Chapter 10
Revna
In the first days of my reign, when I’d been confined to my bed healing from the injuries on my face, Volkan had declared he was going to read to me. He’d returned from the library with a sour expression, then told me with disdain, “Your kingdom’s library is abysmally small.”
I hadn’t seen any other libraries, so I believed him. But now, looking into the room of books as S?ren had left it, it became abundantly clear just how small it must be in comparison to a typical library.
The shelves were empty. The plush rug on the ground was nowhere to be seen. Instead of its usual dust-covered, practically untouched state, every book had been placed in disorganized piles on the ground.
S?ren was bent over the table in the center of the room, which was also entirely covered by books.
Several were flipped open to various pages.
As I watched, he ran a finger along a line of text in one, mouthing the words silently to himself as he read.
Apparently unsatisfied, he pursed his lips, flipped it closed, and then tossed it across the room.
It let out an echoing thud where it landed.
It was the most content I’d ever seen him.
Still, I furrowed my brow. Was this really the same man who had spent a significant portion of the last seven years living in an abandoned prison, the organization of which was utterly pristine? There, everything had its place.
This was utter chaos.
You don’t really know him, I reminded myself, bringing a hand up to rub against my chest at the pain the thought caused. You knew two versions of your enemy. Both of those versions were masks. He’s a good actor.
I tightened my grip on the dagger I held.
The carvings in the wood handle grounded me when I ran my thumb over them.
They were the same weapons he’d made for me all those weeks ago.
Given to me as a gift. I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of them, but I’d convinced myself it was because they were so perfectly balanced. Not for any other reason.
Learning from him—again—was the last thing I wanted to do. Especially knowing why he had killed Frode. Perhaps he’d told me the truth because he thought it would bring me closure, thought I would forgive him. The opposite was true. No motivation could be enough to justify his actions.
I bit my lip. Maybe stabbing him was the easier route after all. Maybe the treaty was too far gone to be worth this salvage attempt.
The thought of Jac’s and Volkan’s expressions if they discovered I had killed the man had me sheathing the weapon again.
S?ren was perusing a perilously tilting stack of books on the other side of the room. He picked one up and blew, a cloud of dust falling from the cover. He didn’t look over to me as he called, “Are you going to stand there skulking forever, Princess?”
I gritted my teeth. Do not stab him. No matter how badly you want to.
“It’s ‘Queen’ now,” I said. “You will refer to me as such.”
He raised a single dark eyebrow. “Whatever you say.”
I stepped around the books until I reached the table, pulled out one of the unused chairs, and sank into it with my arms crossed. “You’ve been busy.” The words carried all the bitterness I felt.
S?ren shrugged, flipping through the pages. “Yes. So have you, it seems.”
My face heated. “I have a kingdom to run. I can’t spend every moment at your beck and call.”
Why did his smirk have to be so damn devastating?
“What are you doing?” I asked, hoping the interruption would distract me.
“Researching,” he said. “I mentioned finding information about a place in the wastes that might be able to show us the prophecy you spoke of. And I have a theory about it.”
When he stopped, I raised a brow. “Care to share?”
“Well.” He sat back, intertwining his fingers. “Assuming this place truly exists…What if the queen knew about it, too? And what if she went there?”
I had no idea where he was going with this. My expression must have given it away, because he continued when I didn’t reply. “She could have heard this prophecy, too. And if it’s a prophecy about you and me, then it may have made mention of your Lurae.”
“How likely is it that this place is real, though?” I frowned. “Magic in the wastes is unheard of. We are people with magic—there have never been magical places.”
“According to us. But the priests used to teach about them, though the doctrine seems to have been phased out over time.” He pulled a book from a stack behind him.
“This is a volume I brought from Kryllian. We don’t have much information on Bhorglid’s history there, but it’s mentioned occasionally in this volume. ”
He held out the book to me. I didn’t move. Think of everything he’s done, I reminded myself. Why should you trust him?
Finally, he pulled it back and set it on the stack again. “Should I assume you’re here to train, then? Or is the plan to let your Lurae continue to fester and hope the queen doesn’t notice when she arrives?”
The very Lurae he mocked me for surged with my temper. Gods, training with him was going to be miserable. But Jac’s fury looped over and over in my mind, so I bit my tongue.
He tossed the book he was holding in the direction of the other he discarded earlier, then opened another to begin flipping through its pages.
The familiar furrow between his brows spoke to his concentration.
The only other times I’d seen that expression were when he was cooking and when he was between my—
No, I ordered my thoughts. Don’t even start.
The determination that had pulled me from my bedroom mere minutes ago was swiftly transforming into irritation.
I was remembering all over again what a terrible idea this was.
This man, no matter how innocent he looked without the mask, had murdered my brother.
He’d told his ruler of our forbidden relationship, simply to gain the upper hand over me.
My knee bounced beneath the table and I crossed my arms. “Are you going to teach me anything, or am I going to spend all afternoon watching you desecrate literature?”
S?ren closed the book abruptly. “First, the majority of what this library contains is utter garbage. Very disappointing. Second, there’s something we have to do before we can begin working on your Lurae.”
He paused, waiting for me to ask. I narrowly avoided rolling my eyes. “What’s that?”
I expected him to say something about traveling to the wastes. After all, he’d been insistent the other night that we would find answers there. But instead, his grin held the edge of the predator I’d come to know. It lurked beneath his surface at all times, no matter how innocent he looked.
“We spar.”
The courtyard was frigid. Wind whipped a few escaped strands of my braid in front of my face, but I held steady.
Aloisa’s hilt felt like home in my palms, the steady weight of the blade slowing the song in my mind.
I stared at the unmasked general across from me, holding his own weapon—though the sword was different from the one he kept on the battlefield—with a single purpose fueling me.
I was going to kick S?ren’s ass.
He lunged into motion, slicing a direct line toward my face. I brought Aloisa up in a quick parry, spun on the ball of my foot to get out of range of his swing, and then stepped inside his guard for my own strike. From there, we moved seamlessly into the dance of war.
My mind quieted, the only thing inside me the desperate need to win. He’d spent every second of our relationship holding the upper hand thus far. Even when I’d finally become nearly his equal in fighting capabilities, he still had his secrets.
It was my turn to be the one in power.
I swung, forcing him to parry over and over. My arms burned from the effort. But no matter how many times I tried, I couldn’t put a scratch on him.
I gritted my teeth. The next time our blades collided, I stepped in closer and kicked out sharply with my foot. He jolted backward, barely escaping a boot to the groin, and huffed out a shocked laugh.
He’s laughing at you, my thoughts snarled. He thinks you don’t stand a chance.
The lullaby’s opening notes strummed.
“When you start training your Lurae,” he said, still managing to block each of my strikes as he spoke, “you’ll learn that the rules of using magic are much the same as the rules of swordfighting. And the first is one you should already know: never fight angry.”
I scowled, my anger only increasing. How dare he tell me not to be angry? I’d been through far too much. If anyone had earned the right to their fury, it was me.
I struck again, speeding up. The song in my head took on a swift tempo, one I matched with every swipe. But while my arms screamed and sweat poured down my face in rivers, S?ren barely appeared winded.
The first flakes of gentle snow peppered his hair. “Seems to me,” I snarled, my next strike far more heavy-handed than the ones before it, “I’m the only one who’s as angry as they should be.”
Silence followed, interrupted only by the clash of blades and the song. It built and built, the pressure in my head nearly unbearable. Finally, S?ren stepped back, shaking his head and letting down his guard. A signal that the battle was over.
“Your anger is a shield,” he said softly, running a hand through his hair.
“It’s easier to be angry than it is to be hurt.
Than it is to be sad. But your anger makes you volatile, Revna.
It will be your downfall if you aren’t careful—if you let your anger remain a shield instead of using the blade of what you really feel. ”
My Lurae erupted.
Threads spiraled, and with a single tug I had S?ren on his knees, his head tipped back to the sky, exposing his throat.
My hand shook with rage as I held Aloisa’s sharpened edge to his neck.
“Stop it,” I hissed. “At least my anger gets me out of bed in the mornings. At least it keeps me from falling on my own sword.”
He opened his mouth to speak but I shook my head sharply, silencing him. “You think I’m volatile?” I demanded. “It doesn’t matter if my magic destroys me. Because you already did.”
For a long moment, he didn’t answer. When he finally dragged his eyes to mine, he said, his voice low, “I just don’t want to see everything you’ve worked so hard for destroyed. You nearly died for this throne.”
My breaths came in sharp gasps. My lungs refused to fill fully.
“You can kill me if you need to,” he whispered. The snow on his face had melted, leaving a thin sheen of wetness across his cheekbones. “It’s okay if you do. I understand.”
The thread connecting us moved, slithering up his chest to wrap around his throat.
Pull, the song crooned. Snap his neck. Make it quick. Or suffocate him, force him to die slow.
I stepped back. Aloisa’s blade thudded against the nearly frozen ground. Frode’s face flashed behind my eyes.
He would tell me not to. He would want me to control my Lurae.
Frode would remind me that so many had died for me to sit on the throne. That I’d lost a part of myself trying to become queen, too. He’d say the scars on my face meant something, but only if I kept living.
Only if I kept trying.
Slowly, painstakingly, I pulled the thread back from its vise grip on S?ren’s throat.
He relaxed and I stepped past him, back to the castle. “Meet me out here in the morning,” he called after me. “Not for sparring—we can start working on your Lurae.”
I paused, not turning around when I called out, “Why did you bury him?”
Silence.
“Nobody deserves to waste away out there,” he said finally. “Least of all a good man.”
I made it to the solitude of my bedroom before the shield of my anger shattered. And the blade of my grief and loneliness left me curled in the fetal position on the floor, gasping for breath between my sobs.