Chapter 22 #3
“Perhaps, but maybe you should just kill him yourself since you and every one of your people hate him so much,” I spat.
I regretted the words as soon as they left my lips, and bit my tongue until I tasted nothing but metal.
If I were honest, I wanted to kill my father.
I desired to do it myself, to take revenge for Deldren. But he didn’t need to know that.
The quiet only grew, while the shadows beyond swayed uneasily.
“If I could, I would.” His voice was low and wrapped around me like a vise. “But I cannot, so you must.”
Then, he gripped my wrist and shot ice through my veins, spreading up my arms and settling into my chest like fire. It was painful, and so bitter I fought crumbling to my knees. The pact flashed, with the words shrinking to allow more. It faded back to my skin before I could read them.
Then he tapped the back of my hand. “It is done. You may go.”
The realization crawled over me like a thousand insects tearing me apart at the seams. He didn’t remove the pact—he lengthened it.
“I thought you were going to get rid of it—”
“I will not.” A blunt refusal I should have seen coming.
“I cannot. You ask for something that cannot be done. We have set a promise in stone, and its parameters must be answered. The Singer’s words cannot be effaced, only added to.
With your permission and internal desires, I affixed a few to allow you more time to remain within your flimsy body without putrefying.
Enjoy your added days of life and breath and do not misuse them. ”
The grayed fingers released me, and I stared at the white marks they left on my now pinkish-toned skin.
The ache that had been nagging inside for weeks now slipped away, and I doubted it would return anytime soon.
I’d been given some inordinate amount of time to live—and I rejoiced in that.
I didn’t know how much time I had, but after grazing the face of death, even a single day would be enough.
But in that brief relief, it occurred to me: I hadn’t made a request. He had healed me without me asking for aid.
“Can I make my request?” I spat before the guards returned.
“What?” The word was almost a gasp and tinged in distrust.
“I never made a request, and you said I could. Wasn’t that an agreement?”
He hesitated. I half expected him to scream for the armored soldier to whack me over the head, but instead he tapped my palm, prompting the rune to flash briefly.
He ground his teeth, the sound roving across my skin and raising gooseflesh.
“Be quick about it,” he snapped, inching close.
The movement swept his cloak, wafting the vile scent to my nose, and I grabbed at my face.
He went rigid, then softened his tone. “Do not tarry. What do you seek?”
The unlimited ideas swirled, some forcing themselves to the forefront of my mind.
What should I ask for? Nenyln’s request was vague, but I had a feeling if I didn’t say exactly what I wanted, I’d get nothing at all.
Yet one thought dominated, one that would save my life.
If I took Mourn to kill my father now, the pact would disappear, along with all ties to Eltide.
I’d be free.
“Will you let the dragons fly toward Ilyatria—or rather, my dragon, Mourn?” The robed being oscillated, and my heart jumped, so I added a quick, “Please.”
This seemed to stun him, as he cringed.
“Pick another request. Before I lose my patience.”
Denied.
“Please,” I pressed. “We have the same goals—you want my father dead, and so do I. I can kill him, I will kill him, but I need Mourn’s power, and I need to go back.”
“You’re marred by innocence, and it amuses me, but you may not go, and you may not take the messenger Mourn.
You. Are. Not. Ready,” he ground. "When you are, and I’m certain that your mortal body will not be shattered instantly in that kingdom, that is when you may return and make this request. Not a moment sooner. So, choose or leave.”
My mind spun and reared to the second thought that plagued me, haunted me. I needed an answer and sure as hell wouldn’t get one out of Aelen, no matter what I did, said, pleaded, or asked.
“Is Aelen your son?”
His hand jumped back and flexed into a fist that made the ashen veins pop to the surface. The adjoining loud cracks violently broke the silence.
“Depart.”
My head snapped up, and I drank in the terrifying appearance before me in the seconds before I was dragged away. A shapeless, disjointed cloak and amorphous hood hid every bit of him from view.
The guards were less gentle, their fingers biting into my arms. But I ignored it until the shadow man dipped from sight, stepping back into the shade of mirrors and mist.
Maelindiir didn’t deny it. He could have, but he didn’t. There was my proof that Aelen was his progeny. And he had brought me to him, despite his utmost hatred of his father.
Loathe, entirely.
He did that for me.
I shambled to a stand, with Aelen’s hatred ruminating in my gut. Why did Aelen loathe this man? I knew why I despised him; he shackled me with a debt that could only be paid in blood: my father’s or my own. Is this why Aelen hated him, too? Because he cared?
Because he couldn’t bear to see that he had forced me into this at knifepoint?
That thought just about knocked me to my knees, and I brushed it away, looming by the magical flames.
The haughty priest stared down the stairs and his nose at me, but said nothing.
So curiosity won, and I shot my palm into the flame.
The air seared my hand, but once the fire consumed my skin in murky tones, the pain faded to an icy burn, and then to nothing.
It was like dipping my hand into a strong current, cold water that neither ached nor burned. It merely tugged.
But instantly, the lumen behind my breastbone pulsed, thrumming to be let out. Startled, I ripped my hand away and waited for the sensation to subside as I sprinted to the door.
As soon as the cold rushed to meet me, so did Aelen, grabbing my hand firmly and leading me back to the paths. And the entire way, we didn’t speak a single word.