25. Rorax
“Leave me alone, Ror.” Jia hissed into her face.
“Absolutely not,” Rorax snarled, about to blow the top off her temper.
Rorax had never had such an uncomfortable night in her life.
From the beginning of the evening men and women from all over the Realms stared at her. There were glances of anger, admiration, lust, and envy, and Rorax had never had so many eyes on her at one time. The extra attention both made her skin crawl with unease and her chest warm with pride.
It was all Hella’s fault. The dress was beautiful—made Rorax feel beautiful.
Hella had listened to her only request and had given her a thick ribbon to tie around her neck to cover Rorax’s Contestar tattoo.
The dress was completely backless, and the only cover on her upper body were two straps of fabric that had been stylishly sewn from the flowy silk skirt that rested on Rorax’s hips up to the ribbon on Rorax’s neck. The strips of fabric provided coverage for her breasts, but not much else.
Volla would have loved it. Sahana would have loved it more, and the knowledge made her happiness feel selfish, empty, and slightly vile.
“Tell me, is it you or your beautiful friend here who is the long lost Contestar?”
Rorax and Jia both turned their heads to the side to find the House of Death emissary, a tall pale redheaded woman who stood deceptively casual with her arms crossed over her chest, looking down at Rorax. Her stick straight red hair draped almost all the way to her waist, and she had swapped out her black armor from when her House had been introduced earlier in the arena, for a long black dress and blood-red stilettos.
Rorax stepped in front of Jia slightly. She didn’t see a reason to lie to the emissary, and she didn’t know if she could do it convincingly right now or not. “It’s me.”
The emissary looked her up and down slowly, assessing every inch of Rorax from the top of her head to the bottom of her Glitter Silk dress with sharp, assessing eyes before she looked over Jia, too.
“Who are you?” Rorax asked, even though she already knew.
“My name is Milla Garrison. I am the emissary for the House of Death. I will be the one choosing the House of Death’s Contestar.”
Rorax stepped back, forcing Jia back as well.
“Where have you been for the past six months, Contestar?” Milla asked sharply, raising an eyebrow. “Everyone in Illus has been waiting for you.”
Rorax shrugged her shoulder, watching the emissary carefully as she told the truth. “I don’t want the job, and I didn’t know the Guardian was deteriorating.”
“You . . . don’t . . . want the job?” Milla choked, her eyebrows pushing closer together. “It is your duty as a citizen of the Realms to show up at the Choosing; it’s an honor to be chosen by the gods for this.”
An honor? Rorax wanted to laugh.
“A Lowborn hasn’t won the Guardianship in two thousand years,” Rorax pointed out. “It feels more like a death sentence.”
Milla just blinked at her, staring for so long Rorax couldn’t help but swipe her thumb back and forth over the top of her ring a few times. “Well, you will have to excuse me, Emissary, it was nice to meet you.”
Rorax managed to take another step back, but Jia tried to free herself again.
“Let go, Rorax. I won”t let her ruin my night . . . Come on. We need another drink,” Jia slurred, rocking back and forth unsteadily, leaning into Rorax for support.
Rorax staggered a bit under Jia’s sudden weight, rocking on her high heels and grunting as she tried to turn them both away from Milla’s still wide eyes. “Jia, I promise I don’t need a drink.”
Jia’s glazed eyes lifted and focused on Milla. She gave her a sloppy wink. “You,” Jia pointed right at Milla, “definitely . . . look like you don’t want to go to bed.” Jia tried to wink but hiccupped instead.
The emissary”s eyes didn’t move from Rorax’s face, but her shock melted as her upper lip started to curl up over straight white teeth.
Rorax forced Jia back a step, but she backed up right onto someone’s toes. Rorax looked up into a pair of angry golden yellow irises and suppressed a gulp. She had just stepped onto the Prince of Death’s toes. He could probably rip their lives away with barely a focused thought.
“Excuse us,” Rorax mumbled as she hauled Jia off the prince.
“Milla, we came when we saw the fireball. Is there a problem here?” The prince asked the Death Emissary, looking over Rorax and then Jia.
“No,” the emissary snapped from behind Rorax. “It has been handled. I think I know everything I need to know here.”
Rorax kept her face blank and tried to take a step around the prince, still hauling Jia, when two other men trailing behind the prince stepped up. They trapped her and Jia in a circle, surrounding them.
One of the two men towered over Rorax, and when she craned her neck up to get a better look at him her mouth went dry. It was the handsome House of Death soldier that Jia had pointed out in the arena earlier. The one with the armor like Rorax’s own, designed to be tall enough to cover his neck. The black dress shirt he wore now covered most of his neck as well, but Rorax could see the tips of black ink from under the material. The man reminded Rorax of Raengar. Rough, intense, sharp, and though Rorax normally couldn’t feel magick signatures from most people, she absolutely felt power radiating from him. It made Rorax want to hold onto her soul with both hands.
Rorax forced herself to shift her attention and take in the other man. He was a few inches shorter than the hulking male in front of her, his skin dark brown. A deep scowl was etched into his face.
As the second man turned to the red headed Death Emissary, Rorax’s eyes caught a tattoo under his skin just underneath his left ear lobe.
But it wasn’t a tattoo at all. No, it was a dark keloid scar. A scar of a ten-pointed star that had been etched into his skin.
Rorax swayed on her feet.
The man started moving his fingers and signing to the Death Emissary. Who is this? Is she the one that got Roo killed?
She forced her gaze to the man’s hands as regret, despair, and shame rocked through her chest so hard that for a moment she couldn’t breathe. The walls felt like they were pressing in on her, and her knees wobbled.
Rorax stumbled to the side, and it was all she could do to stay upright as she watched the man’s lithe fingers form the words.
A warm hand gripped her shoulder, but she couldn’t look away long enough from the scarred man to see who it was.
She was going to throw up. She could see the siege weapons, see the burning clock tower in the center of Surmalinn . . .
Since Rorax had been holding Jia up straight, Jia noticed Rorax’s reaction.
Jia looked back and forth from Rorax to the man with the scar—not understanding why Rorax’s face had lost all its color—before she shoved away from Rorax.
Rorax staggered back, and the man who had a hand on her shoulder guided her safely into his chest for support. She gratefully leaned against him, curled into him, greedily soaking in any comfort and warmth she could find as she numbly watched Jia take two angry steps to stand toe to toe with the man with the scar.
Jia started furiously using her hands to sign back to the man before Rorax could even think to stop her. What the fuck did you just say to her?
“Jia!” Rorax hissed.
The ability to use Language of Hands was incredibly rare.
When the House of Ice had invaded the House of Death, the Wolf had taught them all how to deafen their enemies as a form of torture.
They would blow out their eardrums, pour black salt into the wound, and heal them. The black salt stopped the magick from being able to heal properly, and the eardrums could never be repaired.
Her men had done it to so many people that the House of Death had created a language using their hands, with the help of a few scholars from the House of Ice as an apology to their people.
Under Sahana’s direction, the Heilstorms had all learned it, even going as far as developing their own dialect.
She doubted anyone outside the House of Ice knew they could read and use the sign language, but the last thing Rorax needed was Jia giving any additional clues about who she was or what talents they had. Too many clues would lead everyone right to her doorstep.
The man with the ten-pointed star’s jaw dropped, and he blinked at her for so long that Jia leaned in closer to him menacingly and started to sign again.
She also knows what you’re saying, so I would watch your mouth if I were you. Ask around and find out what she did to Isgra Torvik today; see if what you”re spewing is a good idea. Jia put her hands on her hips and gave the man a smug sneer.
The chest behind her stiffened, and she looked up to the dark broody one with the tall necked dress shirt glaring at Jia. Unease pooled in Rorax’s stomach, and she finally found the strength to shove away from him and stand on her own.
She moved forward and gripped the back of Jia’s dress and yanked Jia behind her.
The man with the ten-pointed star was now openly gaping at Rorax, his eyes so wide she could probably pop them out with a hard smack to the back of his head.
Rorax looked over her shoulder to find the red headed emissary also slack jawed and staring at her. The prince looked just as shocked as the emissary, but the tall one, the one with the intense, beautiful face glowered down at her. Rorax swallowed hard under his stare before focusing her attention back to the man with the scar.
He was still just staring at her, trying to figure her out.
Excuse my friend. She’s had too much to drink,Rorax signed back to the man. She grabbed Jia’s hand before any of them could say anything and pulled Jia through the crowd and away from House of Death.
Rorax kept a hold on Jia, ignoring Jia’s struggles and tugging her along until they reached the opposite end of the room.
She stopped partially behind a pillar and far enough away so no one would be able to hear them speak.
“Jia . . .” Rorax ground her teeth together trying to keep her emotions under control. “What the fuck was that? You’re going to give us away.”
Jia sighed wistfully. “I know, I got carried away. I shouldn”t have signed. What did he sign that made you so upset anyway?”
“He didn’t sign anything,” Rorax shook her head, rubbing her thumb over her ring when Jia just gave her a confused stare. “I just . . . I haven”t ever met anyone who . . .”
A cold, familiar emptiness filled her chest. “He didn’t say anything, Jia, it wasn’t that. I just have never met any of the people that we . . . that I tortured like that before.”
Jia’s purple eyes went wide. “Oh.”
Rorax’s eyes fell to the white marble tile of the ballroom floor. “Out of everyone in this god’s forsaken castle, the House Death is entitled to think whatever they damn well please about me. They should think worse.”
Jia bit her lip and reached out to grasp Rorax’s wrist, her eyes full of sad understanding. “One day, Rorax, you’re going to need to forgive yourself for what happened there.”
Rorax snorted bitterly, knowing it would never happen.