13. Chapter 13
Idon’t sleep. I lie in the dark instead, replaying those four words Thorin said to me on a constant loop.
You belong to me.
Somewhere around the third hour I decide I hate him.
Why would I want to belong to a king who hunted me down to keep me hidden in a palace?
By the fifth I decide hating him is easier than whatever the alternative feels like, and by the time gray light creeps through the curtains, I've settled on hating him being the only possible option I’ll accept.
Because it is. I want to kill him, there’s no way around that.
But things are so muddled between us that pushing him out of my mind is the only way to escape thoughts of him.
And Thorin is the reason they are muddled. He had my parents executed; he just doesn’t know that I know this information.
My magic disagrees with my choice. It's spent the whole night humming beneath my skin like a struck bell that refuses to go quiet, no matter how many times I glare at the ceiling and tell it to behave. Betrayed by my own body before breakfast. What an amazing way to start the day.
I'm still deciding whether to be furious or simply exhausted when the knock comes. Not Onyx's knock, but something crisper and more formal. I know that knock. Sighing, I tilt my head back, praying to the gods that she’ll assume I’m dead and leave me alone.
I know that won’t happen. I know she’ll barge in, and I’m not in the mood for her brutal honesty today.
Surprisingly, she doesn’t.
“Lady Tarethyn,” Mazelle calls through the door. “Training begins in a quarter hour.”
“Goodbye, Lieutenant Mazelle.” I call out and to my surprise, there’s no retort, nor a snippy remark that would cause my blood to boil.
Approximately twenty minutes later, I open the door, already dressed and ready for Mazelle’s formal assessment.
“Where's His Majesty? Busy scaring people shitless today?” I say sharply as my eyes scan around her, searching for his presence. I know he’s not there, though; I would have felt him if he were.
She cocks an eyebrow, tilting her head to the side. “His Majesty’s business is honestly none of yours, Lady Tarethyn. You should focus on your training.” Her reply is sly, and I know this means she heard about our argument last night. For fucks sake.
I cut my eyes at her and continue walking, ignoring her smart-ass remark. I’ve just about had it and if she says one more thing, one more—I might just turn my magic on her. But then I would be the villain in everyone’s story… so I keep quiet, and continue walking in silence.
“His Majesty is occupied with matters of the crown,” she says, her expression not flickering in the slightest. “I'll be overseeing your training this morning, along with Cadrin and Riven.”
“Won’t that be lovely,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. I’m not thrilled, but I don’t have the energy to argue against it. If Thorin doesn’t want to train me or see me—so be it. I won’t pout about it.
“Yes, today will be quite a treat. I’m thrilled,” Mazelle says flatly, letting me know she’s just as excited about our training session as I am.
The Sacred Gardens look exactly as dead as they did a few days ago, which feels rude considering all the effort I put into trying to bring it back to life.
Two new guards, Cadrin and Riven, wait by the gate when we arrive.
Cadrin’s bright blond hair catches what little light manages to filter through the gray sky, looking far too pleased with himself for this early in the morning.
He bows, deep and theatrical, and tells me he hears I had an eventful evening.
I tell him I have no idea what he's talking about. He then proceeds to tell me the whole east wing heard our shouting match and that the servants talk. I decide on the spot that I like him considerably less than all the other guards, and inform him that I would enjoy never having to endure his company again. He seems disappointed that I’m not in a mood to gossip, but that's life. We can’t all get what we want. I know that firsthand.
Riven, on the other hand, says nothing at all, which I prefer.
He inclines his head, then takes up a position near the fountain, sword-straight, eyes already sweeping the garden the way Onyx does when he’s on duty.
Did. Used to do. Referring to Onyx in the past tense stings more than I expect.
Maybe it’s because I don’t know if I’ll be seeing him as much anymore, and the thought leaves an ache in my chest. In an odd way, he’s become a confidant, a source of comfort, and now—now I don’t know what we are.
Mazelle claps her hands once, gaining my attention. “We'll be starting something new today. This tree. Channel your magic, and attempt to bring it back the way you bring everything else back.”
“It’s not that simple, Mazelle. You can’t just bring something back that’s been dead for centuries.” I explain, but she holds up a hand.
“For your sake, you had better hope it is. You have one job, and I expect for you to complete it.”
I want to argue with that but I don’t have the energy to so I settle for glaring at her instead, which she absorbs with the same unmoved patience she absorbs everything with.
She walks toward the blackened trunk, examining it.
It’s huge, and I don’t know if I can bring something this large back to life, but I’ll try.
This tree has been gone for hundreds of years.
What she’s asking for is practically impossible. But I’ll try.
Without Thorin, the garden feels different—if anything, quieter.
The silence presses in from every direction, making me miss his rude insistence that I try, or his unwavering belief that I can bring life back to his garden.
I press my palms to the bark and reach for the source of the rot that lingers in the soil, attempting to call the tree back to life.
It doesn’t work.
“Reach further,” Mazelle says, and I tell her that's astonishing advice, truly, however my magic doesn’t work like that. If I have nothing left to replenish, there’s nothing left.
Cadrin snorts somewhere behind me, likely enjoying watching me fail. Mazelle does not seem to find any of this entertaining, and mentions multiple times that her time has better use elsewhere.
I close my eyes and try anyway, because sulking at a dead tree accomplishes more than sulking at a king, and because some stubborn, humiliating part of me wants to prove I don't need Thorin standing an arm's length away, watching me with that uncomfortable stillness of his, to make any of this work.
The pulse of life that I put inside the tree is there, faint and distant, like it's retreated somewhere I can't quite follow. But I reach anyway.
“I’m reaching as far as I can, Mazelle,” I grit out, shooting daggers her way. Her eyes narrow as she smirks, and I find myself wondering how convincingly I could explain her becoming an unintentional recipient of my magic’s backlash. The thought is tempting, but I don’t entertain it for long.
My magic stirs, uncertain, and gutters before it ever really catches, and I'm left standing there with my palms against cold bark and nothing to show for it besides a headache blooming behind my eyes.
“Again,” Mazelle says. “You need to be stronger, Lady Tarethyn. So we’re going to train until you are.”
Gods above. They're all the same.
* * *
I catch sight of Thorin near the end of the second hour, standing at the far edge of the garden dressed in black as usual, watching.
I don’t think he’s watching me specifically—perhaps watching the tree.
It's difficult to tell, at that distance, what exactly a king finds worth his attention.
He doesn't come closer, nor does he attempt to gain my attention.
But I feel his eyes on me anyway, and it makes my skin burn.
He says something to Mazelle when she crosses to him, too quiet for me to hear, though I notice she nods and glances back at me once before returning to her post. Thorin doesn't leave immediately, his attention settling on me instead.
Even from across the garden, I feel the weight of it.
His eyes follow every movement I make, dropping to my hands before slowly traveling back to my face.
When our gazes meet, I catch a flash of silver in his eyes.
I shift as a shiver runs down my spine involuntarily.
For a moment, neither of us looks away. I should.
I know I should, but something about the way he's watching me holds me there, transfixed.
Everything seems to fall away until there is only the distance between us and those silver-flecked eyes fixed on mine.
Then he turns. His black cloak shifts behind him as he disappears around the corner, leaving me staring after him long after he's gone.
I tell myself I don't care. Unfortunately, I’m a very poor liar, even to myself. Cadrin takes up a position beside me, saying nothing at first. I continue trying to coax the tree back to the world of the living until he finally breaks the silence.
“He watched you for a while,” Cadrin says, searching my face for a reaction. His grin is sly, eyes brightening with excitement. I honestly hate Cadrin, and his shit-starting tendencies. Where is Riven? He doesn’t irritate me nearly as much.
I keep my attention on the brittle branches, refusing to give him the satisfaction of one.
“Then I hope I pleased His Majesty,” I reply, keeping my expression carefully blank. Dwelling on the man I have spent my life despising feels dangerously close to admitting he occupies far more of my thoughts than he should.