treasures, dusted in silver and wrapped in webs of spun sugar. It’s all so enchanting, but as always, there’s something menacing in the opulence.

Arax cuts a path through the guests. I stay close in his shadow with Solena at my side, not daring to stray too far, and once or twice he glances over my shoulder to be sure I am still there. I feel the weight of the Fae’s eyes upon me, inspecting and criticizing every inch of me as I pass them by. They say nothing, but they don’t need to. Their upturned, pointed noses and subtle shakes of their elegant heads speak volumes.

“They’re all so beautiful,” I mutter to Solena, taking in their silken hair and impossibly stunning features, despite the sneers directed at me. It feels as if I can sense the power radiating from them, the light bending and shimmering in their presence.

She scoffs. “Some of them, but most glamor themselves to appear more attractive than they truly are. It’s a terrible waste of powerful magic—transforming your eye color or smoothing out a few wrinkles.”

At the end of the table, King Kaelus and Queen Lanneth sit in their thrones on the dais, and they rise in unison as I approach. Kaelus wears a long, midnight blue tunic of heavy silk, its rich fabric adorned with bold, silver embroidery in intricate, ancient patterns that swirl like storm clouds across his broad shoulders and down the length of his sleeves, while Lanneth is draped in shimmery ivory satin that clings to her long, gaunt frame, with a dazzling diamond choker tight around the creamy skin of her neck and her face caked in heavy white powder. If her aim was to appear as a nightmarish specter, she succeeded.

I notice something different about the dais tonight as the moonlight filters through the stained glass and dapples the stone with swirls of color. A fourth throne to the side of the king and queen, positioned next to Daed’s throne.

But my husband is not here.

“Princess Amara,” Kaelus says, his arms unfurled.

Solena carefully slips her arm from my gasp, and Arax steps aside so I might join the king and queen on the dais, and as I stand before the king, I’m unsure what to do. We have never embraced. We have barely exchanged words. I can only imagine this is for the benefit of the guests. I do what is expected of me and allow Kaelus to take me into his arms. It is warm but awkward, and I’m not certain where I should put my hands, but thankfully it’s all over before I have to think on it too much. He sends me off to Lanneth with a stiff pat on the shoulder. Then I must endure the queen’s icy, skeletal frame as her arms snake around me and I am poked and prodded by every jutting bone in her body. Fortunately, our tender moment is over even quicker and she gestures to the second throne at her side.

“For you, daughter,” she says, her pale pink lips curving into a smile.

I walk to the throne and pick up the edges of my gown, then sink into the hard, cold stone. It is just a chair. A silly chair of no real importance. I tell myself this to keep calm and stop my heart from beating straight out of my chest.

But it is not just a chair. It is a throne. A throne for a princess of House Mordorin, a title none of Fae staring daggers at me believe I should wear.

“Where is Daedalus?” I gulp. I wish he was here for many reasons, but most of all because I know how he loves attention, and the way he commands a room will hopefully take the focus away from me.

But the way Kaelus and Lanneth react, with side way glances and long exhales, makes me believe they do not know the whereabouts of their son either.

Kaelus leans on his knee and hisses at Arax. “Find your prince,” he orders.

Arax bows and takes a heavy step forward, but before he can move any further, the grand doors swing open.

I sense him before he even enters the hall—the dark presence I know all too well.

There he stands, draped in black from head to toe. His finely tailored jacket clings to his broad shoulders, the fabric so dark it seems to swallow the light. Golden stitching weaves along the edges, intricate and regal, glinting in the night. Each step he takes is measured and confident, his heavy leather boots echoing on the stone floor, a rhythm that quickens my pulse despite myself.

Daedalus strides towards the dais, moving with a predator’s grace, each stride purposeful. The air around him seems to hum with a dangerous energy, drawing the eyes of every guest he passes. I can see it in their faces—male and female alike—how they can’t help but be captivated by the dark allure he exudes, as if they’re caught in the pull of something they can’t quite name. He owns the room without a word, without a glance, and I despise and admire him for it in equal measure.

As he approaches the throne, I force myself to meet his gaze, even as my heart pounds harder in my chest. There’s something about the way he looks at me; a proprietary glint in those gray eyes that makes my blood run both hot and cold. I hate him for the power he holds over me, for the way his presence alone sends a shiver down my spine.

Kaelus’ shoulders heave with relief as he stands to greet his son. They grip each other’s forearms, then pull each other into a firm embrace.

“Son,” Kaelus breathes. “Welcome.” The king glances at me, his eyes wide with urgency. “Amara. Come.”

I rise from the chair that I fear will never feel comfortable and wait to hear what I’m supposed to do next. But instead of instructions, Daed extends his hand to me. I look at his stern face, but he does not meet my gaze. He splays his fingers impatiently, so I slip my hand into his grip and he closes his grasp.

“Kindred. Brethren. Fae of Mordorin,” Kaelus booms. “I welcome you to Baev’kalath, seat of our ancient house, and ask that you join us to feast and celebrate the union of our prince. Heir to the throne of the Sundered Kingdoms. Commander of the Ebon Flight. Daedalus Phaedren and his bride, Amara, Jewel of the Tenders.”

A prickly hush falls over the assembly, as no one dares to speak a word, but their bitter expressions scream outrage.

This can not be the first they have heard of our marriage, can it?

I think back to our rushed wedding. I did not know what thrall houses were then, but now I assume all in attendance that night were Mordorin of Baev’kalath. I gulp.

Souls. They do not know.

“What is the meaning of this, Kaelus,” asks a tall, willowy Fae with red eyes like hot embers. “You could join your son with any of our daughters, but you choose a human?”

Kaelus raises his hand. “This is not the time, Sarberos.”

Two women, with identical features and shaven heads, wearing heavy, sable fur cloaks, push their way to the front.

“This is an insult,” one shrieks, baring her sharpened canine teeth. “The humans are traitors!”

The second snarls. “Our glorious dead rot in the ground and you expect us to feast with this… thing?”

“Vashar. Vasheeth,” Kaelus says, acknowledging the twins with a nod of his chin. “The war is over. The battle is won. If our houses are to survive, we must make allies of the humans. A long journey starts with a single step.” Kaelus offers me a smile. “Amara is that step for House Mordorin.” He returns his attention to the assembly. “For all our houses!”

Another Fae steps forward, young and handsome with a shock of copper hair and bronze, bottomless eyes. There is a charming playfulness to his wide grin, an easiness to his bearing that I’ve not seen in the Fae I’ve met. He does not address King Kaelus, his eyes immediately settling on Daedalus instead.

“And you, prince,” the bold Fae calls. “What do you have to say about your human bride?”

The question draws a half smile from Daed’s lips. “Lord Reon. It has been many moons since I have seen you at banquet. Isn’t this all too boring for you?”

The knowing smirk on Reon’s lips hints to me he and Daed know each other beyond the formalities of their titles.

“I thought the Warrior’s Eye would be my excitement for the phase, but I am glad I left Eyr’Drogul this evening. The banquets are suddenly far more interesting than I remember,” Reon replies. “So tell me, Rook. What makes this human so special that we should bow before her?”

My heart thumps hard in my chest.

Daed still does not look at me, as if he is making an effort to ignore me. I am not expecting any emotional outpouring on my behalf. In fact, given his sullen mood, I wouldn’t be surprised if he threw me to the wolves.

I hear the deep breaths rumble in his chest and notice his upper lip twitch, revealing his sharp canines. His grip tightens around my hand, but this thumb unexpectedly smooths over my skin.

“Lords and ladies,” Daed calls to the assembly, and all fall silent. “This is not a mere human before you. She may not have the blood of the Fae running through her veins, but she does not need it. What she does possess is more than enough; honor, dignity, bravery, more than some of you have.” The room stirs with discontent, and even Kaelus and Lanneth shift in their thrones. “So, good Lord Reon, when you ask me why you should all bow before her, you mistake my intent. I do not expect you to bow before my wife. I expect you to crawl .”

Gasps and outcries erupt through the assembly, a chaotic swell of disbelief. But amidst the uproar, I catch a glimpse of Lord Reon. He simply grins, a glint of amusement in his eyes, as if the chaos itself is nothing more than an entertaining spectacle.

Daed does not speak to silence the raucous. Instead, he reaches skyward, his fingers curled as smoke seeps from his skin, weaving like a serpent between his fingers. From this slithering murk, his blade takes shape. The hilt emerges first, gleaming silver. Then the guard, encrusted with jewels, encircling a moonstone that seems to hold a tiny storm within, its facets shifting and gleaming in the moonlight.

As the blade fully forms, its edges are impossibly sharp, and the silver so pure and flawless that it reflects everything around it; the assembly of cowering Fae, the anxious king and queen, even the terrified princess. But most of all, it reflects Daed. This sword is not just a weapon—it is an extension of the darkness that summoned it, the darkness within its wielder. Vicious. Furious. Bloodthirsty.

The warrior I had been waiting for. The one who would save us all.

The Fae fall silent, submitting to the power of the blade, and I hear them whisper its name with reverence.

Death Singer.

Daed twirls the mighty blade in his hand before driving it hard into the dais, blinding sparks flying when the blade strikes stone and the sharp clanging noise stings my ears. His eyes narrow on Reon.

“Does that answer your question? Lord of Eyr’Drogul?”

Reon smiles and bows. “Yes, it does, my prince. A little theatrical, but I get the point.”

Daed replies with a smirk. “Excellent,” and as if it had never existed, the sword vanishes in a wisp of black smoke. “Now. Who is hungry?” The only replies are a few sheepish murmurs. Daed nods. “Then let us feast.” He turns to me at last. “Shall we, wife?”

I’m so in awe of the power and command he wields, I stutter like a fool, and when he smiles softly at me, I feel myself falling, even though I am standing perfectly still.

Daed grips my hand, then goes to leave the dais, but Kaelus roughly grips his shoulder before we descend.

“Be careful son,” he whispers near his ear. “Poke these animals with a stick too often and they will bite back.”

“They are thrall houses,” Daed mutters curtly. “They serve us.”

Kaelus’ upper lip curls bitterly and he goes to speak, but stops with his mouth half open when he remembers I am here. He swallows whatever it was he was going to say. “Just be careful,” he says again.

Daed pays the king no heed as he leads me down the steps of the dais. We stand beside the banquet table and I realize there are no chairs.

“Where do we sit?” I ask.

He chuckles arrogantly and I frown. How am I supposed to know why Fae banquets have no chairs?

“We stand,” he explains. “We move up and down so we can try everything and mingle with each other.”

I scrunch my nose up at anything with a face, but the fat red berries look especially tempting. Daed notices my interest.

“Eat them,” he says.

I look around for silverware but can not find a single one. “With my hands?” I ask.

“You could try your toes, but it feels a little unseemly for a princess, don’t you think?”

It doesn’t happen often, but when Daed is content, his eyes soften, and the stone gray changes to swirls of silver clouds. A dramatic change from the black-eyed beast whose hands roamed over every inch of my body last night.

I give half a smile as I snatch up a berry and pop it into my waiting mouth. When my teeth break through the firm flesh, the juice bursts in waves of flavour that have my eyes rolling with bliss.

Daed’s teeth graze his bottom lip as he watches me react. “Good, is it?”

I nod as I chew, reaching for another, and that is when Daed takes note of my hand.

“Your bandage,” he says. “It’s gone.” He flips it over, dragging his thumb along where the cut once was, sending a shiver through me. “How is this possible? Not even a scar?”

I want to tell him about the dream—to ask if what happened in his tower was real, or just another trick of my imagination. But before I can speak, his pointed ears prick, his head snapping toward the doorway just as the massive doors swing open. A sudden commotion follows, the air thick with cursing and the scuffle of bodies as the banquet’s latest arrivals force their way through the crowd. Their brashness is jarring amidst the elegance of the gathering, their movements disruptive until they come to an abrupt halt. Their eyes lock onto Daed and me at the table, and the entire room seems to hold its breath.

This house is a ragged lot, their clothes a haphazard mix of worn leather, threadbare linen, and tattered cloaks, all in dark, muted colors. Their hair is wild and unkempt, some having braids that have long since frayed, while others wear loose, tangled waves framing faces marked by scars.

There is a raw, menacing energy about them, an air of barely restrained violence. Their weapons, crude and wicked, hang at their sides and as the Fae male at the head of the group stares at us in silence, I feel the tension rising. His long coat, probably once a rich crimson, is now faded and worn, patched with scraps of dark leather. The coat flares out as he moves, revealing a belt bristling with daggers. It is hard to make out the color of his eyes beneath his unkempt curtain of wavy, dark hair, but I know for certain he is watching me.

Daed does not acknowledge him, instead he pinches a berry between his fingers and tosses it into his mouth.

“Prince Daedalus,” the Fae says, his voice low and gravelly. “Is it true?”

“Is what true, Modok?” Daed sighs, eating another berry.

I feel Modok’s empty eyes burn through me.

“That this thing is your wife,” he spits with venom.

Daed releases a long, heavy breath and rolls his shoulders. “I would not say such things if I were you.”

He reaches for another berry, but this time Modok grabs him by the wrist. The surrounding guests gasp and fall back a safe distance, as if knowing the consequences of such an action against the Prince of the Sundered Kingdoms.

Daed’s composure shocks me. I already expect Modok’s decapitated head to be rocking side to side beside the sugared yams, but Daed has not moved a muscle, which is even more unnerving.

“House Merrin of Mor’Thravar can not abide such… perversion.”

I notice Daed’s other hand twitch under the table, his fingers writhing as he summons wisps of smoke to work his will. I remember Death Singer, the share size of it, and now I take a step back in case the sword suddenly appears.

“Enough!” Kaelus yells as he descends the dais with Lanneth at his side. “You will release your prince, Modok!”

The Fae from his house swaps glances, and I wonder if they’re weighing up their odds of escaping this dining hall alive if they do not obey the king.

“Now, Modok,” Kaelus repeats, his teeth bared.

Modok grunts and pulls back his hand.

Daed’s jaw clenches as he rubs the skin around his wrist, the smoke he commands slowly fading to nothing. “I have killed for less than that,” he snarls.

Modok glances in my direction, his face twisted with disgust. “This is not right. Mor’Thravar will not fight for a human.”

Kaelus grits his teeth. “Bring your people, Modok. We will discuss this in private.” He taps Daed’s shoulder. “You too.”

Kaelus cuts a path through the guests, his arm linked with Lanneth as they lead Modok and his cronies through the archway of an adjoining room. Daed lingers behind.

“Stay here. Talk to no one,” he says firmly. “Arax is close by if you need him. His heart may have softened in his old age, but his blade still cuts through bone with a single stroke.” Daed looks me deep in the eyes. “If anyone tries to disrespect you, command him to make them bleed. Do you understand?”

Though I’m sure he’s trying to reassure me, I’m more nervous now than I was before.

“I will return to you soon,” he says. His eyes roam over my face, a gentleness to his gaze. “You look beautiful tonight, Amara.”

I gulp and I’m sure my heart stops beating all together.

Daed leaves me at the table, joining his father and the others departure through the arch. My appetite leaves me similarly. Solena said that Baev’kalath alone cannot defeat the Legion. That it will take all the thrall houses, including this Modok from Mor’Thravar. I can not just stand here while those who care the least discuss the fate of The Grove. I should be there too, convincing them to fight for us.

I must know what is going on in that room.

I know what I must do, and as I discretely slip away from the table, avoiding Arax’s seeking eyes, I already regret it.