Chapter 17
As much as I wished for his friendly face, it wasn’t Jace who escorted me back to my rooms.
It was Blake Axefire.
He had moved toward me with lethal determination after the king’s announcement.
The halls of the palace stretched long and winding, echoing with the quiet click of our shoes against the polished floor.
Lanterns hung overhead, casting soft, ethereal light along the arched ceilings, their glow pulsing gently with each step we took.
They must have been kept alit by glyphs, like so much else.
The fierce eyes of the intricate carvings of mythical creatures seemed to follow us as we went past the tapestries lining the walls.
I glanced sidelong at Blake.
His eyes met mine and he said softly, “I didn’t recognize you when you walked in.”
My temper flared even as my stomach fluttered with butterflies. “What, I can’t look nice?”
He sighed. “Never mind, I definitely know it’s you.” He gave a little cough and straightened. “I just wanted to say that you look…you look…”
I stopped and he did, too. I cocked my head, waiting.
“Adequate.” He rubbed his neck with his hand.
Adequate? That’s what he had to say?! After all he’d put me through.
Locking me up. Throwing me into the Arena.
Burning our hut. I thought of Edith’s grief-stricken face and folded my arms across my chest as I glared at him.
“I hardly had anything else to wear, given that your men burned all of our possessions.”
His nostrils flared. “They weren’t supposed to. But how could you mourn that pile of sticks you called a home? Your belongings will be replaced with far better.”
“They killed Rainbow.”
Blake’s brows pulled together. “Who in rust’s name is Rainbow?”
“Our chicken.”
Blake blinked. Twice. Then he dragged a hand down his face. “That’s what you’re angry about? She was a chicken!”
“She was a friend.” And her death had made Edith cry.
He exhaled hard and pinched the bridge of his nose like he was holding back the world’s worst headache. “Then I apologize. I didn’t tell them to go that far, and once I heard about it, I sent for your friend Edith. But everything my men do is my responsibility.”
At his unexpected capitulation, I took a breath. My fingers drifted to the ribbons at my belt, the ribbons he had found, repaired, and returned to me. I softened and asked him the question that had been gnawing at me. “Why did you help me in the throne room?”
He turned to look at me, then around us, as if he was checking for someone listening.
“You lied for—”
Shoving me into an alcove and stepping to completely cover me with the massive bulk of his body, he dropped his face toward mine.
“You are the most foolish person I have ever met,” he whispered harshly. “Rash, impulsive, foolhardy. You don’t seem to have the ability to plan, and I don’t anticipate you will survive long.”
I glared back at him.
His bronze hair was a little too long, falling into his arctic blue eyes that caught the light of a lantern above us. His mouth was full and tempting, despite being twisted down into that infuriating, disapproving frown.
“Oh, please do go on,” I snapped, crossing my arms. He was so close I brushed his chest plate with the movement.
“You are idiotically brave,” he said. More of a condemnation than a compliment. “You could make a fitting Tyger Warrior—if you would listen, train, and obey. And if you were taller—”
“Right,” I said dryly. “I’ll work on the taller thing right away.”
Blake gave a slow shake of his head. “You are so reckless.”
“But I’m still alive.”
His nostrils flared. “And how is it that you performed that intricate curtsy? I don’t know if I’ve ever actually seen it done before. It is taught only to royalty and the highest nobility. How did you come to learn it?”
I gave him no answer. Mostly because I didn’t know—though if I did, I’d hesitate to tell him. I hadn’t had the time to think it all through. I’d only wanted to survive, and my body just…reacted.
At my unresponsiveness, Blake spun on his heel and prowled away. I followed him, seeing as he was still—albeit reluctantly—escorting me to my rooms.
“Wait—I need to—”
“Quiet,” he hissed, his hand wrapping around that now-familiar part of my bicep. “Until we have more privacy.”
My cheeks flamed in indignation and something else, hot beneath the heavy metal of my dress.
We walked in silence for a few more steps, passing another series of towering pillars etched with glowing calligraphy. Shadows danced in the corners, the lanterns above dimming slightly where two guards were standing in front of my door.
“Leave,” Blake ordered them. “Return in fifteen minutes.”
They didn’t hesitate, not questioning the command of the king’s Twin Blade.
The only remaining one.
I didn’t want to feel sympathy for the Ambush Master. But I couldn’t forget the look on his face in the throne room as the Diviner showed us the Annihilation.
Grief.
He’d loved his brother. He’d lost his twin. Was that like losing a limb? Did he feel out of step, like something was always slightly wrong, even now? Did he feel as lost as I did?
The hallway was bathed in the soft, golden glow of the lanterns that floated above us. Their warm light cast shadows that danced along the smooth stone walls. The bustle of the palace faded into the distance, leaving just the two of us standing in the flickering light.
“Why did you help me?” I asked again. “Why did you lie about allowing Flame to escape?”
“How did you know that curtsy?”
A standoff then, neither one of us willing to concede.
I turned on my heel, planning to open the doors to my chamber, but he spun me back and pressed my back into the wall.
My cheeks flamed at the highly improper behavior, but I only glared at him.
“Tell me about your singing.” He loomed over me, less than a foot of distance between us.
“I did,” I said, looking up at him, my face growing warmer. “You all laughed.”
“I didn’t.”
I hadn’t been watching him then to know if he was telling the truth now. Still, there wasn’t much I could say.
“It’s not something I control well. I don’t know much. It just happens.”
My answer clearly displeased him, but he didn’t say anything.
I looked him over more closely then. Exhaustion plagued his features, barely hidden by the light of the lanterns, tightness pulling at the creases by his eyes. He ran a hand through his too-long bronze hair, tugging on it before pushing it back.
“Preparations for the Culling will begin tomorrow. The king will waste no time. You must be prepared,” Blake said, his voice low and serious.
I didn’t say anything for a moment. It was difficult to approach him for answers instead of with anger. A strange sort of twisted trust lay between us now.
“In the throne room,” I asked, hands fidgeting as I avoided his eye, “with Kingsolver and Flame—how did you know she felt that way?”
Blake’s eyebrows settled.
“Do you hear Flame?” he asked. “In your head?”
I nodded.
“Is it like emotional reactions, things you can feel, or is it with words? Does she speak to you?”
I hesitated but nodded, my eyes trailing up to look at him. “Is that normal?”
He pressed his thumb to his lip, swiping it across.
“The nature of the Bond varies from rider to rider,” he said. “I can hear Kingsolver’s thoughts, but most can’t. Flame can speak to all our tygers telepathically, as their queen. And now, I guess, to you, as her chosen rider. Which is good. It should help with the Bond and with your magic.”
“I don’t—”
“Have much,” he said, his voice overlapping mine. “So you’ve said. Which is why we need to train you, swiftly and thoroughly. Before the Culling.”
His eyes returned to delve into mine, then traced my bare neck and shoulders. His usual air of arrogant confidence was replaced with something more uncertain. As if against his will, his large hand rose to skim the curve of my jaw.
I felt the tips of his calloused fingers brush against the lobe of my ear, then the warmth of his thumb as it lowered to stroke my racing pulse. I inhaled his scent of cedar and woodsmoke.
When he dropped his hand, my body swayed toward him before I could catch myself. I had to force myself to open my heavy lids.
My cheeks heated. What in the Kingdom of Sky was I doing?
Blake took a step back, his jaw tight.
“Tomorrow we begin.”
—
Edith was still in my rooms, half asleep on one of the long plush sofas by the fireplace. As I reached for the blanket to toss over her, she blinked her eyes open, looking up at me.
“You shouldn’t have waited up for me.”
“I couldn’t sleep without knowing you were okay, my dear.” She sat up.
My body sank into the soft velvet beside her, the cushions enveloping my exhausted body.
Edith looked at me apprehensively. “Tell me everything.”
I watched her, sensing her growing anxiety as I told her about my meeting with His Majesty, about the Diviner’s appearance and her cryptic words, the heavy weight of what had been set in motion.
The room felt smaller as I spoke, as if the fire and the tension between us were closing in, pressing down on us both. At one point, she stood and started pacing, her expression serious, the enormity of everything hanging in the air between us.
When I finally finished, I fell silent.
Edith grabbed my arm, her grip tight with urgency. “Rubi, you must run. You must keep yourself safe—”
I thought of the vision from the Diviner, the warmth on my skin, the peace of knowing who I was and where I belonged. An end to this sourceless grief.
We fight. Flame.
A slow, simmering heat unfurled in my chest.
I met Edith’s worried gaze, feeling the fire in my blood settle into something unshakable. “No,” I said, my voice quiet but steady. “If we run, they will find us. We will never be safe. And…and I want to fight. To enter the Culling, the Raveling—to fix the Anchors and…”
I didn’t have to finish my words. Edith sank onto the edge of a chair.
“You want the boon. For you—”
“For my memories.”
Edith shook her head. “Rubi, please, listen to me. These warriors have trained their entire lives. You will have a month’s time. You can’t—you won’t be able to do this. Please, I cannot lose you.”
I clenched my eyes shut against her plea, desperate to explain without crying. Edith was my home. My family. It felt wrong to fight with her like this.
But I wanted that boon.
The key to my memories. The key to who I was.
“I can do this. I have to.”
“We can go back to the hut and rebuild and—”
“No,” I said again, and this time my voice was firm. Something roared beneath it, making the fire burn brighter, the lamps flare. “I will do this.”
Silence loomed heavy between us.
“I can’t watch this. I won’t,” she breathed, her voice wrought with fear.
She stood from the couch and left for her own chambers, huffing a final breath.
The door closing behind her felt like a strike between my ribs to the exposed center of my heart.