Chapter 36 #3
Symond chuckled. “It’s been a long time since we had a Queen who couldn’t handle a glass of wild cherry liqueur.”
I forced down another sip with only a tiny grimace, then flashed him a defiant smile.
His eyes raked over me, though it lacked his usual provocative heat. “Did she tell you that you were her heir?”
“No. I thought it would be you.”
He swirled his glass, staring pensively at the liquid inside. “Maybe someday.”
My eyes narrowed at the subtle threat.
“I heard you made Ophiucae retreat in Sophos.” He clinked his goblet against mine.
“Cheers to your victory.” He lifted the rim to his lips, pausing with an expectant look until I downed another gulp.
He abruptly turned and sauntered down the hall.
“I heard you made him retreat in Lumnos, too. And again in Fortos. I even heard he abandoned an attack in Meros, because you were already waiting for him there.”
“He did? Wait—how do you know that?”
“Yrselle is dead,” he called out over his shoulder, “but her spies are not.”
“You have spies in Ophiucae’s army?” I started toward him. “Does that mean you know where they are now?”
Two gryvern cries echoed down the hall. I stopped and looked up at the slice of sky visible through the caved-in roof.
Sorae and Tybold circled overhead, though I couldn’t sense alarm or distress.
I wasn’t thrilled to have left Lumnos without a gryvern to protect it, but I’d made a promise to Sorae, and the last time we made a trip across the sea with several people on her back, we barely made it home.
When I looked back at Symond, he was all the way down the hall and turning a corner.
I threw my goblet down, its scarlet contents looking a little too much like spilled blood, and set off jogging in his direction.
I caught up to him just as he pressed a hidden panel that opened to a dimly lit staircase.
“If you know where they are, you have to tell me,” I pleaded.
“Why?” He began to descend. “Seems like you keep letting them go.”
I couldn’t really deny it. Letting Vance and his men retreat had left many, including me, wondering at my plans. I told them we weren’t yet ready to face the full brunt of Ophiucae’s wrath. I’d claimed we needed more soldiers, more godstone.
What I really wanted was more time.
“They have something I need,” I insisted, jogging down the steps behind him.
He let out a harsh laugh. “Well, far be it from me to stand in the way of something you need.”
I gritted my teeth. “Symond, please, tell me where they are.”
“You’ve got the Crown. That makes you the most powerful. Force me to tell you, if you want it so badly.”
“I don’t want to do that. I’m not like Yrselle. I don’t force everyone to my will just to prove I can.”
He stilled. “Careful. It was not just her Crown that won Yrselle our loyalty.”
“I’m sorry,” I said gently. “I didn’t mean to insult her. I only meant—”
He set off again, drowning me out with heavy stomps on the stairs. He reached a door at the bottom and pulled a ribbon from his pocket containing several keys. He began to rifle through them.
“Not a fan of bloodlocks?” I asked.
“Yrselle forbid them. A person can’t be compelled to give blood for a bloodlock. It must be given willingly. A key, on the other hand . . .” He held one up, eyes glinting. “A key can be taken from anyone.”
Suddenly, I deeply regretted leaving Teller alone.
Symond unlocked the door and pulled it open to reveal an abyss of pitch black. He gestured for me to go ahead, and when I hesitated, he simply shrugged and strolled through. “Shut it behind me,” he called out as he disappeared into the shadows. “Your Majesty.”
I swallowed a retort at his mocking tone and followed behind him, tugging on the heavy door. As it swung toward me, I noticed its dark surface almost seemed to be . . . glittering.
“Godstone,” I breathed as it snapped shut, leaving me in total darkness. “Symond? Where are we?”
“If you want answers, you’ll have to take them,” his voice crooned.
I stuck my hands out and blindly shuffled forward. “Can’t you just tell me? I’d rather work with you than against you.”
“That’s your way. This is our way.”
“Symond, don’t be—”
I fell silent at the sound of rustling behind me.
Then to my right.
Then again to my left.
My pulse quickened. “Symond?”
No answer came.
Light, I ordered my godhood.
No answer came there, either.
When I reached inside for my magic, I found only hollow space. My mind flashed back to the red liquid in the goblet, and only then did I notice the strange, citrus-and-smoke aftertaste Symond’s drink had left on my tongue.
Flameroot.
“Fuck,” I whispered.
I edged back toward the door, and two strong hands gripped me hard by the shoulders.
Going somewhere? Symond crooned inside my head.
Across the room, a match struck, and a wooden torch ignited. As its glow cast out the darkness, I realized it wasn’t Symond holding me in place. He was facing me with ten Centenaries at his back and a handful more at mine.
Every one of them held a blade.
And they were all pointed at me.