Chapter 22 #2
My mind spun, and panic seared through my veins.
I searched, seeking the answer to end this, but when he started toward Nenlyn, I wrapped my fingers around his ears and yanked him toward me until he crushed my lips.
He tasted of smoke, violence, and copper.
I pulled him in deeper until he succumbed to my touch.
Somewhere he found my hips and I, his chest. My fingers wandered across him as we floated into the corner of the room, behind the staircase.
Our bodies writhed, becoming one hot mess as my hand wandered until it found his rapidly tightening pants.
I finally pulled away to gasp in air, and when he looked down, his iris had steadied, no longer thrumming in anticipation.
I wanted him to say something, to talk about what happened.
To speak about our kiss, and ruminate on us.
To tell me what we were, what this meant.
I hated it, but my heart jumped to my throat, waiting.
But he turned away to adjust his breeches, refastening his belt to hide what occurred, and straightened his leathers. In a few seconds, his features returned to normal, and the flush across his face faded. Then he took my hand and guided me outside.
It was probably better we didn’t talk about it. Certainly for the best that he and Nenlyn didn’t meet under these circumstances. I shook away the knot that formed in my gut.
“I don’t want you to speak to him again,” Aelen muttered, the gray skies hanging above like a dark omen.
I ripped my hand away in the crowded square, raising my voice above the chatter. “Why? He’s my friend.”
He tapped on my sleeve. “If he knew what was beneath this jack, you’d have seconds before he’d put a knife to your gut. You deserve friends who don’t desire your death.”
I halted, and he went for my hand, but I ripped it away. “They’re kind, Aelen. They wouldn’t do that.”
The hint of a smile washed over his face. “It almost sounds as if you like the I’phri.”
I faked a gasp. “I would never.”
"Good, then you'll have no issue never sharing a word with that one again."
He took my hand, grasping it so tightly I thought he’d never let go as we swept into the palace’s colossal silver doors.
They must have been at least a hand’s length thick, and four times my weight, yet didn’t make a single sound, compared to the shriek the castle’s made.
They shuttered behind us with a boom as the room’s warmth crept into me.
The heat came from the many blue flames dotting the walls, in the form of sconces and one hearth that burned taller than I.
Marble covered everything, from the stone floor to the vaulted ceiling.
Everything except the exquisite mahogany staircase, and silver trim inlaid into all of them.
The stairs were something to behold. Unlike the spiraling stairs of the castle, these were wide stone steps that tapered upward, spilling out into the large balcony that circled the room, with silver decorations, and a wall of mirrors that led to one darkened threshold off the side.
On the opposite side of that, a harpist sat, filling the air with the tender, harmonic thrumming, yet her soft song rose my hackles. Something wasn’t right.
Many soldiers lined the walls, and even up the stairs, clad with either a silvern breastplate or an obsidian one. And every last one had their hands on their hilts, wearing as many blades as Aelen did.
Another hallway led further into the palace, away from the grand entryway way but guards blocked that path, wearing a dignified but steadfast expression. I had no doubts that if I wandered too close, they’d pull a blade and have no qualms using it.
I took a hesitant step, but Aelen put his hand on my nape, forcing me to my knees with the other waiting I’phri. I snapped my head back to whine at Aelen, but he was already gone. He must have darted outside. Great.
The tinkle of bells came from the upper decks, and the same I’phri who conducted the ceremony emerged from the side passageways.
His robes were now a tired, ancient gray, trailing after him and clinging to his wiry frame.
Yet every movement of his was fluid, proud, and he never lowered his head as he began to address the hall.
“Our Eminence is ready for the next recipient. Who presents themselves?”
My hand shot up without a single thought, and I rose to shaky knees. “I do.”
All eyes fell upon me.
The robed I’phri let out a soft chuckle that ground against me. “Indeed, you may come receive what is yours, daughter.” It rolled off his tongue like a vile poison, as if he himself didn’t believe it.
He knows.
The I’phri still bowed beside me, gently elbowed my calf. “Follow Priest Valiance.”
Priest—a man of worship, and he certainly carried himself like one.
After driving my fingers into my sleeves’ leather, I followed, my spine pin-straight and my nape beading.
Every step was forced, my feet now leaden as I climbed the stairs.
Though the palace looked nothing like Eltria’s castle, it held the same air of unease and haunting mistrust.
Perhaps it wouldn’t if Aelen were beside me. I longed for him, and I hated that I did, but I did nonetheless, if only to spite myself. The doors beckoned me to run, but my feet kept on until I found myself on the second story, bearing down a dark threshold.
I could ask for help from the priest. I had no idea what to do, but even Nenlyn said he only recently came to a Benefaction. It would be plausible—normal for me to ask for aid. So I inched closer and motioned to the Priest until he bent down to hear me.
“I’ve never done this before,” I confessed, wringing my wrists.
“I’m aware,” he replied. “But your charade must continue. Approach the threshold, but do not pass. He will arrive when he so chooses. Our Eminence will hear you and answer accordingly.”
I nodded and went to move, but he grabbed me by my neckline, nearly throwing me to the floor. I had to bite back the urge to grab my knife, but my fingers danced in anticipation.
His fingers tightened like unrelenting claws. “Do not test him, human.”
A chill spread across me like someone had poured the cursed winter directly into them. I shivered. The urge to rip out my knife was overwhelming. But I fought it bitterly. After all, if the court taught me nothing else, it was when to bite my tongue to avoid the blade.
“I understand,” I gritted.
“His power is nothing you’ve seen before.
He not only commands the fleet of dragons, but also commands lumen which would force you to your knees at the very sight of.
To burn you alive or snap you into two would cost nothing, and takes far less effort than it does to keep you breathing, pact bearer.
Lower your eyes. Never look at him directly.
Do not speak unless spoken to, and for Singer’s sake, bow your head.
” Then he slammed my head down and forced me ahead, toward the waiting abyss.
My reflection followed, trailing me across the wall of mirrors, but didn’t show a smiling human.
Only a hunched and pale I’phri—the face of a ghost.
I’m not afraid.
My arms now shook, and the chill consumed me, but I inched closer until the guards lowered their weapons and stepped aside.
A pool of void lay before me, with none of the cool-hued light dripping beyond the threshold, leaving it darker than I’d ever seen.
A stench hung in the air that assaulted my nostrils the closer I crept.
When I paused before the dark, it was almost unbearable.
The guards never sheathed their weapons, but when the soft sound of bells and footsteps came, they straightened and shouted, “Rectorindel Maelindiir approaches.”
And then, from the void, a spark lit. It danced in the air, illuminating hexagonal mirrors that rimmed the room. And in them, I made out a dark, cloaked figure just beyond the threshold and view.
A sullen sickness gnawed my guts, but I doubted it was from the pact. My palm remained unchanged, no sign of the deal that ate away at my days. No, it must have been from the looming figure before me, hidden beneath a mess of pitch black robes and cloaks.
When I opened my parched lips, the guard shot out a hand, and it landed on my chest. There was a soft rumble from the room, followed by a deep, booming voice, as smooth as the river, and as haunted as the forest’s whisper.
“Recede.”
The hands left my chest, the guards sweeping away until they were at the bottom of the stairs.
Maelindiir approached, daring to step into the sparkling light. His voice lowered until it was velvety rustling leaves.
This was only for me.
“Give me your palm.”
I raised a shaky hand while every hair on my body stood on end.
“Ask me for aid.”
I gritted my teeth. A wall of memories from the dungeons flooded my mind.
After everything, I had to beg, too? It was he and his messenger who put me in this godsforsaken place to begin with, and who signed my pact, and subsequently my death.
And now, to breathe for longer than a week, I had to beg like a dog.
“Help. Me.” Speaking was painful, and my jaw ached from the effort.
“You are not my child, and yet you come seeking my aid. The least you could do is ask.”
“It’s your fault I’m here to begin with,” I shot without thinking. After I said it, there was some regret, but not enough to apologize.
The being stilled. What had been shudders of movement from the rustle of cloth was now silence. “I saved your life once, and I will do it again. You will be respectful and grateful, otherwise, leave my palace and keel into the gutter.”
“You’d see me dead?”
“I’ve seen you alive already. Without this mark,” he said, and stretched a long, gray finger across my palm. It bloomed the rune, stark against my pallid skin. “You would be lacking a head, if you recall.”