Chapter 17
èLLIA
All her life, èllia had known only two truths: the Bloodstone King must die, and his death would come from her hands.
It wasn’t just her life that depended on this but the fate of the realm itself.
Being raised for slaughter was nothing new to éllia.
She had been choking on death since her mother’s womb.
But lately, the air had grown thinner. Her father’s patience, shorter.
When he sent a spy to remind èllia that time was running out, her stomach had turned to ice.
Now it flipped again, filling with the same nerves that consumed her then and made her feel weak.
Her father was disappointed by èllia's lack of progress.
And her father’s disappointment worried her far more than his temper.
There could be no more delay. No more hesitations. She had to kill the king who had twisted his way into her heart before he destroyed them all.
And wasn’t it funny? That after all these years of preparing to spill his blood, she now bled for him instead. How cruel the stars could be.
Stepping out of the archive, èllia held the concealed book to her chest and crossed through the stone archway onto the balcony. She leaned over the brass railing and gazed down at the people scuttling through the entry hall down below.
This was one of her webs, strung high above the rotunda where she could watch her prey scuttle beneath.
From here, she could see right down into the foyer, but no one could see her.
She tilted her head up to the ceiling. The domed glass was made of Selenith crystal imported from her homeland.
Liquid light, the Bloodstones called it.
It absorbed all light and reflected it back into open spaces, which meant the ceiling itself was difficult to see unless you were close to it.
And èllia was often close to it, using the shadows it cast to hide in.
She rose onto her toes and watched the court unravel beneath her.
The spiders were already gathering. Lady Morrinthea was gossiping with her usual loyal pack of mutts by the fountain, the fools lapping her every word.
Saer Cryden was reading a book on the other side.
In the far left of the hall, Lord Morrinthea dragged his wife’s niece behind one of the black columns and lifted up her skirts.
He backhanded her with his other hand and èllia ground her teeth as the young girl’s face whipped to the side.
Lord Morrinthea held her up by the throat, then he kissed her, deep and passionately.
Oh, how èllia had been waiting for that to happen.
Now Lord Morrinthea and his bitch wife were about to become the latest scandal to hit the court.
The girl’s reputation would be ruined, all marriage prospects shattered.
èllia had no control over that. She had witnessed more scandals than she could count, and spreading them was as effortless as spinning a web.
But webs were such delicate things.
One wrong move, and the silk would break.
But this time, she had the book. The weapon her father demanded, or else she would rot beneath his curses. The fact it practically cost èllia's soul to get it was of no consequence to her. She didn’t have a soul worth saving anymore.
Father will indeed be proud of me, she thought as she pushed off the balcony and held the book concealed under a cloth to her chest, that perhaps he will not punish my delay.
èllia was still recovering from her last punishment six months ago.
Whenever she breathed in, her ribs still ached from where her father’s magic had stung her. Although the curse left no visible trace, it spread through her chest like poison, weakening her lungs. Every breath was a reminder of her slow progress. Exactly what her father wanted.
At least he hadn’t killed her.
Though sometimes she wished he would, if only to silence the hollow ache where her heart once lived.
As she stepped onto the spiral stairs leading down to the hall, she made a mental note to visit the apothecary later that night.
The graded three healing potions were the only ones that seemed to relieve her pain.
Unfortunately, the effects were temporary, and lately the old crone had started to keep a closer eye on her inventory.
èllia stopped at the bottom of the stairs, coming face to face with the last person she wanted or expected to see. The freak who did not even remember her. èllia supposed she wouldn’t since her father had gone to great lengths to conceal her Moonstone identity.
In the decades since they last saw each other, èllia's long, bright cobalt hair had been cut to her shoulders and turned completely black. The markings she had been born with, and proud to carry, had been ripped from her flesh by her father’s magic, leaving not a trace on her arms, stomach, or legs.
That had been the most painful of her father’s alterations. One that took èllia several months to heal from. It had also been the hardest to come to terms with—the last scrap of her identity, burned from her flesh.
Now she was Bloodstone. One of the enemy.
The only thing her father let èllia keep was her eyes, and it wasn’t because they were the kind of brown that looked almost red in the light. It was because they were her mother’s eyes. He liked looking into them when he hurt her.
If Narya recognised èllia by her eyes, she gave no indication.
“Oh!” She blinked at èllia in surprise, her cloak hood slipping slightly as she came to an abrupt halt. “Good-morning.”
èllia quickly forced herself to look away and curtsied, keeping her eyes dropped to the black marble floor.
She didn’t know why her father had sent Narya here—or if he indeed had any part in it—so she figured playing along until she did know was her safest bet.
Even if looking at the freak who had replaced her in the king’s bed made her blood boil and pound in her ears.
“Good-morning, Your Grace.”
Although she made sure not to look at Narya directly, èllia could feel her gaze on her.
It was like she didn’t know what to say to her.
Or perhaps she expected èllia to cry again.
But èllia wouldn’t cry again. She’d played that card the evening prior in the hopes to avoid becoming Narya’s servant.
A servant! The thought of being at anyone’s beck and call, least of all Narya’s, made her want to claw her own eyes out.
It was all just so wrong. Narya wasn’t supposed to be there. She didn’t deserve to be.
èllia bit the inside of her cheek and waited for Narya to speak.
The tension between them rippled like a magical current that coated èllia's tongue with bitter reproach. From under her thick curled lashes, she could see no guards standing nearby, or following Narya. Wasn’t the captain supposed to be guarding her?
The court was already in an uproar about Narya’s arrival, many protesting her fating to the king. No Moonstone had entered the palace walls in half a century. If she were in Narya’s place, èllia would not be wandering around alone, with, what it appeared like, no weapon at her disposal.
It seemed Narya’s stupidity hadn’t lessened over the years either.
Then again, should èllia really be surprised?
Back home Narya had rarely defended herself.
To say her self-preservation skills were lacking put it mildly.
Narya always tried to take her precious little high road instead of fighting back, something that had been drilled into her by the buffoon who raised her.
The high road only ever led to more pain and misery. Narya would never survive the Bloodstone Court.
“Is there anything I can… help you with, Your Grace?”
èllia forced the words out her mouth. Perhaps slap some sense into you?
Narya stopped glancing around, and turned her head towards her. “You don’t need to be frightened of me.”
There was a bite to those words. An air of… dislike that scarcely crept through. And—frightened of her? èllia almost laughed at that. If Narya had said disgust, hatred, or even pity, then èllia would have been inclined to agree. But one thing she’d never felt for Narya was fear.
“Forgive me, Your Grace. I’m simply embarrassed by how I acted yesterday. I do hope you can forgive my behaviour.”
èllia slowly straightened and met Narya’s gaze, if only to see her reaction.
The sympathetic look on her face made èllia clench her teeth.
Narya had such a miserable looking face.
Even when she smiled it was haunted still by sadness.
What the hells did Narya have to be sad about now?
She was about to become a queen! Well, that was if her father’s plan failed.
Now that èllia had the book, she was certain it wouldn’t.
She just had to get it to him before someone caught on.
“No need to apologise,” she said in her quiet, pathetic voice. “I get it. I also get why you reacted that way, and that, well, you don’t like me.”
Now that caught èllia's genuine interest. Perhaps Narya was no longer as stupid as she’d looked back home.
èllia forced herself to appear shocked when she replied, “Your Grace?”
Narya’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You were his consort, right?” èllia nodded once. “I’m his…whatever, now.” She tugged at the fur collar of her cloak which wrapped around her throat. An expensive cloak èllia had long coveted. But something glinted underneath it, something that made èllia smile.
So it was a collar after all. Hah!
èllia had watched Daigen forge it in secret last night, each hammer striking a memory in èllia that burned into her skin.
Pound. The first time his rough fingers slid down her throat.
Pound. The way he bent her over his desk, rutting her like she was nothing.
Pound. Pound. Pound.
It had been wonderful. A pain she had come to crave.
And now the freak wore it, paraded like a chained dog before the court
Oh, it was glorious.
èllia forced herself to keep her mask on, ensuring nothing crept through. No snide remark or flick or her lips. “My lady—”