37
The Tri-Moon festival bathed the entirety of the palace in purple light, the gardens and lawns aglow, the burning star behind the moons beckoning and casting the night in so many levels of heat. It was the lawn where the tournament was held that had been transformed. The trees were strung with silver and gold banners and chains of the moon cycles, statues of the Stygian Ones, He, She, and They were on a raised pedestal, They holding a sphere of violet quartz, She and He holding crescents turned in opposite directions. Ivory chaise lounges faced a stage, a clearing before it meant for dancing, while servants wove through the growing crowd.
Valine sipped plum-flavored water leaving an imprint of black lip stain on the rim. Her makeup was a mix of smoke and glitter, her lids dark with gold wings and her cheeks dusted with crushed goldleaf. Gold hoops dangled from her ears, and rings circled nearly every one of her fingers, the nails of which were painted the same metal tone as her eyes.
Freyja was beside her in her skintight amethyst gown, her hair curled and falling over one shoulder to reveal the ear dripping in jewels, from the curve to the lobe. Her makeup was subtle, brown liner, crushed pearl on her cheeks, light pink lips.
“Is there something between you and Sarim?” Valine asked point-blank.
Freyja turned to her, an arched brow raised. “Is there something between you and Malik?”
Valine flushed. “If I tell you the truth, will you answer me?”
“Maybe.”
Valine sighed, licking her lips. “There’s something…and there would be more if I let it.”
“Elaborate,” Freyja demanded.
“I have rules. You know who I am—what I am. I do not sleep with those who employ me.”
“That’s what’s stopping you? Money?”
“I don’t want it to cheapen anything.”
“Valine,” Freyja admonished. “You can’t cheapen what you have. It’s just up to you if you want to lose him when he has to marry next year.” Freyja paused. “Or you can marry him.”
“I can’t,” Valine wheezed.
“Why?”
“I don’t have the right name or connections. He needs to make alliances with a marriage. I can’t give him that.”
“You’re a Desdemon. You don’t need any other name,” Freyja smirked. “Besides, with what you’re doing, I doubt he needs alliances from marriage. You can manipulate anyone with your chosen one status.”
“I am not the chosen one,” Valine argued.
“Tell that to everyone in Talloh, then. Because they think you are.”
Valine hid the anxiety that swelled with that revelation, of how many people were thinking of her, especially as a prophesized one. “You still haven’t answered me.”
Freyja groaned, throwing her head back. “I love him.”
Valine was surprised that Freyja came out with it so clearly, but the absolute truth in the blonde’s eyes was undeniable. She could see the hazel depths growing with unease at the pronouncement, the regret of speaking it into existence.
“Then tell him,” Valine urged quietly.
“I can’t. What if he doesn’t feel the same?”
“Freyja, I travelled across the Twilight Sands with him and when someone thinks they’re about to die, they let their secrets out. Trust me, he loves you too.”
Shock lit up Freyja and the ruinmancer pulled her spine straight. “I should go find him.”
Valine’s smile was moonlight-blinding. “Then get out of here and do that.”
Freyja departed from Valine with a vixen’s smile, and Valine knew that look was promising Sarim a night he would never forget. Internally, Valine cheered, but on the outside, she remained cool and composed, watching the milling crowd in varying shades of purple. Near the edge of the crowd Valine found an empty chaise and took a seat, resting her feet. The heels she wore did wonders for her long legs but there was only so much pain a girl could take.
Jericho took to the stage and everyone quieted, the king of Talloh regal in vibrant purple, gold lace trimming his elaborate jacket. “I would like to begin the Tri-Moon festival by opening with a prayer.” Everyone ducked their heads and Jericho was suddenly rapt, his eyes casting heavenward. “We are gathered here to honor the great gods of the Stygian skies. To commemorate the divine right they have blessed us earthbound beings with. He, She, and They are law, their word divine guidance. We celebrate them here tonight, at the altar of their moons, the star shining their sight upon us to deem us worthy.
“Please join me with an offering tonight. Offer a sacrifice of self or object to three this night to prove your godliness and faith. Please ask Them to protect us and guide our unwavering hand. Please ask Him to give us strength to follow their grace. Please ask Her to offer mercy and compassion for our mistakes.”
The sentiments were echoed, Valine ducking her head in false reverence, staring down to the bottom of her water glass, watching the ice melt against the plum slices and apple blossoms.
Jericho raised his hands to the moons and from the vantage, he was cupping the greatest one in his hands. “Blessed be our Stygian Ones, blessed be their followers.” The prayer was repeated and Jericho slowly lowered his hands. “Now, I urge you to find a view and enjoy the following performance.”
Jericho gestured to the orchestra who crossed the platform before descending from the stage. Valine caught him looking at her and she dashed her eyes away. But she could feel his fire burning her, she knew he was leering. He wanted her—not her soul—but what she offered him; power, status, reverence, and she knew he would try to take it against her will.
Valine gritted her teeth, suddenly wishing the king was just a simple man she was allowed to kill with a flick of her fingers. But he wasn’t, and she wasn’t willing to risk the plan because the king was as despicable as Captain Ishaq had been.
Music started up, a gentle plucking of harp strings and delicate violins, a low cello vibrated through the chords while a bell chimed with a sound like magic. It was a rendition of Prize and Treasure, a ballad composed by a warlord hundreds of years ago when a leader stole a bride and fell in love.
“You look beautiful,” Malik said, sliding onto the chaise beside her, holding her gaze as he slowly trailed his eyes down. Devouring her form.
She looked at her king with gratefulness and an aching desire. In response, she leaned back against the arm of the lounge, allowing him a greater view of everything she had to offer. His eyes followed. “Almost good enough to eat.”
“Maybe I’ll give you a taste,” she said, settling her foot on the seat, coyly parting her knees, and closing them.
“Tease,” he chastised, shifting in his near black clothing.
“It’s not teasing if you’re following through,” she told him boldly, lifting her drink.
“And are you?”
“Perhaps I am.”
“What of your rules?”
Valine shrugged. “I’ve broken them before for less. I think I can manage breaking another for you.”
A devilish gleam touched Malik’s eyes. “Dance with me,” he proposed.
Valine cocked a brow. “How do I know you won’t trample my feet?”
“I am a king. I have been trained in every manner of dance you can imagine.”
“Sounds like blackmail.”
Malik laughed. “Dance with me,” he repeated.
“Okay,” she accepted, holding out her hand. Malik took it and guided her to the dancefloor before the stage. Several other couples and even a triad or two joined.
Wrapping an arm around her waist, Malik splayed his hand on her lower back, pressing the cool metal of the moon cycles into her spine. She shivered in a mixture of chill and delight. Malik’s front was deliciously warm and she could feel every one of those golden buttons pressing into her skin through the thin material of the dress. He guided her effortlessly through the movements, spinning her when the notes hit, picking her up when others soared.
“You may not know this,” he began and she knew a smile colored his voice. “But you are a delightfully talented dancer.”
“It may have escaped your notice, Dear King, but I too was trained in the art of dance.”
“And death,” he whispered in her ear.
“And that, yes,” she confirmed.
“I would love to hear the story of how that all came to pass.”
Valine’s heart dropped. “It is a long and terrible story.”
“It is still one I wish to hear.”
Valine sighed. “You will think differently of me after I tell you.”
“Try me,” he pressed, bringing them to the edge of the crowd.
They swayed, hardly following the movements anymore and Valine put on a brave face. She was baring the worst of her inner turmoil to this king, the king who held her in his arms and looked at her like she hung the stars. But the hands he held were soaked in blood and stained black with death.
“I had a lover when I was eighteen,” she began, her voice wavered. “I fancied myself in love with him, but I was not ready to settle. Apparently, my father decided I should settle, whether I wanted to or not. I had contraceptive tonics illegally imported as Runell has outlawed all forms of contraception, and though I’d kept it secret, my father found out anyway.
“He tampered with the tonics my lover and I used to prevent,” she said the word with weight and understanding dawned on Malik. “And only once I took the tonic after I’d lain with him, did I realize what the difference in taste meant.”
“He laced it with liberwort, didn’t he?” Malik asked.
Liberwort was an herb and the only effective agent that cancelled out the effects of the contraceptive tonic. It also helped aid male fertility. With Valine’s necromancy, she’d detected the poison-like herb immediately, but because she’d already consumed the mixture, and because it wasn’t a true poison, it was too late. It was meant to instantly absorb into the blood, so not even forcing her to vomit would prevent it—though she tried.
“I explained to my lover what I understood of the change in tonic and he admitted he had a part in it.” Valine closed her eyes against the betrayal. Against the shame. “My father had paid him to trap me with a child.”
The past surged within her.
“We can have a baby, Val. We’ll marry. You’ll be my wife. I knew you wouldn’t agree if I asked, so I figured this would be a better alternative. You wouldn’t have to choose.”
She shut her eyes against the unwanted memories.
“That’s why you have your rule,” Malik breathed. They had stopped dancing, but he still held her.
Valine lifted her face and gazed at the king. “When I found out I was so enraged that I killed my lover and ran.” She gritted her teeth. “My father covered up the murder, of course. He couldn’t have his first daughter sullying his name by being revealed as a murderess.” She smiled sadly. “I was due to bleed two weeks past, but my cycle did not come, and I knew that my lover and father had succeeded.”
Malik drew his brows together in concern, his hands tightening on her. She swallowed and continued. “I travelled to Thycca on foot and stolen horseback.”
Thycca neighbored against Adraali, the centermost kingdom in all of Enneive, and it was well known for its diversity, and welcoming of all people. Thycca did not discriminate between sexuality, gender, race, status, or power. They were notoriously progressive and inclusive, pushing for equal rights of all peoples and access to every form of wellness, including contraceptives and abortifacients.
“When I crossed the border, I demanded the location of the first apothecary I could find. When I did, I asked for abortifacients. I was given the herbs without question and I paid for the elixir the apothecary made.” Valine looked away, angrily. “I do not know if I was truly with child, but I was not taking the risk. Regardless, that night I bled and I vowed to kill my father the next time I saw him.”
Malik was silent for a minute. When he finally spoke, Valine felt like she could breathe for the first time. “I think you’re incredibly brave for going through that, and even braver for telling me.”
Valine had never shared this information with anyone. No one knew of the worst weeks of her life. The betrayal, the fear, the deception. It had eaten her alive, and she knew with all that rage brewing inside of her she would not have been a fit parent. Not then.
Malik wrapped her tightly and Valine settled into him.
She realized with horror that she was truly in love with him.