55
The Call was lost to the sea. As the bodies were hauled overboard and the decks mopped of the blood and bodily fluids, the necklace was nowhere to be found.
Valine watched from a crate on the highest deck, a woolen blanket wrapped around her shoulders, a cup of weak tea in her hands. She was so exhausted, the magic required to kill, tether, hold, and command two kraken over the course of several days had taken its toll, and she was certain that Freyja’s offer of tethering was the difference between her current consciousness and all-around survival. Without the ruinmancer’s strength, Valine would have been—in a word—fucked.
Malik hovered close to Valine, almost circling her like a wild cat, eyes flashing dangerously at anyone who came too close. She’d never seen the king so on edge and possessive, but at the same time, she’d never heard him declare his love for her.
He was in love with her.
She should have been able to guess that only a fool or a fool in love would offer a consort ring with the possibility of marriage. Still, the denial had been strong. She could dismiss his feelings as strong affection, lust, or simple attraction, but love…that was different. And their admittance echoed in the air between them.
In case I don’t survive…I love you.
That’s what she told him when she thought she was sacrificing herself to certain fate. She didn’t think survival was all that probable against the kraken when the sand serpents had nearly killed her, and had Alastair not been there, they would have. It didn’t make sense that she’d lived. Was she getting stronger? Were kraken weaker than sand serpents? What was the dividing difference?
It was four days later when they docked in Adraali, Valine beyond exhausted by her spent necromancy. She had filtered her magic through the water, feeling for any kraken beneath the depths and diverting them away from their path. They had sailed back with another skeleton crew, the death total at a record seventy-five percent, a number that had Captain Yarl swearing up a storm of obscenities and complaints of lost coin and information.
Months had passed since she was last in Adraali, months since Malik had hired her. Too quickly, the Blooming Season was approaching, and too soon, potential brides would arrive, and Valine had to falsely befriend them, urge them towards the king, and allow them to air their struggles. Valine didn’t know if she had the strength anymore. How was she expected to cater to women who were trying to take away the man she loved?
Anger prickled at her. No. She refused.
They were herded into the castle, meeting up once again with Alastair in Malik’s private study. The reunion was warm, the subject matter not. They filled in the vitamancer about the failure of Cuuevota, the kraken, and the warship attacks. They quietly informed him about Valine’s power, the connection when she tethered to Freyja, and the break in Malik’s Veritasium Medallion. Even though they were alone, they weren’t taking chances.
“May I?” Alastair had asked, extending a hand to the king.
“You may,” Malik allowed.
Alastair spread his fingers and let his cerulean magic probe along Malik, searching the medallion. His brows narrowed in concentration, his eyes brightly burning at the king’s chest. Valine could see Alastair’s magic only because he was allowing it. Mages with magic like theirs could elect to shield it or reveal it. Valine almost always chose the former.
“I can feel the break, but I can’t get past it,” Alastair said, wondering, and turned his attention to Valine. “Would you be able to show me how you do it?”
Valine’s eyes flickered to Malik, Freyja, and Sarim. “Okay.”
She stepped forward, bringing a hand out, summoning her necromancy, but this time she did it with the intention for it to be visible. It was an extra step, something she was less accustomed to, but she managed. The black smoke spiraled out from her fingers, slithering across the air. Sarim inhaled sharply at the sight, the Valmotti being the only non-magic user in the room—to no one else’s awareness.
It gathered in front of Malik, and immediately found that break in the labyrinth-like medallion, and slipped in, knotting itself behind Malik’s heart. Malik’s nostrils flared as the tether secured itself.
“Fascinating,” Alastair breathed. He approached the magic, eyeing it carefully, watching the smoke writhe. “It knew exactly where to go and simply slipped through it.”
Valine pulled her necromancy back into her, swaying on her feet. Malik rushed to her side, steadying her and immediately, embarrassment flushed through her. She dismissed Malik’s help, and with a knowing look, he backed off. Alastair attempted to breach the medallion again to no avail. It was after this attempt that Valine truly flagged in her energy. Realizing her predicament, Malik summoned for a servant to assist her, and within minutes Diana arrived.
Valine grinned as the red-headed woman appeared at the door, guiding her through the halls. She had missed Diana and was an invaluable contact during her time in Talloh.
“How was the festival?” Diana asked, arm around her as they journeyed across the black and white checkered floor.
“Eventful,” Valine said on a smile.
“I hear the regards of my family were sent.”
“They were.”
“Thank you.”
Diana opened Valine’s suite door for her and she was startled to find it much the same. The linens were fresh, the fire burning low in the hearth in anticipation for her timed arrival, the surfaces free of the dust it surely accumulated in her absence. Valine eyed the bed and it beckoned to her. She swore its lure was the most attractive thing she’d ever seen.
“Would you like me to draw you a bath?” Diana asked.
“No, thank you. I think I will just take a shower.”
“Summon for me should you require anything more.”
“I will.”
After Diana left, Valine latched the lock and stripped her travel-worn clothes off, leaving them in a pile on the tile floor. She turned on the hydromancer-powered shower, letting the room fill with steam as she slipped beneath the brass faucet. The water was hot and washed away the remaining grime she failed to scrub on the Tempest. It took a while, but the water ran clear once again, and Valine lathered herself in lavender, jasmine, and lemongrass soap and added blackberry-scented oil to her hair.
She didn’t bother dressing again once she was out of the shower. She simply dried herself with a fluffy towel and tossed it to the floor as she climbed beneath the downy covers, falling asleep before the sheets settled.
She awoke sometime later. The light of day had since slipped below the horizon, and night hung heavy in the sky. Stars danced across the view from her window, cool air rushing through the partially open window. Dislodging herself from her nest of blankets, she went to the window, shutting it firmly, letting her head rest against the frame.
Her job was far from over, but for now, her immediate assignment was done. She’d set out to kill a king, and she had. The mission had been large—far larger than any she’d done before—and it was complete. She’d succeeded.
For a moment, Valine stared down at the city, at the final millings of people about town before bed, all so ignorant of the machinations behind the crown. They were so na?ve to the plots Valine had enacted and thought out. She was a cruel creature, a false being among the masses, a savior who wielded death’s scythe. This was all for the greater good, and even then, they did not know.
She had killed so many to gain control over Talloh, directly and indirectly. By her hand and by her magic. By her accidents and by her purposes. No one knew the lengths she’d gone to, the measures she’d taken. She was so isolated in her maneuverings, but she was good at it. They had no idea how good. It was a talent, and yet she couldn’t share it, and it kept her so insulated in her own world.
Valine was so apart from regular life, never had she felt so disconnected from others before this. She was always slightly distanced; when she was a lady, she had to hold herself to a higher standard, and when she was simply an assassin for hire, she had to keep her secrets close. Now, she had to do both and more, and the overwhelming prospect was beginning to numb her.
She didn’t know how long she stood there, staring. Perhaps it was only minutes, but her thoughts were getting away from her. Was this how Malik felt? To hold his crown and his plots with the same hand? To seek the freedom of the people while appeasing the egos of men? She wasn’t sure, but the thoughts of her king had her heart aching.
She needed him.
Abruptly, she tore herself away from the window and strode over to her armoire. Inside were all the clothes she didn’t pack for Talloh, including a lacy piece of black lingerie. The corset dipped provocatively low in the chest and followed the shape of her, high on her hips, barely a scrap of it against her sex. The back covered little of her ass and nothing of her back. She put on the piece, and though it covered her breasts, she could see every detail of her nipples through the lace, including how tight and hard they were.
She covered up with a long black cloak, and a pair of thigh-high leather boots and made for the door. The hood covered her face from sight, and it was probably for the best as the anticipation on her face was flashing in inescapable notice.
When she opened the door, she was shocked to find Malik already there, prepared to knock. Valine froze, taking in the sight of the king.
He was dressed all in black, the golden clasps on his corset a clear indicator as to how to remove it from his person. His lean legs were encased in leather, his boots just as finely made. His brow was clear of a crown, but a wave fell over it in one endearing curl.
“I was just on my way to see you,” Valine said in a rush.
“What for?” Malik asked carefully. She could see his gold-blue eyes, trying to take her in beneath her cloak, knowledge blooming in his heated gaze.
“Because I love you desperately and I am tired of fighting it.”
And then she reached for his wrist and dragged him inside, slamming the door behind him.