Chapter Two #3
The council will choose who rules Vis?
“Has this happened before?” I ask, beyond curious. “Have other royal families ended this way?”
A grimace flashes across Rowen’s face before he mutes it away.
“No,” Ryc answers. “As such, the process will take years.”
“In the meantime, Vis will be left defenseless,” Rowen adds tersely. “Its borders will shrink. My people do not deserve this. Tanila does not deserve this.”
His words wrench painfully at my heart in a way I didn’t realize possible.
Rowen is a devoted king.
And loving father.
Is it possible to mourn something you’ll never have?
“I don’t understand how your solution involves me,” I say.
“You’re more of a symbol,” Rowen answers as he straightens himself, his hands falling to his lap. He holds my stare with an intensity I struggle to not shy away from. “I can garner support to vote against the notion if I have the support of the future High Rulers.”
Ryc scoffs a dry laugh. “You want me to present her to the council the day of the vote. It’ll prove she’s not the goddess of death and she’s ready to keep her word—to ascend.”
The glance he gives Ryc is less than apologetic. “Yes.”
My nails dig into the heels of my palms. “And let me guess, if I refuse, you’ll tell the council I’ve returned anyway.” My tone grows ice cold.
“No,” Rowen says, shaking his head in a slow toss. “But Vaelyn will. If he hasn’t already.”
“Explain, Rowen,” Ryc demands in a growl.
“I had my suspicions about her already, Alaryc. Vaelyn confirmed them,” Rowen says simply. “When I declined his offer, he suggested I visit Ollora and steal the innateless daughter of Celesta to take the High Throne myself.”
My heart stops.
What?
My brother… encouraged Rowen to take the High Throne?
To take me?
Force me to ascend?
Told Rowen I’m innateless?
Beside me, Ryc stares at Rowen in unflinching, darkened silence. He places a protective and reassuring hand over mine upon the table, urging them to relax by giving me a gentle squeeze. It’s then I realize I do not feel his anger with his mental ward in place. What I feel is all my own.
Judging by the look he gives Rowen, perhaps it’s a good thing. But the warmth of his touch is barely enough to keep my mind from tripping into a tailspin, and the dread in my chest continues to build.
“He would start a war,” I breathe the words.
“Vis’ armies can help ensure that doesn’t happen,” Rowen returns.
Now we get to the heart of the matter.
It’s always an exchange.
Power, pleasure, or perception.
“If we help you first,” I snarl the words, my hands turning into fists. “Your soul is yours because of me.” My lip curls.
“I’m asking you to help me save my daughter’s life,” he replies without hesitation.
The way he stares at me with an earnest placidity makes me want to leap across the table and claw his eyes from his face. Of course, I remain squarely in my seat, clinging to as much decorum as I can muster. How dare the bastard come here and appeal his plight to my feeling little heart.
Part of me wishes I were more like Netharis.
At least in moments like this.
The council learning of my return has always been a matter of time. It seems Vaelyn wishes to expedite the process. This is not… this is not how I want this to happen.
“We need time to discuss,” Ryc says firmly, turning his golden gaze from me to Rowen. “Give us a day or two.”
Rising from his seat, Rowen nods. “Of course,” he says. “The council is set to meet in a week.” Reaching, he takes the letter, returning it to the inner pocket of his fine jacket. “I await your word.”
In a tight burst of gray clouds laced with streaks of blue lightning, Rowen vanishes, leaving Ryc and I alone at the table. I almost laugh at the irony of his innate. A storm wielder. He’s the raging storm lingering on the horizon of an otherwise beautiful day.
Immediately, Eve takes Rowen’s seat, her concerned ice blue eyes locking with mine.
“Ves, breathe,” she urges as if she were coaxing a flighty bird. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this pale.”
“Why would Vaelyn tell Rowen you’ve returned?” Ryc asks, the question soft with concern. “I was under the impression your relationship was… amicable.”
I laugh, a cold, bitter sound.
“I left him the hells thinking everyone was getting what they wanted.” I force myself to take a deep, steadying breath.
“I was apparently mistaken.” I rub at the dull ache at my temple.
“Starting a war serves Vaelyn. The Layer Lords need him to recoup the contracts and souls lost following Netharis’ death. ”
“What faster way to instigate one than to taunt incredible power and the highest seat in Eldoterra to a bunch of Sovereign Kings?” Eve retorts, her expression one of sheer annoyance.
I’m glad she understands.
“Which Sovereign King would take the risk?” Cyran asks, his attention on Ryc.
“All of them,” Eve counters with clear disdain. She sits back in her seat, folding her arms across her chest. “If I’m going to be forced to tolerate a king standing beside Ves, it’s going to be the one Fate says is worthy.” She shrugs.
Ryc huffs a laugh, a small smile tilting his lips.
“It was a poor offer,” he says, glancing around the table. “Rowen lost his mate roughly a century ago. He’s still in mourning. But, the others… those who have not yet found theirs… may be more inclined to consider what Vaelyn has to say.”
“Fenryn?” I ask, remembering he and Lilith wait in the foyer.
He’s an unmated Sovereign King.
Ryc shakes his head. “Fenryn isn’t a concern.”
I shove the urge to argue aside.
“I need time,” I say as I stand from my seat. “To think. To figure this out.”
To figure Vaelyn out.
Ryc stands. “We have a couple days to deliberate,” he says, brushing some of my hair over my shoulder. His hand falls to mine, clasping it gently. “Whatever the outcome, we’ll face everything together.”