CHAPTER 29 #2
Of course, it makes sense that if I struck a bargain with a subject of their sovereign it might easily extend to him. Reckless. I will need to find out exactly what it is I promised Niya and how to unbind myself from their sovereign, and quickly.
“Bagya?” Riah balks. “I’m beginning to feel like I don’t even know who you are,” she says, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“I suggest you get used to that feeling if you intend to stay her friend. I know I have,” Riesh quips, and I’m not entirely sure he’s joking.
The general shoots them both a glare before his gaze returns to me. He brushes a stray curl from my eyes when he says, “We will handle the bargains you made with both Niya and Bagya. But first, we need to deal with the Vatruke.” He looks to the lieutenant. “You say you saw more than one?”
Riah nods. “At the edge of the forest.” So, that’s what she saw when we fled. “It was Vos, General,” she says.
His entire body goes rigid. “You’re sure?”
Riah nods again. I don’t know why it hasn’t occurred to me that they might know the Vatruke. For all I know, they have all been alive long enough to cross paths many times over.
“Which of the males fell by Shivaria’s hand?” the general demands, a subtle fear masked behind his eyes as he waits for her reply.
“Kezik.” The lieutenant forms the word hesitantly, as if saying it aloud might harm her in some way.
“Foc,” Riesh swears, the same moment the general asks, “You’re sure?”
“Unquestionably,” she replies, regaining some semblance of composure.
The orders that tumble from the general’s lips are urgent and his tone even more demanding than I am accustomed to hearing.
“Riesh, inform your sister and alert the guards. Riah, get yourself back to Toren, he needs to know what we’re dealing with. Leave a small contingent at the barracks. I want every remaining soldier stationed outside the palace by dawn, sooner if possible.”
“As you say,” they reply as one, departing from the room with haste.
“What is happening?” I ask, baffled by the exchange.
“Kezik was Vos’s mate,” he explains, “If Riah saw her at the edge of the forest, then she saw you both as well, and she’ll be out for blood.”
And just like that, as if it were a toppled piece of stained glass, my life begins to break apart at the seams. Each colored pane, a different path, a different life I’ve lived, or could live, but the binding holding those paths together begins to fracture.
I hadn’t known it then, but I can see now, that every possible future I could have known shattered the moment that blade left my hand.
All of the lies become dust. Every excuse a vapor. I killed again. My own people, again. I did it without sparing a single thought for their lives.
I was never in any true danger, not from the Drakai. If they captured me, I would have been freed the moment I told them of my purpose here. I could have led them to the barracks, helped them gain entry into the palace, stopped the war that is coming, the war that is already here.
But Riah’s life would have been forfeit, and how many others? I can’t do it. I can’t sacrifice innocent lives, feyn or mortal. I won’t.
And what is the cost of all the lives I saved by betraying my people? I will pay with my own life. If Vos seeks vengeance, and the Vatruke are working with the La’tari, can I ever return home? Will she honor the pardon the king will surely grant me for succeeding in my mission? Unlikely.
The general mistakes the reason for my concern and pulls me into his arms.
“Don’t worry,” he says into my hair, “There isn’t a single army in this veil or any other that I wouldn’t send to haliel if it meant you would be safe.”
“Awri was right,” I say, my face pressed to his chest, “You should send me away.”
My throat burns when the male draws me closer, whispering into my ear, “There is no place for you to be, but by my side, mi’ajna. I swear by the fates, I will never send you away.”
But he will send me away. He would do it now if he truly knew me, if he knew why I’d come, what I am, what I intended—still intend—to do.
I do, don’t I?
My mind has never been a more chaotic clutter of unanswered questions, and my resolve begins to fray.
“Your king won’t be safe here.” It’s as close as I can bring myself to warning him, but he doesn’t understand and maybe that’s for the best.
“The king is already aware of the Vatruke,” he replies.
I look up quizzically. “That means—”
“He has returned to A’kori.” He smiles at the surprised look on my face and drops his lips to my forehead, mumbling against my flesh. “Would you like to meet him?”
My stomach pits, my entire life dividing into two distinct paths. One planned since I was a child, formed by others and thrust upon me, and the other, new and unexplored, unconsidered, until now.
I shake my head, “Not yet.”
I’m not ready to choose, not ready to let go of the male that holds me like I’m something precious. Because either path I take begins with the revealing of myself, and the male embracing me seeing me for exactly what I am.
“All right. He’ll be at the masque. You can meet him then.” He drops a kiss on my temple. “I need to help Riesh organize the guards. Maybe you’d like to visit Media?”
The idea of visiting the woman strikes me as odd until the general leads me to the kitchens and I survey the route like a military strategist for the first time.
It’s an unlikely place to look for someone, if the palace were to be raided, and the corridors leading to the kitchens are a bit of a maze. Guards line the narrow, easily defensible halls, and as if all of that were not enough, the general leaves me in the care of a feyn by the name of Faidra.
Faidra’s bright red spirals are a beacon compared to the dark auburn locks of Siserie.
She touts radiant eyes in a similar shade of green, a honey complexion and a uniquely lovely freckled face.
The female is no soldier, it’s obvious by the brown gown she wears and her flippant attitude.
I can’t help but wonder if the color of her hair is any indication of the female’s gift as I watch her joking with Sera on the other side of the room.
“Come back for another history lesson?” Media cackles warmly when she sees me enter the room.
She knocks the leg of an empty chair with her cane. I smile at the woman and pull the chair up to the fire, taking a seat beside her.
“I never thanked you for all that you shared with me when I came to visit before,” I say.
Her eyebrows creep up her head and her lips quirk up on one side. “You still haven’t.”
I grin and thank the woman, appreciating her humor as much as her candor.
“Truth be told,” she sighs, rocking back in her chair, “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. You didn’t seem particularly convinced by my tale.”
“I’ve seen a lot since then,” I admit.
Her shoulders bounce as she chuckles. “Funny, the things that can change us in such a short amount of time.”
She has no idea. Or maybe she does. Either way, she seems satisfied when I agree with the sentiment.
“What more do you know about the Vatruke?” I ask.
“Only what is written in the history books. There were eight of them, one born shortly after the sundering, one lost to the war, and one who abandoned their cause.”
“Nine,” Faidra corrects the old woman around a mouthful of bread, raising nine fingers in the air.
“There were nine after the sundering. Then the child was born.” She adds a finger.
“Then Muri was killed in the first war, she was the most powerful,” she says, directing the last statement at me, lowering her finger again, “leaving nine Vatruke in the veil.”
Media harrumphs at the female, waving her over as she glances at me apologetically.
“It’s been years since I’ve been asked to recall such things,” Media says, “and as cantankerous as this one can be, I do trust her memory of it.”
“You should,” Faidra says pridefully. “My professor just covered the Vatruke during my lessons. I had to write ten pages on them.”
“How old are you?” The question slips past my lips before I can pinch it back.
“Sixteen. How old are you?” she asks, completely unbothered.
“Twenty-four,” I answer.
Her eyes bulge. “Aren’t you a little young?”
“I’m older than you,” I say, unable to stifle the annoyance in my tone, oblivious to what she might mean.
“I mean, aren’t you a little young for the general?” She smirks.
My cheeks heat, and she waggles her eyebrows at me.
“Faidra, leave the girl alone,” Media sighs, “You’ll learn soon enough that there are some things, destined by the fates, that you have no control over.” She pulls a light quilt over her legs and clears her throat. “Anyway, tell us what you’ve been learning about the Vatruke.”