Chapter 19 Rae
CHAPTER NINETEEN
RAE
The future is hidden from me as much as the present and I still don’t know what I’m supposed to do. It’s all shrouded in darkness. Nothing has changed.
I’m torn between these two men.
I hate the fae king for taking my world and subjugating my people. I hate Jai for causing the death of my family and helping the fae king, even though he claims he wants him gone.
And I’m drawn to both. The king who is my long-lost love. And Jai who pulls me in ways I can barely comprehend, body and mind.
The thought fills my mind from end to end as Daria puts me in a stiff blue gown with the help of the seamstress—who is suddenly free to work on my dress.
I can’t help thinking that the king had something to do with that, even though, let’s admit it, the low number of survivors might be also to blame.
It strikes me that I still don’t know whether Amaryll made it.
The seamstress and Daria shake their heads when I ask about her. Apparently, nobody tells them anything, ever.
“You have to know at least how many of us survived,” I argue as the seamstress puts neat stitches on the long skirt of the gown. “You have to find clothes for all of us. Don’t you know if one of us is a pretty black lady?”
“Four have survived,” she agrees, and a weight lifts off my chest. “And yes, a pretty black lady is one of those four.”
She made it. Oh Gods, she made it. I barely know her, I shouldn’t like her but—she has a daughter to go back to.
The whole purpose of this mission was to give humans a chance at peace. Take out this warlike king and put another on the throne.
And now? What will you do now?
Daria is brushing out my hair, pulling the comb through the snarls and tangles. I’m already wearing earrings and a diamond necklace. A pair of uncomfortable-looking shoes sits by the bed. Meanwhile, the seamstress is almost done bringing in the gown at the waist and chest to fit me.
The gown looks strangely familiar. Didn’t the first gown he sent me also feel familiar? I frown. I’m imagining things.
My reflection in the mirror shows me a pale, tired woman, a little too thin, a little too pensive, her white hair now being pulled up to accommodate a tiara the king must have sent.
What am I doing?
“The king sent all these jewels,” Daria says, confirming my suspicions. “And the gown.” She sighs. “It’s so beautiful.”
“When the king singles you out,” the seamstress says, not lifting her head from her stitching, “it’s not always cause for celebration.”
“What do you mean?” I whisper.
“Nothing,” she says quickly. “But it pays to be wary and to fade in the crowd.”
“It’s only four of us left,” I snap without wanting to. “Only four humans. Hard to blend in with the fae.”
“A man who cares for you wouldn’t have let you go back into the games,” she says.
“He has no choice,” I grind out. “It’s the sacred laws of the trials.”
“Trials set up by the fae. And a man who obeys the laws above your life, who puts the world first, isn’t—”
“Don’t,” Daria says, shushing her, her face white. “The walls have ears, remember? And you’re talking about the king!”
Numb, I let them put the final touches on me. A bracelet. A ringlet of white hair coiled at my neck. A touch of rouge on my cheeks. A touch of charcoal around my eyes.
A man who obeys the laws above your life isn’t a man who really loves you.
But I can still love him.
I always will.
He was my soulmate. Still is.
A person’s true nature can’t change completely, can it?
Arkin is dressed in the formal royal guard uniform, complete with those ridiculous, creaky wings.
“I should have guessed you’d be here,” I mumble, unable to forget how he and Tru stopped me from escaping the king’s enclosed garden… yesterday. Was it only yesterday?
No wonder I’m exhausted.
Arkin bows. “Lady of the darakin.”
“Not you, too.”
His grin is full of mischief. “My lady.”
The title reminds me of Remi and guilt swamps me. I haven’t spoken to him or seen him since the trial. Haven’t thought about him when he had helped me so much.
Remi!
His amused voice pipes up inside my mind right away, startling me. “Present and accounted for! Did you call?”
Remi… I try to contain my shock at the immediate response. Where are you?
He doesn’t reply at first and I resist the urge to call for him again.
“I thought you replaced me,” he says after a while, his voice grumpy, and he sounds so much like a little boy, I smile despite myself.
Replaced you?
“With that drak.”
A laugh escapes me. Remi… Are you talking about Keres? No.
“Are you sure about that? He’s bigger. Stronger.”
So what? I needed a ride. He gave it to me. That’s all.
“You don’t ride a drak without having some connection between you.”
I didn’t even know they could mind-speak, I say, to change the topic.
“Why wouldn’t they?”
That’s right, I muse. Darakins and draks are related. All dragons are related, right?
“Not really. At least…”
At least?
“I don’t think I am. Related to draks, that is.”
I frown. Meaning?
“Darakins are related to the Great Dara, or so they say, not to draks. But I don’t think I am a real darakin.”
What are you talking about?
“I’m different. And the other darakins don’t want me around.”
Oh, Remi… I want to hug him, which is the weirdest thing if you consider this is a dragon. Darakins may be small, but they are still considered vicious, dangerous and cold.
“I’m going off to hunt. Holler if you need me.” The change in his voice is too brusque. Too sudden. “Unless you prefer Keres to help you.”
No, I don’t, I think firmly. You are my man. Dragon. Whatever. Happy hunting!
“Nothing happy about it,” he growls, a fainter version of Jai’s deep growl, and I blink.
Oh yeah, talk about grumpiness. It sends a bolt of fondness through my chest.
And I hope he feels it.
I shake my head, still smiling, and stumble. The world returns into focus with a violent lurch, but a hand on my arm stops me from falling.
“Lady Rae? Are you all right?” Arkin asks.
“What is it?” I become aware of Arkin sliding his other hand to the small of my back, guiding me forward. “Aren’t we going to the banquet?”
“In a moment. As it turns out, the telchin wants to speak with you.”
Oh, just great.
I’ve been dreading the banquet. I’ve been feeding my impatience for all of it to be over before it even starts so I can talk to the king again… and here I am, about to waste time talking to the telchin.
We follow a manservant down another winding corridor, and I swear I’ve never been on this side of the palace before. Is my memory playing tricks on me? I know there are spells on certain parts of the palace. Is this one of them?
Telchins are not humans, though they look just the same. They man the openings between the worlds, the gates and passages, and the cracks in the earth and firmaments through which souls and creatures may pass.
This telchin, though, the priest manning the temple at the center of this world, is a pawn and a mouthpiece for the fae.
A juggler and circus man. As you can tell, I’m still not convinced this priest is a real telchin.
He’s probably just a human with some magic, disguised as a telchin, pretending to be one.
Still, when we enter a hall with a roaring fire and find him waiting there for me, I have to swallow down nerves and a sense of apprehension.
I haven’t done anything wrong, anything to be punished for, but the priest is an imposing figure in his embroidered dark robes, emphasizing his height and the breadth of his shoulders, the intensity of his gaze and those rivers of dark curls and beard.
A fatherly figure, I suppose.
A godly figure.
He seems so much larger when he isn’t standing next to Jai’s tall, muscular frame.
“She is supposed to be at the banquet right now, holy telchin,” Arkin begins, bowing stiffly from the shoulders, the wings swinging sideways, “so we’d appreciate it if you kept this meeting brief. His Majesty—”
The telchin dismisses him with a mere flicker of his eyes. “Wait outside, guard.”
With a huff Arkin goes, leaving me alone with this creature. Suddenly I’m not so sure he’s an impostor anymore. I can almost taste his power, a tingle on the tip of my tongue, a shiver in my bones.
“The Lady of the darakin,” the telchin mutters, sounding annoyed.
I’m tempted to remind him that he’s the one who requested my presence.
“When the old dragon falls through the firmament,” he’s muttering now, “it will be time. She has a mark, he has an echo. The eye that hasn’t opened. The Pillar shall slow down its endless rotation…”
It reminds me of Jai when Phaethon suddenly takes over. When it feels as if I’m eavesdropping on a conversation with a ghost.
“What did you want with me?” I interrupt his mutterings.
His gaze swings back to me, narrowing. “I want to tell you a story,” he says, and I blink in confusion. “Take a seat.”
“A story? Now? Like Arkin said, I’m supposed to be attending the banquet with—”
“The king. Yes, I know. Sit.”
So I sit, arranging my skirt around me so I don’t tear it.
A gown the king sent me, diamonds he arranged for me to wear.
The thought of him waiting in the formal banquet hall and not finding me there fills me with a weird sort of dread—not so much regarding his wrath but much more about the delay in talking to him.
Earlier he didn’t seem eager to share any real information with you.
It doesn’t matter. He was right. We were together a long, long time ago. He needs time, like I do, to open up again.
Truth is, I’m dying to get Mars back, to recognize him in that impassive fae face, coach him out of that icy demeanor.
I get it. Both of us went through a lot. He has changed, much like I have. But I can’t help thinking that with the right words, the right gestures—the right touch—he’ll be back.
Back with me.
At last.
Maybe that’s the dread I’m feeling—the abyss between us after a separation that lasted an eternity. We’re both here now and should take advantage to talk. I need to… need to understand.