Chapter Seventeen #2
He glances at his desk before his eyes find us at the bar. A faint, warm smile crosses his features.
“How are you faring, Vestaris?” he asks as he approaches.
Ryc reaches beneath the bar once again, withdrawing another glass.
“Fine,” I answer, surprised Rowen would think to ask at all.
I was firmly under the impression I was nothing more than a means to an end to him. Free him of his contract, ascend the High Throne, keep him on his throne, protect his daughter…
Ryc collects my glass, lifting the bottle of liquor in his other hand in silent question. I shake my head and he nods once, refilling two glasses.
“Don’t enjoy brandy?” Rowen asks as he settles into the seat beside me. Without hesitation he snags the glass Ryc pushes in his direction.
“My vices are of a different variety,” I reply with a slight shrug, and he laughs as their glasses chime.
“Fair enough,” he smiles. “To today,” he says to Ryc.
Both he and Ryc drink the liquor with ease. Rowen sets his empty glass aside and folds his hands upon the bar. The bitter liquor clearly has no visible effect upon them.
Their taste buds must be broken.
“I’ll admit, Ganus had me concerned for a time,” Rowen says, his voice lower. “Losing Liran but gaining Oryn was unexpected.”
“Twice now the council has failed to ask the right questions,” I say, pinning my stare against Rowen.
He shifts, brown eyes meeting mine.
Heaving a small sigh, he nods, turning his attention to his hands. “You’re too observant.”
“I’m familiar with how demons work,” I counter and Ryc’s brows furrow in question.
Rowen scoffs a short laugh. “I would be concerned if you weren’t.”
“Consider favors between us done,” I say and he gives me a slow nod, tapping his finger against his glass in a slow, steady rhythm. “Do not come to me again.”
“Understood,” he says, turning to grab the bottle. Another knuckles’-length of amber cascades into the glass. “She may not say it, but Tanila and I thank you both. It means more than you realize. Vis will stand beside Erus as promised.”
“I must be missing pieces of this understanding,” Ryc says and both Rowen and I glance at Ryc.
Rowen hesitates to speak.
It’s a hesitation I lack. “It wasn’t Netharis who—for lack of a better word—encouraged the arrangement between you and Tanila,” I reply. “But it was a demon. And I’ve an inkling it was Vaelyn.”
Rowen nods silently. “It was.”
“Why?” Ryc turns a sharp glare to the Sovereign King of Vis.
The door bursts open and Fenryn sweeps into the room with a broad, triumphant smile shining upon his face, robbing me of any opportunity for further questioning. Behind him, Darin peeks around the towering fae, donning his own smile as he closes the door.
“Ah, Ryc,” Fenryn laughs, casting his arms wide in warm greeting. “I knew you’d deliver. ‘Bout time someone put that prick in his place.”
“Another time,” Rowen says in a low whisper to Ryc as he swivels on the stool to face the other Sovereign Kings.
Shifting, I lean against the bar, tucking my elbow upon it. Fenryn crosses the room, throwing himself into the center of the closest couch. It groans against the floor, sliding a few inches backward and bumps the wall. He leans back, propping his arms along the length of the back.
Damn fae has a wingspan of at least seven feet.
Darin, contrasting Fenryn’s entrance, meanders up to the bar and sits quietly on the other side of Rowen. He and Ryc exchange a nod, and Ryc pulls another glass from below.
“I’m surprised you didn’t take both, Alaryc,” Darin says, grinning while Ryc pours him a drink.
“I thought about it,” Ryc smirks.
Take both?
Take both what?
I open my mouth to speak, but Fenryn is faster.
“We shouldn’t have to maintain mental wards among our own,” he reiterates his earlier argument.
Rowen sighs.
It’s a tired sound.
Telling me this conversation isn’t new.
“While I agree,” Rowen says, cupping his glass in his lap, “how do you propose we police Ganus’ innate?”
“Do exactly what Ryc did,” Fenryn answers. “Hold him accountable. He assaulted Ves.”
“We don’t know how his innate works. It’s not that simple,” Rowen counters, lifting his glass to his lips. “We do not police other innates in the same way. We cannot single him out.”
As Rowen downs the amber liquid, Fenryn retorts, “So we’re to keep making excuses for him? That’s our answer?”
Lowering his glass, Rowen stares into the empty bottom of it. And for a moment, I pity him. Centuries of leading a council filled with powerful fae, each with their own loud and varied opinions and thoughts.
I couldn’t do it.
Or rather, I couldn’t do it as patiently as Rowen.
“We could wait for another blood tithe and leave him without either eye,” Darin laughs.
I blink, stunned as I swivel my stare to Ryc over my shoulder.
“You took his eye?” I ask, bewildered.
The corner of his lips twitch, hinting at a smile.
“You need to protect your thoughts, your mind. Else I’ll be inclined to tear out a fine pair of eyes.” The threat he made months ago rings all too clearly in my head.
Fate has paired me with a nyraphim unafraid of stepping into shadow.
“Take Eloric’s tongue, too, while you’re at it,” Fenryn adds with a dry, huffed laugh. “Then the council will finally feel united.”
“Jokes aside, there are other issues likely to rise as a result of today,” Rowen says, and smiles throughout the room fade.
What other issues?
Ryc steps around the bar, tucking himself behind me. His hand finds my hip, drawing me against his chest, an unspoken reminder I’m not alone.
“Vestaris’ actions were witnessed by the council,” Rowen says, glancing about the room. “Despite significant distress, she did not lose control of her innate. It will reaffirm Vaelyn’s words should he share her innateless state with other kings.”
Fenryn scoffs. “We’ll say she has impeccable restraint,” he argues.
“She assaulted you and her own Captain of the Royal Guard,” Rowen counters. “I wouldn’t call that restraint.”
“Innateless?” Darin repeats, his face pinching with confusion as he pitches past Rowen to look at me.
The speckling of freckles across the bridge of his nose reminds me of Cora. But now is not the time for remembrance. Tucking thoughts of her away, I force myself to listen to Darin speak.
“I wondered what in the nine hells happened—everything fell to chaos so quickly. You’re not able to raise a mental ward?” Darin’s brows furrow.
I suck in a deep breath. “It’s complicated.”
My stomach turns itself into a tight knot.
Yet another Sovereign King now knows I wield no magic. At this rate, the entire council will know before Vaelyn visits them.
“Furthermore, I imagine the coming weeks will be spent fielding questions regarding your ascension.” Rowen glances at Ryc and me. “My advice? Ascend sooner rather than later. You’ll reduce the chance of Vaelyn tempting kings, and Vestaris will be granted access to her second innate.”
I would get a second innate?
“Ascension would solve more than one problem,” Fenryn says with a shrug.
“We’ve already set a date,” Ryc says and Rowen’s brows lift. “Ashdown.”
“Interesting choice,” Rowen says with a soft laugh. “Another message, I see.”
“Something like that,” Ryc says and I can hear the smirk in his voice.
I’m going to have to ask Lilith about Ashdown.
“Much can change in eight weeks,” Rowen says. He reaches behind him, grabbing the bottle of brandy by its neck. “Here’s hoping it doesn’t.”
He fills his glass, higher this time.
“In the event the world falls to flames, I pray none of you make the same mistakes I’ve made,” he says, returning the bottle to the bar. “When I signed…” he trails off with a bitter laugh. “I’ve never been so desperate.”
A heavy, tensioned silence fills the study.
“You needn’t talk about this, Rowen,” Fenryn says, shaking his head. “What’s done is done. You’re Netharis’ no longer.”
“No,” Rowen argues. “I think you’ve earned the opportunity to understand. I wouldn’t be here right now if not for all of you—and Oryn.”
His brown eyes catch mine as he lifts his chin.
“Rose grew sick. I spiraled,” he says. “No healer, no doctor, no witch could understand what was happening. Nothing helped.”
My jaw tightens.
It’s the start of a story I’ve heard before.
Replace Rowen with Celesta.
How many others turned to Netharis for the same throughout the eons?
“Netharis promised to save her,” Rowen says and I grimace, tearing my gaze away from his. I fix it upon the door and listen. “My soul in exchange for a long life with my heart? Of course I signed.”
Ryc’s hand tightens on my hip.
“Too quickly I learned the god of death takes pleasure in suffering. Our definitions of save differed. It’s been near a century since I’ve lost her and I have yet to put her to rest. I’m hoping I’ll be able to do that one day soon.”
I remain silent, despite the urge to apologize.
I will not apologize for Netharis.
Nor will I apologize when Rowen should have known better.
The door opens and faces turn as Tanila enters, a bright smile upon her face.
“You’ll be happy to learn Ganus lives,” she chimes, closing the door. As she turns, she looks over the room and her smile falters. “Should I return later?” she asks, her hand lingering upon the doorknob.
Rowen shakes his head. “And his eye?”
A tight-lipped frown appears. “Lost,” she answers. “He and Sophira have returned to Yel.”
The princess peers at me. Eyes the same shade as Rowen’s, yet less kind, meet mine.
“Your Captain’s finger has been reset and mended,” she says. She glances at Fenryn. “I still disagree with your decision to decline medical attention.”
“She didn’t break my nose, I’m fine,” he counters, settling deeper into the cushions of the couch—as if she were somehow capable of pulling him from it.
“Gods, I hope my mate is just as feral,” Darin laughs with a wide grin.
I’m not sure I appreciate being called feral twice in one day.
“If your mate is anything like Ves, you won’t survive,” Fenryn retorts. “I thought mine was the only injury—didn’t realize she got Cyran too. I’m surprised I wasn’t bitten.”
“Fae fangs serve for nothing more than pleasure,” I retort with a scoff.
“Different vices indeed,” Rowen muses as Ryc chuckles.
Fenryn bursts into unabashed laughter. “Not a single day, Darin. I’ll put gold on minutes.”
“Why help?” Tanila’s voice cuts through the laughter filling the room. “Why agree to help keep the Grayflame family in power?”
Her eyes fix upon me, waiting for me to answer.
I heave a sigh and reach behind Rowen for my glass and the bottle. Rowen lifts his glass, holding it steady as I pour. I fill my own glass and set the bottle side.
“Would you believe me if I said to save you?” I say, and her brows shoot high before a scathing scowl settles into her pointed features.
“This doesn’t make us friends,” she shoots back, the words sharp.
“Didn’t expect it to,” I counter calmly.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” she says to Rowen. “Getting in bed with yet another demon.”
“Tanila,” Rowen sighs but she’s already through the door.
With another sigh, Rowen taps his glass against mine with a nod.
And together we down the bitter liquor.