Chapter 17
Hallival, Present Day - Braexmirth
Soren turned in slow motion, ice filling her veins. The shock on her face was evident even below the keen features of her fox mask. Eyes the color of glaciers met hers, and her breath was momentarily stolen from her lungs.
Rook’s eyes roamed up and down her body, obviously appreciating her current outfit. He, of course, wore a raven mask.
How fitting.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Her voice was clipped. She threw out each syllable as though it were one of her daggers, pinning him in place with their pointed edges. She tried to ignore the fact that he was shirtless as she waited for an answer. The knowledge that she still found him unimaginably attractive vexed her to no end.
He cleared his throat to speak, and it was then she realized she had been ogling him for a solid minute. She tore her eyes away, returning them to his icy stare.
The smirk that peeked out from below his mask confirmed that he had noticed her staring. She was thankful he could not see her blush, at least.
“After you left …” He started again, all traces of humor erased from his expression. “I needed to explain.”
To his surprise, Soren laughed, but it was not a humorous laugh. Her voice was strained, as though her psyche were moments away from cracking. Her resolve was like a porcelain glass crashing to the floor and breaking into a thousand little pieces.
“What possible explanation could you have to give? You murdered my father. You should be lucky I don’t cut you down where you stand.” The fury in her eyes showed she would follow through with her threat, though he noticed the hint of sadness behind the golden halos.
“I did not kill him in cold blood,” Rook started, but she cut him off.
“It doesn’t fucking matter how you did it, Rook!” Her voice was shrill, and she was thankful the music was loud enough to hide their quarreling. “My father is dead because of you. Now get the fuck away from me.” She quickly moved past him, slipping through the crowd to one of the dozens of small tunnels and caverns that veered off the main cave.
The panic had returned, and her heart raced as she sucked in rattled breaths. Her mind was in emotional turmoil, and she struggled to rein in her feelings. Though she would never admit it to him, even after everything, something in her chest had still warmed when she’d first realized it was him.
Until the memories had returned.
Her father’s body, covered in hundreds of marks. Burying him. The trauma of being hunted and kidnapped. The fear, anxiety, and heartbreak of finding her mother’s ring. It was too much. It was all too much.
She clawed at her throat, unable to inhale the amount of oxygen she needed to keep herself going. The edges of her vision began to blur, and she slammed a hand to the wall in a poor attempt to steady herself.
“Hey, are you okay?” Braxten asked, miraculously appearing out of nowhere. He placed the two goblets down and rushed to her side when she didn’t answer. “Did that guy say something to you?”
When she didn’t respond, he continued, chuckling nervously, “I thought he may be a friend of yours when I saw you talking from across the room and didn’t want to interrupt. You looked upset when you walked away, so I followed you.”
His rambling had allowed Soren’s mind to clear enough to slow her heart rate, and she managed to squeak out, “Ex-boyfriend.” Though the label was not exactly correct, it was the only way to explain the situation to an outsider in as few syllables as possible.
“Oh …” he said, dragging the word out. “Are you okay now?”
“I will be,” she replied, eyeing the goblets. “Could I have one of those?”
“Oh, yeah, sure, no problem,” he said, his sheepish grin returning.
His smile was infectious, and she couldn’t help but return it as the water cooled her.
She finished the contents, and Braxton put both glasses in one hand and held out his arm for her. “Let’s get back out there and show him what he’s missing.”
Now that, I can do, she thought, linking her arm with his, and then they headed back toward the party. It was almost midnight, and she didn’t want to miss the surprise that Saoirse had spoken about. Mercifully, Rook was nowhere to be seen. She hoped, for her sanity, he had taken the hint and left.
How is he even here?
She shook her head to remove the thought. She was here to enjoy herself, and she was not going to let that asshole ruin her night.
Braxton handed the goblets to one of the many servants milling about and took Soren’s hand, pulling her into the center of the crowd. The energy was palpable as they resumed dancing with Braxton’s hands grasped firmly on her hips.
A mane of red hair to her left caught her attention, and she noticed Saoirse and Callan locked in what looked to be a rather sensual embrace. They were facing each other, both of his hands firmly grasping her buttocks as they pressed their bodies against one another’s. Her hands were draped around his neck, and it was apparent they would be leaving together.
For a moment, she thought it odd that the king’s son would be so outwardly affectionate with the royal staff. She just figured the people of Braexmirth followed different rules than those in Patrivah.
If it were even possible, the energy in the room seemed to expand even more. The entire cave pulsed with the ebb and flow of bodies mingling amongst the sounds of the drums, and Soren followed the gaze of the crowd as they lifted their hands to the sky. It was then Soren noticed the tiny rings of metal wires encircling the opening at the top of the cave. They were attached to small orbs that were affixed to the roof. She watched in awe as one of the servants stood, waving a torch on a platform at the far end of the room.
The music stopped abruptly, and the king was led up the dais with his guards in tow to make an announcement.
“Happy Hallival!” he started boisterously.
The crowd whooped and cheered, falling silent again as he held up a large hand.
Soren leaned back against Braxton’s chest as she listened.
“In a few moments, the autumn tide will end, marking the 317th anniversary of the hunt. May the next season bring you all warmth and joy.” He paused here, giving a signaling nod to the servant who brought the torch to the wall. Much like the explosive powder back in her mother’s temple, Soren watched as the flame lit an invisible path up the wall leading to the dangling orbs.
“I hope you’re ready,” Saoirse whispered.
“Ready for wha?—”
Her question was cut short as the flame reached the metal rings and the orbs began to explode overhead. Each one had been filled with a different colored powder to represent the changing of leaves between seasons.
Saoirse let out a squeal of excitement as everyone removed their masks and allowed the powder to cover their bodies. Soren followed suit, placing her mask in the hands of another servant who was making their rounds and let the powder wash over her.
The entire crowd was soon a live painting of the autumn tide. Faces and bodies were covered in deep oranges, dark burgundies, and golden yellows as the powder fell.
The drumbeat picked up again, and the dancing continued.
Soren turned to Braxton, whose face was now half-red, half-orange and couldn’t help but smile. She couldn’t imagine how she must look to him in that moment, but the heat behind his eyes showed her it couldn’t be all that bad.
He used the pad of his thumb to wipe a small mound of powder from her cheek, and she found herself leaning into the touch. She was not looking to bed him, but when he leaned in to press his lips against hers, she allowed herself to enjoy the sweetness of the moment.
The kiss was short-lived when Braxton’s lips were ripped from hers by a fuming Rook.
“Touch her again, and I will break every finger that has graced her skin,” he growled. His white hair had been dyed red from the colored granules, and his chest was smattered with lines of dark purple. His rage was palpable, and Braxton couldn’t help the surprised look on his face. To his credit, he ignored Rook completely, meeting only Soren’s eyes.
“The ex?” he asked.
“Unfortunately,” she replied.
“Do you want me to do something about him?” Braxton asked sincerely.
Rook scoffed, “I’d like to see you try.”
Soren’s heart twinged that this man, who barely knew her, would so readily come to her defense, and not to display male dominance but because he genuinely cared. However, as much as she would have liked to see him land a solid punch to Rook’s face, she knew that, ultimately, he would lose. She didn’t want to be responsible for him getting hurt.
“It’s okay, Brax. I’ll take it from here,” she said softly.
He looked at her with sad disappointment that their night had been cut short but respected her wishes and walked away without another word.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Soren yelled, stomping away before he could answer.
Before she knew it, her anger led her up the stairs and down the winding halls, back to her room. She could hear Enara’s faint moans drifting from behind the door next to hers, and she suddenly wished she was deaf.
She made to slam the door shut to announce her presence to her noisy neighbors, but it stopped short when it reverberated off Rook’s palm. Soren huffed in annoyance as he overpowered her hold on the handle and pushed into the room.
“Will you just leave me in peace!” she yelled, suddenly exhausted from the night’s physical exertion.
“He kissed you,” Rook said, his eyes wild, like a cornered animal. He clenched and unclenched his fists as he replayed the image of Soren’s lips meeting the other man’s.
“And your point being?” Soren asked, flailing her arms in annoyance. “You do not own me, nor my body, and I will do with it as I see fit.”
“You. Are. Mine!” he snarled, his nostrils flaring.
“I. Am. My. Own!” she retorted, responding in the same indignant tone.
“So what? You just let anyone lay their hands on you now?” he asked, inches from her face.
She balked at the insinuation and slapped him—hard. Then she wound up for a second hit, but he caught her wrist, bending it painfully and using the backward momentum to push her into the wall beside the door.
She swung out with her non-dominant hand, yet he caught that, too, pinning both arms above her head as she bore holes into his eye sockets through her own.
The silver drink had worn off, but she was still uncomfortably affected by his proximity. The scent of sweet grass and pine needles surrounded her in a heady cloud, and her breath quickened. His eyes darkened as he noticed the effect he was having on her, so she hardened her mask and slammed her protective walls back into place.
“Let go of me, you bastard,” she said, struggling against his grip.
“Not until you hear me out,” he replied.
He was so calm that Soren wanted to scream in his stupid face, but she stilled her tongue, not wanting to alert Baz and Enara to her current predicament.
“You killed my father, called me a whore, and now you want me to hear you out?” she asked incredulously. “Do you hear how idiotic you sound?”
He deserved that. Seeing her with the other man had brought out the beast in him.
He pressed his eyes shut, pushing away the anger, and then reopened them, willing Soren to see the sincerity behind the wall of ice.
“I am sorry for what I said. He had his hands on you all evening, and when he kissed you, I snapped.”
She stared at him, open-mouthed at his admission, before spitting out, “So that gives you the excuse to label me a whore?” Her brows bunched together angrily before she added, “I wonder what Meena and Evelyn would say if they heard that.”
As the shock of her words hit him, his grip on her wrist loosened enough for her to pull them from his grasp and shove him away.
“Get the fuck out,” she reiterated, fuming.
“It was a mercy kill,” he blurted out.
“I don’t believe you!” she cried.
“Then don’t, but it is the truth.”
She wanted so badly to scream at him, to hit him in his stupidly attractive face until her fists came back bloody. As she looked at him, however, she felt nothing more than pity, which made her heart ache.
Her blood cooled, and she dared to ask, “What happened?”
Rook explained that her father had pre-emptively come to see him prior to hiding the Oculus. Tarak had been looking for Adriel when he stumbled upon the manor. He had begged Rook to show Soren mercy if he failed his mission. He had given him the ring to prove that Soren could trust him, which had coincidentally done the exact opposite.
“Corvus arranged the attack,” he continued. “Apparently, one of the kestrels had overhead my exchange with your father and reported back to him. He sent the whole unkindness after him. He didn’t stand a chance.”
Soren’s throat collapsed in on itself at the last sentence.
“I’m sorry. If the details are too much, I can stop,” he offered.
She shook her head. She wanted to hear everything. She needed to.
“I found him not far from Vreburn, his pulse so weak that most would have assumed him already dead. Unfortunately, he had not been that lucky. He must have laid there for hours, his life slowly leaking out of him from the infected wounds the kestrels had inflicted.”
Soren wiped the tears that had trailed down her cheeks, and Rook wanted so badly to embrace her but resisted.
“His eyes were swollen, but he managed to say a few words as I approached. He said to protect you, that you spent your whole life in a cage of your own making. He loved you very much. He asked me to end it for him. I refused at first, but he used the last of his strength to place his hunting knife in my hand.”
Soren pressed her eyes together, knowing what was coming next.
“I refused the knife, not wanting to create a murder investigation, and offered him an alternative. I carry a small vial of hellebore root on me at all times. It’s tasteless, dissolves instantly, and kills the host the second it enters the bloodstream. It’s painless and untraceable. My father forced me to keep it on hand in case he needed me to assassinate anyone. Few people know of its existence, and I want you to know he went quickly.”
As he had spoken, Soren had slowly made her way across the room and sat in silence on the bed. It was so much information to take in at one time, and the tears fell freely as her mind went into a tailspin. Dad is dead. Rook killed him. No, Corvus gave the order. But he poisoned him. He was showing him mercy.
Noticing the signs of an impending panic attack, he moved toward her slowly.
She surprised him by asking, “If all this is true, then how is it you did not know my name?”
“He never spoke your true name to me. He only used various terms of endearment.”
“Is that why you call me little bird?” she asked.
“Yes,” he replied, daring to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “Because he wanted you to fly.”