Chapter 19
ARLET
Thorne had brought a small, cast-iron pot to heat the water for my tea. While he waited for it to warm, he crouched before my fireplace, and I sat on the bed, sinking into the layers of comfort and watching him.
He, the only other soul in this entire place who truly knows what it means for my Fuegorra to be gone. He is the only other one who knows what it was like under the mountain, in that beautiful city with those beautiful people.
Emotion strikes me in that moment. Everything around me is cold and numb, and yet tears slip down my cheeks, swift and silent, like a tongue being cut from a mouth.
When he finally turns around, still crouched, he pauses when he takes in my expression.
I don’t attempt to wipe away the tears.
Slowly, he stands. Then he fumbles through one of his pockets, producing a small cloth—a handkerchief—and he holds it out to me.
I continue to stare at his face, wanting him to see the slow unraveling of my being. I want him to witness the pain that he has caused, knowing full and well that the greater pain was carried out by Arion.
My soul needs someone else to know how I bleed.
“I am sorry it came to that,” he murmurs, his hand slowly falling back to his side.
That. To my Fuegorra being taken away.
When I still don’t respond, he crosses the room, placing the tea and the cloth on the table at my bed. And then he waits.
“I will need to see you drink that.” He breaks the silence again, this time his voice tinged with noticeably more frustration.
Finally, I stop staring.
“Arlet, I know—”
“Do you know what it is to want something with your entire soul—to the point of being consumed by the fire of want—only for all of it to be taken away?” I begin.
My vision blurs. “I know that I belong to the elven crown now. I know the choice I have made, but my dreams…they were all supposed to come true in Enduvida.”
“You chose to come here.”
“I did. And I would do it again. But being selfless does not take away the ache and sting of reality. I do not know any person who makes a decision so firmly that they never wonder…” I trail off. “You are so cruel. And you may have condemned me to death.”
Thorne stiffens.
“My dear, every second we have been here, I have been working tirelessly to ensure you stay alive.”
“Why?” The word is a rough demand, cast from my mouth like a demon from this realm. Finally, I look at him. His face is longer. Open. For the first time, I can decidedly say it is not blank.
“Because scattered throughout this land, there are those like me. Stripped of purpose, dignity, and meaning, all for choices that they did not make. Do you think the life I dreamed of was that of an assassin?” Something tightens the small stretch of skin between his brows.
I ponder his words. “I did not think you so soft.”
“Soft.” He spits the word. Then he picks up the tea, thrusting it under my nose, and waiting for me to drink. “Only a fool would call me soft, Arlet. Do not be a fool.”
I take the cup this time, noting how it is just shy of being too hot to touch. As I sip and chew the herbs in silence, I think.
“Arion is not soft either. But I do see how the people dislike him—he does not seem to have enough power to hold the throne,” I say conversationally. “Isn’t the elven king supposed to have this grand connection to the land through his throne?”
Thorne ignores me at first, so I take another sip and then say, “There are days I think this experiment with me will not work. He is too weak. Not nearly beloved enough to mix your people’s blood with mine. Half-bloods are despised among your kind.”
Thorne bristles at that. “He will fix that any day now.”
I raise my brows, surprised at the frank response. “Oh? How? You told me yourself his last wife was half human, and he killed her.”
Thorne exhales, then looks at me. “You ask so many questions. Now I see you putting together the answers. You mentioned his last wife, the Throne of Living Wood, and his right to power. What do you think is happening?”
I pause. That’s a very good question. What did I think was happening?
“I think…he needs an heir to secure his legacy. I think—” I cut myself off. “I think he realizes the Elven Kingdom will not survive without integrating another race to elevate the birth rate, and he wants to get ahead of that.”
Thorne nods. “Well, you should also know that he has taken the tracker and prepared a small army to march on the Sisterhood’s Enclave.
They are going to use your magic to get the Cumhacht na Cruinne, that sweet power of the universe, to cement his power.
With his sister gone, the dissent will vanish.
They will be slow to question his choices.
” He frowns. “They will not even question you.”
“He is going to…kill Mrath?” Bitterness floods my tongue. I mean, it’s not a surprise. But I can’t help but think of all the women we saw in the Enclave, all of their stories. Are most of them being slaughtered as I lie in bed?
Thorne sneers. “Mrath knows too much. She has been a thorn in his side that has grown roots.”
I bite my lip.
“She knows his secrets, and he will carve them out of her before disposing of her forever.”
I finish the tea, setting it down on the side table again, and feel the liquid slosh in my belly like old bathwater.
“What secrets does she know about him?”
Thorne forcefully picks up the items at my side. He whips the cloth away, causing me to flinch.
“There are things that siblings know about each other…dangerous truths. She knows where his—” He pauses, eyes narrowing. “I shouldn’t tell you any of this.”
I look up at him. “Please do. It’s not like I’m in any position to give information away. Who would I tell? Eslina?”
A small laugh escapes me, but Thorne does not laugh.
“For every elf, there is something like a birthmark upon our flesh. It is the entrance to our souls—a connection to the Elder Tree. Not as strong at the throne, not even by a fraction, but it is a powerful tool nonetheless. Just like the throne, we call it Living Wood. Every elf learns to conceal it before they ever learn to walk or talk, lest someone close to them use it to control them. Or worse, to take their power.”
I consider his words. “What do you mean, ‘take their power’?”
He frowns. “There are those who can literally steal magic by killing someone who has revealed to you their mark. It’s not a common practice now, not with the low birth rates, but some families used to have an extra child—a spare, so to speak—for the sole purpose of emboldening one of their more promising offspring with extra bloodline magic. ”
I stare at him in shock. I’d seen references to the Living Wood, but I had never, not in my wildest dreams, assumed something like this. I just knew that spot was important—but more in a sacred way. Not a…life-threatening way.
“And what of half bloods?” I ask. “Do you also…?”
Thorne nods.
I swallow. Is this something my future children could be impacted by?
“So Mrath knows where Arion’s…mark is?” I ask.
Thorne shakes his head. “Perhaps, but she knows that he was always the weaker sibling. Despite the old king giving Arion more power, he was still weaker than Mrath. As long as she lives, she exploits that power.”
I am speechless, and for some reason, Thorne lingers. As if he wants to reveal more.
Did you know about this? I ask Cursed One.
No.
Thorne shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I suppose I’ve said too much. I—”
I seize the opportunity. “Will I come to know where his mark is?”
Thorne actually laughs. “No. It can be concealed even while nude. I do not think that the king will ever show any kind of weakness toward you. He is not your mate—he is simply a man used to getting what he wants.”
Instantly, I deflate once more. All of the pain and vigor drains from my limbs as he walks to the door and shuts off the lights with a wave of his hand.
“Sleep well, future consort. Tomorrow will be another full day.”