62. Saige #2
Trying to stop my hands from trembling, I place it gently on the table as I did before and back away, returning to Raven and Yev.
I’m holding my breath as I wait for the sense of relief to wash over me.
I made a bargain with a stranger in the dark, and now it’s over.
At last, I can go back to my bindery, I can figure everything else out, with Raven, Yevna and Grim at my side as I always have.
There will be a way to get Thorne out of the picture, a way to save my shop from his clutches.
At least there I can forget about the general and leave everything else behind here in Ignizar.
“Rulers,” Archer calls out. “The Confluence is a powerful magical object, one that only select individuals can touch. I will ask each of your champions to step forward and attempt to take it. We will make our selections from there.”
One of the mortal men goes first, and from the way the Queen of Hanniel is eagerly watching, he must be one of her representatives.
As soon as his fingers touch the bronze setting, he’s sent flying across the room.
The poor man collides into a pillar with a crash, and slides to the floor in a crumpled heap.
I flinch, shock washing over me in waves. The book never repelled me in such a way. How is this happening?
Heavy silence blankets the hall, as the reality of the Confluence’s power settles over them like ash after a fire storm.
The energy of the room shifts again as the Azkari female steps forward tentatively, circling the book like a predator sizing up its prey.
Only, she keeps circling. Minutes pass and she has paced around the table countless times, her eyes glazed over.
“Juliette?” Prince Eryx says from the foot of the dais. “Juliette, what are you doing?”
The Azkari doesn’t look up from the Confluence. “The gold… it’s so beautiful…” she murmurs, utterly entranced by the gilded edges I restored only a few days before.
“She is under some kind of spell,” Daemos declares. “The book whispers to her, I can hear it.”
“Take her away. Make sure she sees a healer,” Archer orders from the throne.
The female is whisked away, though she cranes her neck to keep her gaze on the tome as the guards try to lead her from the atrium and she claws at them to get back to it. A shiver runs up my spine. What if that obsession lasts? What if she’s permanently affected by the book’s magic?
The next mortal is all but shoved into the open space, and his hand is very clearly shaking as he reaches for the book.
I jump as his piercing scream fills the atrium and he clutches his hand to his chest, tears spilling from his eyes. “It burns!” he cries.
My scars tingle in response, a symphony of remembered agony, and I have to lock my knees to keep standing. Is this what it felt like? Did I scream like that? My hand drifts unconsciously to my neck, fingers finding the ridge of scar tissue through the fabric of my hood.
“It burns when I touch it.” Sure enough, his fingers are blistered, and he too, is ushered away.
My heart is pounding so hard it feels as though it might punch through my chest. Two to go. No luck so far. What in the realms is happening with this book?
The next man doesn’t even get close to the Confluence. He’s still two yards away from the table where it sits when he runs away screaming. It’s not clear why. He saw something the rest of us didn’t.
My palms are sweating as the final ‘champion’ approaches the Confluence. He starts to shake his head, subtle at first, but then wildly. “I can’t,” he croaks. “Something is telling me that I can’t touch this thing. It’s—dangerous. It’ll… Something bad will happen.”
“Do as you were ordered,” King Brennan commands from his highbacked chair, gripping the arms so hard his knuckles are white.
“Please, Your Majesty—”
But the king brokers no argument. “Do as I say.”
With a whimper, the mortal man extends his hand towards the book. The moment his fingertips touch the leather spine, his body seizes. He drops to the floor like a sack of grain, convulsing in a heap.
“Someone get a healer,” Daemos demands, and there is a flurry of movement in the crowd before two Azkari come forward, dropping to the mortal’s side and holding him still, administering some kind of tonic. He stops seizing, but does not regain consciousness, and they cart him away on a stretcher.
Stunned silence blankets the atrium, and the collective gaze swings to Archer, whose expression is utterly unreadable up on the throne. Everyone waits, breath bated, for him to speak. The command he has over not only his own courtiers, but everyone gathered here is a thing to behold.
“There is no limit to the number of volunteers you can put forward,” he says simply. “By all means, continue your attempts.”
No one moves, because between his words, the message is clear: Archeron, Prince of Desires, has a champion of his own. I catch the gleam in his eye and realize that this was his plan all along, to make it look like a choice to his fellow rulers, when it would end his way all along.
“It appears to me there is but one option.” He presses his fingers together in his lap, his green gaze skimming across the crowd, as though he is considering each and every one of the courtiers in this room, as though he cares for them all. I know better.
And that’s when his piercing stare finds me.
“Saige Grayson, you appear to be the only person, mortal or Azkari, to be able to handle the Confluence,” he announces for all to hear.
Making sure my hood is still covering the scarred flesh at my neck, I step forward. “Be that as it may, Prince, I have fulfilled my end of our bargain. My time among the Azkari and their pursuits is done, and I fully intend to return to my life in Hanniel.”
“Try.” He says it quietly, but I hear every ounce of challenge, of threat in that single word.
“What?”
“Try to leave.”
My nape prickles, my heart rate quickening as I glance to Yevna, Raven, and Grim.
My friends give me a slight nod, stepping in line beside me.
I allow the simmering rage to rise within me, to reach boiling point and consume any lingering feelings of anything but anger and defiance towards the monster standing before me.
How could I have been so blind? So trusting?
Never again, I vow. What had Yevna said?
Don’t let a handsome face and a big cock fool you, girl.
I want to laugh bitterly at the absurdity of it.
Of course, Yevna was right, as fucking usual.