Chapter 15
CHAPTER
I waited for her to indicate what kind of interaction this would be.
The last few minutes were unlike anything I’d ever seen.
Gia had become an entirely different person, based on what I’d just witnessed—one that, for a moment, I’d feared.
Feared that she might not embrace me warmly after all of this time.
There was silence, too long of a pause for comfort, but then she marched toward the door and, after the click of the lock, turned to me and pulled me into a firm and abrupt embrace.
My body collapsed into hers with relief.
She wasn’t Versa, but everything about this hug felt like a homecoming.
We clutched each other sincerely with the joy of our reunion and the reassurance that we were both safe.
It was the type of hug I’d greeted my father with after long voyages, or the kind Versa and I shared on many occasions, including our final farewell.
Tears pricked my lashes as I conjured the images in my head.
“Finally,” she whispered, nuzzling her face into the crook of my neck like someone longing to inhale a sense of familiarity and comfort.
“I know,” I said, squeezing her tighter. “I’m so glad you’re okay. More than okay, it seems.”
Gia released me but stayed close, as if putting too much distance between us might mean I’d disappear, like a mirage.
“I thought being a bitch on occasion was amusing at first, but this is exhausting, Cress. You really can’t imagine. It feels as if my soul is being firmly corrupted from the inside out.”
“I can’t even fathom it. But you’re so convincing, they practically cower in your presence.”
“Yes, well, I’ve been pushing my status a bit recently.”
Gia took my hand and tugged me to the edge of her bed, where we both sat down.
The divine texture of velvet sheets beneath my fingertips was yet another reminder of home.
There was nothing of the sort at Basdie.
It had been many months since I’d encountered a bed this grand.
Suddenly, flashes of the ordeal with Nix inundated my mind, threatening to escape the black pit I’d created to trap all the bad memories I’d acquired since the Offering.
I placed my hands on my lap to free myself of the distraction.
“I’d say you have the king wrapped around your little finger. When we ran into Zarif, he made no secret of your station with Silas, Lady Gianna…” I said her name with a long drawl.
I heard as much as saw Gia’s breath hitch.
“You met Zarif?” she questioned, concern rampant across her stunning features, which were on full display with her hair pulled back in typical Artumian fashion.
“Yes, just before we arrived at your door. I don’t have a good feel—”
Gia cut me off, almost in a panic. “He’s evil, Cress, in every sense of the word. I had hoped you would remain off his radar as long as possible, but he knows everything and everyone. The only reason he lets me be is because I’m Silas’ pet, and whatever pleases the king, pleases Zarif.”
She paused and looked to the door, as if it being locked was not enough to protect us. She lowered her voice.
“When I arrived, he did not treat me as kindly as he does now. Avoid him at all costs. He is one of the few individuals here who guards his—”
This time, it was I who cut her off. “His thoughts, I know!” I exclaimed. “He had his shields up, and I’m betting that’s not the only ability he is capable of.”
Gia shushed me, then lowered her voice. “Yes, he is one of the rare few in Nasallus who keeps up their mental shields,” she confirmed. “And I suspect it’s not just because he is the Hand of the King. I think it has everything to do with the heinous shit Trace is involved with.”
Something about his name on her lips gave me pause. We hadn’t talked much about Trace after they departed Basdie. It’s not like Varro and I were avoiding it—except, maybe we were. Or perhaps he was just confident that my sentiments toward Trace had been solidified after he left me for dead.
My interest was piqued, though; this was the conversation I had wanted ever since her letter arrived, warning me.
“What has Trace been made to do?” I was intrigued to hear more details after Saryn’s vague account. But nothing could have prepared me for what Gia said next.
“He is part of a secret operation tasked with committing atrocities in the local villages while disguised as Northerners. It’s creating a stir of false hatred towards Cambria. Even though we would never commit such acts.”
“Like the kinds of things we practiced with the Vespers?”
I thought back to all the hours I practiced the art of torture in those tiny rooms at Basdie.
Gia looked at me with deep concern.
“Did you practice leaving heads on pikes with the Vespers, Cress?”
I cringed at her question. I shook my head in silent response.
“They’d all be dead if Trace hadn’t found more creative ways to appease the bloodlust of whoever is behind all of this. I’m almost certain it’s Zarif.”
Setting aside the fact that she was pretty sure Zarif was the mastermind of these war crimes, I couldn’t help but prod further, morbid curiosity welling in the pit of my stomach.
“What do you mean ‘creative ways’?”
“Trace somehow convinced them to spare the females by only cutting out their tongues, so they may never recount what they’ve seen or speak ill of their Northern enemies.”
I felt my hands begin to sweat at the idea of Trace not only beheading innocent males and putting their heads on pikes, but also separating Gods-knew how many females from their tongues, blood pouring from their mouths alongside muffled, indistinct screams. I could almost taste the blood in my own mouth.
“And the children…”
“No!” I interjected, not wanting to hear anymore—morbid curiosity, or not—my heartbeat now standing on edge at the mention of innocent youths.
Gia ignored me and proceeded anyway. “He has resolved to cut off their fingers…so that they may never grip a sword against the North, nor ever send an arrow into the Cambrian sky.”
Every detail from Gia’s mouth was more gruesome than the last.
“The beheadings were reserved for the leaders of the villages, but the rest did not fare any better. Trace and the others who partake in this secret regime have been taking one eye from each grown male.”
With every word she spoke, I was fighting back a bombardment of images of Trace covered in blood—real blood, not the tattoos that scattered across his pale skin which held the same meaning.
“The Artumians really believe that Cambrian rebels did all of this?”
“Yes,” she said. “They’ve been dressed in Northern attire, leaving behind Cambrian flags coated in the blood of the villagers. No one suspects this is coming from within. How could they?”
Trace must be so tormented by the brutality he’s been forced to deliver. I don’t think any of us would have been capable of doing what’s been required of him. Yet, even in the face of such vicious tasks, he still sought ways to minimize the damage inflicted.
But how can one look at a village full of speechless mothers, maimed children, and blinded fathers, and interpret anything but abject cruelty and torture? I couldn’t help but think Trace wasn’t really sparing them if that was the life they’d now endure.
“With so much damage done, how are any of these people even surviving?”
Gia looked utterly infuriated. “Because they’ve allowed the king’s healers to swoop in and mend the wounded, like a miraculous act of heroism from their savior, Silas.
Don’t you find it suspicious that there were no Kingsguards protecting the villages?
They were primed for the taking. Even when they sent reinforcements to aid nearby towns, they sent new recruits, poorly skilled, and too few to be of consequence. ”
The silence stretched between us. She’d had time to absorb all of this, but the way she spoke of it, it was clear she hadn’t become calloused to the information.
For me, it was raw, brand new. I felt silly sitting here at the castle playing spy games when there were people dying.
All I could think was that if they were willing to do this to their own citizens, Gods protect Cambria should they ever cross the border.
An entire kingdom enraged by those sadistic acts would lead to even more unreasonable acts of revenge.
Zarif, if he was behind all of this, was an opponent we could not underestimate.
He and the king had already demonstrated there were no lines they were unwilling to cross.
If we were not successful in our mission to thwart their efforts, the next great conflict would surely follow.
My resolve to protect my homeland steeled completely in that very moment.
Like Trace, I would try and take as few innocent lives in the process, but I would not let this thirst for blood reach the shores of my kingdom.
Gia glanced at the window, admiring the setting sun beginning to cast shadows over her room.
“The hour is growing late. Come, we must primp. It’s okay if you don’t know how to do my hair, I’ve taught myself.
Because…well, that girl from earlier really does do a terrible job,” she giggled, adding an air of lightness to the conversation.
Her stunning smile was sincere, and it made me wonder how rare this expression had been since her arrival.
Gia sat down in the chair and I stood behind her, beginning to pull pins from her hair.
“I’ll have you know that I’ve become an expert in braids…thanks to Cairis.”
Gia swung her body around to face me. “Cairis?” she said in tickled surprise.
“Yes, Nori and Varro’s hair is too short, and I wasn’t about to ask Theory if I could touch her locks, so he was the only option. Don’t tease him when you see him again, or he’ll kill me. I had to make Varro swear not to in order for Cairis to let me do it to begin with.”
The sound of Gia’s laughter warmed the parts of me that had become cold and frightened after her recounting the details of Trace’s time in Artume.
I needed a break from the topic while I braided her hair, so I tried to think of other things I wanted to know about her time here.
And how in Gods’ names she happened to rise in favor so quickly.
“So, how did you manage to capture the heart of the king, besides the fact that you are impossibly gorgeous?”
She smiled at me in the reflection of the mirror in front of us as I began to separate her soft blonde hair into sections and pieces.
“You’re not going to believe this! Remember how you told me about the trick you taught yourself—falling safely from a horse?”
“Yes,” I said, looking at her with intrigue as I pinned pieces of her hair in place.
“Well, one day there was a party of lords and ladies out riding, and I figured if I didn’t pull it off, the worst that would happen was falling in some sand.
But I executed it flawlessly. All the king saw out of the corner of his eye was a wild horse on its hind legs and poor little Gianna, plummeting to the ground, gown and all.
Of course, I yelped, writhing while clutching my wrist and letting the waterworks begin. ”
“You didn’t!”
“Before you knew it, he was off his horse and on the ground by my side to aid me. The queen was still on her horse; I’m almost certain she suspected the fall was an act.
She’s very skeptical, but I would be too if my husband bedded as many whores as he has.
Silas helped me to my feet and escorted me back to the healers on his horse to ensure I was taken care of properly. ”
“I cannot believe you tried that without having practiced it before.”
I thought back to how many times I’d failed, falling into soft hay before I ever attempted it at a trot or a gallop, and against hard ground. But Gia was fearless, and I’m convinced she would have settled for a broken wrist or hand if it meant getting the king’s attention that day.
“It was the perfect opportunity for me to lean into the warmth of his strong, protective arms, and perhaps graze his leg with my good hand,” she recalled in a seductively, sly voice.
Just as I was beginning to wrap the final tendrils of curls into the intricate updo I’d concocted, there was a knock at her door.
“One moment!” she yelled in the tone she had when I first arrived. All command and no grace.
“While I’m at the party, stay out of trouble. Get settled into the servant quarters and do not wander, Cress.”
I gave her a look that said, I promise nothing.
“I mean it, I have more to share with you. Return to my room after the party to help me undress for the evening. We still have a very important topic to discuss.”
Her interrogative glance in the mirror meant one thing—she wanted to talk about the bond.