Chapter 8 Training #2
“Those are our fathers’ oaths. We’ve made none to each other.
” Draven lets that smoke spool, coiling up the sides of that coy mouth of his.
I’ve never liked smoking, and certainly never found it sexy before, not to mention how very rude it is to do indoors, in a sparring gym no less.
So why can’t I stop staring at his mouth?
His gaze shifts my way, delight forming there, and I clear out my thoughts, like beating dirt from an old rug.
He seems loath to shift his attention but finally he looks dismissively to Reva.
“At the very least would you consider ruling from here?”
“My father desires your people’s loyalty, not these lands.
So, unless you have something better to offer, I will tell my father to set the dates.
” Reva turns on her heel, flipping her long hair over a shoulder.
Draven glares daggers at the back of her head, fangs peeking the next time he puffs more of that heady smoke.
I turn to my father, clutching his hand tighter in mine, my eyes threatening to water.
No—he can’t leave. My heart pounds offbeat, drowning out everything else.
I just got him back, we’ve barely spoken, and it’s all happening too fast. My father hesitates, looking between Reva and Draven before blurting after her.
“Your Majesty. Please. Your father reassured me that if my daughter should ever be Selected that he would pay for her transfer into Nevaeh. Allow me to take her with us.”
He grips my hand, his own warm in mine, and my hope flares bright. Every moment of pain and uncertainty from the last seven years might be worth it if I can just leave with my dad right here and now.
Reva looks me over, gaze narrowing slightly. Finally, she nods, a softness there I haven’t seen, like she would do this for him, and only him. She turns to Draven, waving her hand dismissively in my direction.
“What do you want for the girl?”
As if I’m property to be bought and sold.
My seller the one who hates me the most. But however deep the insult of my worth burns, I’ll endure it to be with my father.
Hesitantly I meet Draven’s gaze and to my surprise his fangs have slid down completely, crowding his mouth.
His nostrils flare, back straightening, those eyes of his brightening as he looks me up and down.
Why does he seem so angry? This should be a win for him.
Stomping out whatever delicious thing he was smoking, he walks to my side.
“Rune has been chosen by the World. The only one besides myself blessed with this power.” A muscle feathers in Draven’s jaw as he looks down on Princess Reva, her eyes hardening. What is he doing? “Her cost is too steep for even your deep pockets, princess.”
Are you kidding me?
“Stop your games. Just name your price.” She rolls her eyes.
My father squeezes my shoulder more tightly and my breaths fall short. Draven’s eyes linger on me, and time stands still.
Let me go.
“A life for a life. You want her? You’ll have to take your claws out of me. End our betrothal. It’s the only price worthy of such a loss for our people.” His eyes are as dark as the bottom of a coal shaft, and he won’t look at me any longer.
I cannot believe he’s leveraging my return to my father, possibly my only surviving family member, all for his own greed. Pretentious, privileged prick. Tension charges between us. I swear I want to slip poison into his little imported aioli.
Arrogantly he lifts his chin, running a tongue along those canines as he adds, “Take the terms to your father. He has until Autumn Equinox to decide if he cares more about this betrothal neither of us wants or keeping his promise to his second-in-command.”
“You’re truly a cruel bastard.” Reva’s lip curls.
“It’s a win for both of us.” Draven folds his arms, strong muscles bulging beneath the thin shirt he wears. Reva stomps away, and my father squeezes my arm once, pulling me close.
“I will fix this. Hold on, baby girl.”
My heart shatters at the nickname. He kisses me on the forehead and trails after the seraph princess, the other guards following his lead like a pack of wolves.
The rest of the hall picks up in volume at the seraphs’ disappearance, and it’s only Draven and me in this pocket of the sparring hall, though his guards still linger, separating us from the rest of the space.
I turn on Draven, the corner of his lip curling at the livid look on my face.
I want to shove him into the wall at his back, but I know that doing so would land me a night in the Boiler.
Instead I step toe to toe with him, my finger nearly in his face.
From this vantage point, I have a glorious view of the vulnerable slope of his neck, and the smell of vetiver and cedarwood washes over me.
His long, silken black hair begs to be grasped, and when his eyes find mine, they spark in violent joy at my fury, slowly churning as if a fire lies in the depths of that indigo.
Commander Soto clears his throat and steps closer to us, but Draven just holds up a hand to halt his interference. “It’s fine—”
“No, it isn’t. Why didn’t you let me go! I’m worth nothing to you,” I whisper furiously.
“I meant what I said. You hold unmatched value in this kingdom. And there is no way in Hells Below my father would ever allow both users of the World to leave this kingdom for theirs. The only way he would approve it is if I leveraged you in my stead. And your oath of loyalty lies with him, so you will need his approval anyway.” He leans forward, voice curling against the nape of my neck, coiling in my ear, and making me heady.
“Curse me if you want, but I just guaranteed you getting what you desire, whether you or your father are capable of seeing that. After all, if there’s one thing the seraph princess despises, it’s being told no.
She’ll argue on your behalf, and your father will be even more convincing, wanting to save you from me. ”
“You are such an arrogant—”
A sickening crack snatches our attention, and the hall goes silent.
Draven pushes through his guards and I slip out after him.
Four mats over, a changeling boy with emerald, forest-cursed hair twitches across the ground.
My heart catches in my throat as he goes still.
Mira stands, dusting off her fighting leggings, blood staining her hands, and she looks around the hall, taking in all the eyes on her.
“Sorry.” She looks to Draven, clearly for approval. From the nonchalant shrug of her shoulders there’s not an apologetic bone in her body. “He was weak. It just happened.”
I can’t stare at his lifeless body anymore or take in the absence of emotion in those pale, open eyes.
Prince Draven leaves my side and marches across the room toward Mira, the only movement in the vast hall.
She goes white, stepping aside. Draven reaches her, face curled into furious anger, and he swoops down, wings hunched on his back as his hand hovers over the body.
His other palm cups the tarot cards holstered to his thigh, and several rise, a golden, spider-webbed orb spanning all around him, Mira, and the dead changeling.
The entire hall holds its breath. I find myself following the path he created, feet soft on the marble floor as if it’s the frozen pond near our old house, my boots soundless like the skates I once wore.
Draven continues to pull on the magic of more cards as I draw nearer.
I’m mesmerized as the Four of Swords moves to the forefront, the Empress behind it, then Judgment reversed, and finally the World, controlling the rest. His eyes sparkle like the night sky, a wash of deep purples and blacks and golden flecks like stars.
The air warps around him, crackling with energy.
The Four of Swords drops to the floor, the outline of the card burning and smoking, and a moment later, the Empress follows, the fiery silhouette of the healer card seared into my eyes. All that’s left is a green acidic smog around them.
The boy’s head turns, and he whispers something to Draven.
Chills lace up my spine, sending goose bumps across my skin at his lifeless eyes.
This must be dark, twisted magic. A few gasp, relieved, but this close I can tell something’s wrong.
He moves like a puppet on strings, not naturally.
I cringe when I notice his neck still bulges with a break.
Draven nods, and the boy drops his head back, motionless again.
Draven scoops up his cards, his hands flexing at his sides as he stands over the changeling.
Then Draven turns on Mira, growling something into her ear that makes her eyes water. Now, regret seems to be the foundation of her bones. His attention no longer desired. She starts begging, but he just holds up a hand to silence her and leaves.
I’m left in momentary shock, my fists clenching tight enough to leave half-moon cuts along my palms. Action flows into me. I follow Draven out, ignoring the stunned crowd of onlookers.
“Hey! I said hey!” I shout at his muscular back as he throws the doors open wide, exiting into a small courtyard between the sparring gym and dining hall.
The sun is close to setting, and smoke from the volcano casts it in red hues, the sky a wash of amethysts and tangerines. He turns, his brows knitting together as I march right at him.
“What the hells happened? Why didn’t you heal him?”
“He was already dead.” His voice is toneless, and I’m unsure if there’s a lack of emotion or if he’s merely exhausted. Draven’s expression turns dismissive as he walks back toward our Hearth, saying only, “I did all I could.”
It’s not good enough. “No. You need to try again—”
“I’m not a god, Rune.” His glare pierces me like daggers, spilling me open.
I choke on a grief I don’t understand. After all, I didn’t know that boy. “But he was moving. You were so close, and you just gave up—”
“His soul was trapped in his body, confused by what happened.” Draven’s eyes pale in the last flare of sunlight.
He’s so still, so quiet, that I want to shake him.
“He couldn’t come back, only be helped in leaving his body behind, safe in knowing I’d pass some information along to someone he cares for.
Now, if you’re done with your tantrum, I’m tired. ”
He glances over my shoulder, and I turn.
On the other side of the doorway, several druids and changelings linger beyond the inlaid glass, quite obviously pretending they weren’t listening in on our argument.
My face scorches from my hollow cheeks to my ears as if I have a gloriously raw sunburn.
Shadows linger around Draven, and I know what he’s about to do.
He’ll disappear into that space between spaces, the same one that brought us all to the Forge.
I grasp his wrist, and his eyes flare a dangerous shade of scarlet that has me shrinking.
But I don’t let go.
Behind us, the doors fling open. A changeling girl named Fallon bursts through. I watch as a few I don’t know follow her, including a murderous-looking guy who I think goes by Ward. At the very back of the ten-person throng are Kasper and Morgan.
Fallon points an accusatory finger at Draven and screeches, “You get back in there and fix him!”
“I can’t,” Draven repeats, looking less resigned and more on edge than he did with just me. “Go back to your training.”
“I’ve been telling you, they’re all liars.” Ward shakes with anger. “They only use the Selection as a way to continue their lines, to breed us like pigs!”
My heart jolts at his words, confusion tumbling through me with an edge of suspicion.
The knife tucked up Ward’s sleeve is visible for only a moment, the silver glinting in the light, and then Ward curls his arm up and hurls it—straight at Draven.
In an instant, my Wraith instincts take over.
I throw myself into Draven, slamming us into the walkway.
The heels of my palms ache nearly as bad as my scraped knees, yet I remain crouched over him, protecting the prince with my body.
Draven’s hand curls around the back of his head, teeth gritted in pain.
He stares at me in confusion before we both notice Ward and a couple of others rushing toward us.
Draven uses his strength to roll us, flipping me below him, our hips pinned together before he pushes back to his feet, yanking me with him.
Draven pushes me behind him and his shadow magic rears up, the swirling edges sharpening into spikes. It blasts outward, pinning the students by their clothes to the walls of the sparring gym, and Ward cries out as a spear of darkness pierces through his shoulder into the bricks.
Plumes of black smoke ignite across the scene, armed soldiers barreling out of them, tackling everyone who followed me out.
The guards pull the pinned attackers down, one slamming Ward into the pavers, blood and teeth flying from what I assume must be a broken jaw.
My meager lunch rises up, choking me at the sight of his tongue lolling, eyes widened with pain, a guttural scream unleashing from his throat.
Draven’s glaring at everyone, hand still clawed around my forearm.
“Your Majesty, what would you like us to do with them?” a guard asks.
“They need to calm down. Let them sweat out a night in the Boiler.” Draven looks between the attacker and a wall behind us where the knife is stuck to the mortar between bricks.
He points to Ward and the sparring hall.
“Give this one the same punishment as that idiot Mira.” He turns to me, eyes sparking. “As for you …”
He summons Death’s sweet shadows and steps back, allowing the darkness to engulf him, and jerks me to his side.
A heavy blackness hums and pulsates all around us, billowing as if we’re in the midst of a violent hurricane.
A scream catches in my throat as he glides us through the shadows.
Light is a flickering, muted thing above us, and I swear there’s something feral in the darkness’s movements, as if the black smoke may devour me if he lets me go.
My body shivers, my grasp weakening, but he says nothing, only tugging me tighter against him.
I burrow my face against his chest, clenching my eyes shut to block out the wild visions of dragonish wings and the outlines of demons.
There’s a ripping sound, like a match struck in a cave, and then mercifully, light.