CHAPTER 22
THE A’KORI PALACE
Present Day
Ibarrel out of bed and into my dressing room when I’m pulled from my sleep by a knock at the door. I run my fingers through my hair. Another knock. I swear under my breath and scrub mint paste on my teeth like I’m going to war with my gums. Another knock.
A nauseating flutter fills my stomach and my heart kicks against my chest with a healthy thud when I open the tall wooden door, utterly aware of who I will find waiting on the other side. Only it is not the male I expect.
A thin man with thick glasses and a pointed nose hands me a stack of folded silk with a pair of slippers sitting on top.
“If you need anything else, I’ve been told to make myself available to you,” he says with a bow, then turns on his heel and disappears down the corridor.
Odd.
Back in my room, I unfold the delicate fabrics, draping them across my bed.
It’s clear the man is the palace tailor, come to deliver the pants the general ordered to replace the ones conveniently missing from my trunk when it arrived.
He hadn’t mentioned it, but the general thought to include two new cloaks in the order.
One to replace the cloak I’d lost in the river, light enough for summer and sewn in a velvety fabric the most extraordinary shade of blue.
The other, made of thick dark fabric lined with soft black fur.
If I thought the pants I'd worn before were sumptuous, the ones the male ordered are even more exquisite and unlike anything I have ever seen or felt. Beautifully beaded embellishments are embroidered into the legs of some, while lace is artfully sewn around the calves and thighs of others. The legs don’t billow like the ones I had before, these will fit snuggly, showing off my form while appeasing my desire for modesty.
I eye the pair of slippers. They are a perfect match for the ones I soiled the night I carved the toy sword. The male has gone far beyond what I can relegate to being purely hospitable.
The gentle sound of running water and steam wafting from the washroom announces the presence of the sisters. They look about as lively as I feel, and there is a small pang in my gut as I consider that my actions have not only deprived them of a good night’s sleep but placed them in harm’s way.
Tig forces a smile and nod when I thank them for intervening with the female. I’m not sure Eon notices, when I find her leaning against a chair, cheek roughed on its arm as she struggles to keep her eyes open.
Thankfully the sisters don’t seem to mind when I take my time preparing for the day. My thoughts are a jumbled mess of logic, necessity, and desire, as I ponder how the general made his way into what will likely be the most vital role of my life.
I don a new pair of blue-grey pants with beaded floral embellishments and plait my hair in a thick loose braid.
It’s the longest walk I’ve ever taken down the palace halls, my pace a slow meandering of deep contemplation.
I have yet to decide what I’ll say to him when I raise my fist to knock on the general’s door.
Maybe it’s good that I don’t overthink it.
But isn’t that exactly what I’ve done since I last saw him?
The door swings open before my knuckles land on the dark paneled wood.
I take a step back, making room for the exquisite female letting herself out into the hall.
If I’d ever been asked to describe perfection, even my mind couldn’t have conjured something so lovely. She is exactly that, perfect, flawless.
No artist on Terr would ever be able to adequately portray the gut-wrenching beauty of the female standing before me.
Whisps of long auburn hair shape her face and tumble down her back.
The color pulls on the deep natural red of her full lips, set beneath a pair of striking green eyes that glitter in the full light of morning.
Had I not been raised among some of the most stunning mortals on La’tari soil, I might gawk.
Despite having been exposed to every manor of seductive gown draped over the bodies of the Fea Dien, I have never seen anything like the slip of a dress clinging to her form.
I’m quite sure not even my meddling uncle would approve of it.
I’m not even sure it is a gown, not one that would normally be worn during daylight hours.
The dark green fabric is made up of a delicate sheer lace, save for a few scraps of well-placed silk snaking their way across her body, covering only her most intimate areas.
Danger. It’s the single thought the female evokes in me and without a question as to why.
Though I’d only seen her at a distance, I recognize her as the red-haired female at the gathering last night.
Her presence in the general’s room begs the question of the male’s loyalty to his king.
I begin to ponder the web I am about to land myself in, if I choose to accept him. After all, I hardly know him.
I steel myself, slipping on a mask of cool indifference when she steps toward me.
“Are you here to see Xey?” she asks with a taunting smile, her voice a painful mixture of sweet and sultry.
“I just came to thank him,” I lie flatly.
“I see,” she says, “Unfortunately, I’ve just left him in bed. I’d say he’s rather worn out.”
She gazes at me through thick lashes, studying me. A flicker of irritation mars her features before she smiles again and says, “I’ll tell him he has company. Give me a moment and I’ll have him dress.”
She turns toward his room, hand reaching for the doorknob, when I shift my weight—the only sign of my discomfort. It’s all she needs to withdraw her hand from its trajectory and suggest, “Or, maybe you’d like to come back later?”
“That won’t be necessary.” I force a smile. “I’m sure I’ll run into him sometime.”
She hums under her breath, departing without another word. I can’t take my eyes off the satisfied sway of her hips as she saunters down the hall, disappearing down a nearby corridor. I study the handle of his door, debating what it might cost me to open it. Considering what I will find inside.
This shouldn’t be a problem. It has nothing to do with me. So, what if the male already has a lover? Nothing about this is personal. It changes nothing.
I call myself a hypocrite when I walk away without knocking. I tell myself if I can’t trust him then he’s no use to me, knowing full well that I’m willing to deceive him to get exactly what I want. He is just stupid enough to get caught.
I don’t linger on the fact that though he offered his bed, he never offered fidelity. Regardless, the female is an unknown and will be a complication at best, and a deadly risk at worst.
I crack one of the large windows in my room, grab the lighter of my two new cloaks, and leave a letter for Awri with a young page waiting by the palace doors.
She won’t mind when she reads that I’m going to visit my uncle.
There are many long overdue conversations to be had with the man in the privacy of his gardens.
It’s late in the morning when I arrive at his estate on foot. As I’m unannounced, I’m pleased to find that Felias is not only at the manor, but he also happens to have time for an impromptu luncheon. With the man’s busy social schedule, I half expected to end up on his waiting list.
“So, tell me, how is life at the A’kori court treating you?” he asks around a mouthful of pastry, a knowing glint in his eye.
I only shrug, and ask hopefully, “Any word on when the king might return?”
“None that I’ve heard, though I expect he’ll return for the masque.
It would be quite out of the ordinary for the male not to attend it,” he says before taking a long sip of pink lemonade from a frosted glass and pinning me with a stare.
“But I don’t imagine you asked me here to discuss the king’s return. ”
Right. Straight to the point.
“Tell me about the Vatruke,” I say.
His lips spread into a smile, and he purrs, “My, my. I can’t wait to learn what other tantalizing secrets you’ve uncovered in the short time you’ve been away from your homeland.”
He leans back in his chair and clasps his hands over his belly when he says, “I expect if you’re asking, you already know that the Vatruke are a group of ancient feyn working with the La’tari?”
I gape at the man, and he chuckles, “You expected me to contradict it?”
“Of course, I did,” I say.
After all, he is one of us. He knows our cause, my mission, everything. Dread knots my gut when he confirms Media’s story.
“Does it really change anything, my dear? The La’tari would be fools to decline the help of any power willing to offer them assistance. Yes?”
I’m not sure the question is entirely rhetorical when I ask, “But, at the cost of the La’tari people?” I’m sure that at least this much of Media’s story isn’t true.
“Lives are the cost of all wars, Shivaria. You should know this. And war, like death, makes no distinction on those it takes in payment.”
The sugary tart in my hand suddenly looks very sour. I place it back on my plate as I ask, “What power can the Vatruke possibly gain from our land? It’s been dead since I was a child.”
Felias gives me a look and I know in that moment that Media spoke the truth when she said our land had been dead since long before my birth. I shake my head, trying to rattle my thoughts around until I can make sense of them.
I can hardly find my voice when I ask, “If all that I have learned is true, then tell me how the Vatruke gain power from a land that is already barren? And what help do the Vatruke offer the La’tari that is worth exacting such a price?”
His eyes light up. I know that look, it’s the same look I’d often received from Bront when I managed a perfect maneuver and blocked his sword.
“I could tell you,” he says with a sly smile, “Or you could make your way to the docks tomorrow night and see for yourself. A little bird told me there was just such a ship coming in on the evening tide.”