Chapter 20 Rae
CHAPTER TWENTY
RAE
An ancient Eosphor.
The original Eosphor.
It begs the question, how did the eosphoric race arise from just one creature? Did he split himself into more? Or is the myth inaccurate and incomplete? Was there another Eosphor, its name lost in history?
What does that mean for Jai in whose head that first Eosphor is living? My mind is imploding. Does Jai know? He has to know. What else hasn’t he told me?
The memory of his touch heats my skin. He’s confusing me.
The way his shadows exploded, the way he hurled the furniture against the wall…
His talk of mates. It’s as if he feels something for me, and as for me, I crave every moment of pleasure or gentleness with him.
I’m not sure I want to break those fragile moments, even if I have to pretend.
Even if he met the love of his life already and I’m just another notch on his bedpost. Would that be so bad, under the circumstances?
Arkin is a silent presence at my side as we hurry through the palace. He doesn’t ask what the telchin wanted to talk to me about. As we turn a corner, something flutters at the edge of my vision and I turn to find a black moth flying over my shoulder.
Is Jai close? Can he send these moths to find me? Where is he?
Wait… He has to be already at the banquet, with the king, and I open my stride as much as the gown allows, anxious to arrive.
I need to speak to Mars, clarify everything. Ground myself again. I feel adrift. This confusion is buzzing inside my head, not letting me think.
I never thought I’d find Mars again, but in moments of dreaming I had dreamed of talking to him, of burrowing in the safety of his arms, of his kind heart.
Entering the dining hall, I find the long table I recall from a few days back decked in black and gold, the golden candelabra lined up across the middle and studded with slender white candles. The platters are laden with food, the aromas making my stomach cramp.
But as I follow the line of the flickering flames to the end of the table, on the dais, I find the king standing, a towering presence, his pale brows bunched together in a dark glower.
“Lady Rae.” His voice bursts over the room like thunder. Many of the seated nobles flinch to hear it. “You are late.”
Caught in his cold gaze and the gazes of his guests, I perform a hasty curtsy. “Highness, Anax. I apologize.”
“What could have been more important than my invitation to this banquet?” His voice falls, now deadly quiet. “Than an invitation from your king?”
I swallow. This is worse than last time, I just know it. This is the second time I have undermined his authority in front of others. “The telchin asked to see me.”
“Since when is a telchin’s wish more important than your king’s?”
That’s blasphemy, I think, hubris, like the one committed by King Marsyas of old. The telchin is the voice of the Gods. Not even kings can stand in the Gods’ way.
But I don’t say that. Can’t.
I’m aware of guards at my back, other than Arkin, of the screech of their tall spears as they lift them off the floor, the whisper of their boots as they shift on their feet.
And I’m aware, have been aware since I entered, of Jai.
Jai, who isn’t sitting near the king—who isn’t sitting at all, instead standing not far from me, one booted foot propped against the wall, muscular arms folded over his broad chest, and a bored expression on his handsome face.
I’m not looking at him. Not at all. Yet somehow, I’ve managed to take him in, noting every detail, and I’m already obsessed with the way his black jacket, buttoned all the way up to his chin, molds so perfectly to the hard lines and planes of his torso, the way his black pants hug those muscled thighs, tucked inside tall black boots.
With the way his black hair hangs in his eyes and curls at the back of his neck, brushing that chiseled jaw and those marked cheekbones that give him such a sharp and austere air.
With that mouth, so tempting, the full upper lip softening its harsh line.
The mask he’s wearing, hiding his emotions.
“Take a seat, my lady,” the king says, his voice sharp, and after a long moment it sinks in that he’s still addressing me. “I was in the middle of something.”
Whispers rise, hissing voices. It’s probably unheard of that I haven’t yet been dragged to the dungeons or thrown into the treacherous sea.
I am, after all, considered to be a mere human, nothing but filth under the fae nobles’ pointy shoes, and I have insulted the king by coming late to the banquet.
They can’t see any reason why he’d spare me.
But I smile a little, because there he is, after all. Mars. It has to be Mars, peeping out of the king’s stony facade. Mars would never hurt me.
Only one chair is still free, as expected—I’m the only guest who dared arrive late at this special banquet—but I never expected it to be that close to the king’s dais.
It’s, in fact, right across from where Jai sat last time—and indeed I now see his coat thrown over the chair across from mine as I walk behind the other guests to reach my seat.
Also, to my surprise, the other survivors of the second trial are sitting not far from me. There is Mera, giving me an amused smile, toying with a piece of bread. Her dark locks have been pulled up in a fancy hairdo, decorated with pearl pins. Her gown is dark red, like spilled blood.
And there is Amaryll. She’s avoiding my gaze, looking down at her empty plate instead. She looks tired, if resplendent in a jade gown that sets off her dark skin and matches her brilliant eyes. Tired and unhappy.
Then again, not everyone finds near-death experiences amusing, like Mera.
Sitting down, I reconsider that thought. Reframe it. I shouldn’t think that way. A smile can hide great pain. But I can’t help but wonder how Amaryll made it this far. Color me intrigued. Jai, Mera, and I aren’t fully human, but her?
I open my mouth to greet her, but she lifts a hand to hide her face, not letting me get out a single word.
“Don’t look at me,” she whispers. “I’m ashamed I pushed you away in the arena. But I can’t regret it.”
“Then don’t regret it,” I say. “These are messed-up times. This is a messed-up place. Let’s drink.”
Her hand falls away and her gaze comes up. She looks startled.
One of the fae aristocrats seated between us clears his throat pointedly. “The king!” he hisses. “The king is speaking!”
I jerk my head around and find the king giving me that cold glare that throws ice down my spine.
“As I was saying before this human lost her way coming to the hall…” His mouth curls in a tight smirk. “I bid you welcome to the second tier of celebrations in honor of the exulted Pillar.”
Oh Gods, Mars, are you in there, still? How far buried under that cold face, that cold heart, are you? My shaky belief that I’ll talk to him and all will be fine loses some more ground.
Don’t, I tell myself. Don’t go borrowing trouble where there’s none. Don’t let yourself be shaken by this show he puts on for his nobles. You’ll talk to him in private. You’ll find out everything. And then maybe…
Maybe I’ll convince him to give up on his plans to open new gates.
To stop tormenting humanfolk and finnfolk.
To revert to his former, kinder self. To the boy I loved.
Sounds like the fairytale endings I said I don’t believe in—but shouldn’t I believe that there is kindness in Mars? Locked in deep, sure, and the key is probably lost.
But if I’m not that key, then what am I?
“We did not expect any survivors,” the king’s words drop like stones in the spreading silence. “The second trial has for many a year ended without any victors. Not this time. This time we have four survivors who will enter the third trial.”
A murmur winds itself like a snake among the fae. They obviously didn’t realize that apart from me and Jai there are more survivors.
“Rise, humans,” the king says, “and let everyone see you.”
In case they hadn’t noticed us, in case they need a plaything to pass the time until the next trial, I think bitterly as I get back up, smoothing down the skirt of my gown. Here we are for your morbid entertainment. Take a good look.
Where Amaryll is dressed in pale green and Mera in deep red, I am wearing a gown of light blues and greens like the foam in certain parts of the ocean, the demure neckline and scalloped sleeves giving me an air of innocence that I don’t feel.
And then there’s Jai, still leaning against the wall, arms still folded over his chest, that bored look on his face.
What is he doing?
“Let’s drink,” the king says, raising his glass. “To the Pillar and the opening of gates. To the return of those who passed and the remembrance of those not coming back.”
“To the Pillar!” the fae chant. “To the gates.”
Jai doesn’t move, and that seems to be the last straw for the king.
“Athdara, the king’s sword!” his voice thunders. “Join us at the table. Now!”
That’s not a request. It’s a command.
Everyone falls silent, staring at the unfolding show.
After a long moment, a little too long, Jai pushes off the wall and approaches the table. The servant pouring the wine into the tall fluted glasses steps hurriedly away as Jai grabs the glass and brings it to his lips.
“To the Pillar,” he says. “And to love that never dies.”
And he downs the entire contents of his glass.
Everyone is standing around the table, frozen, petrified, goblets halfway to their mouths, eyes wide. I don’t exactly know why, except… Jai’s shadows writhe around his body, snapping out like snakes. The fae nobles closest to him recoil.
A hush is spreading.
Then the king gives a slow, deliberate smile. “Indeed. To love!” He raises his goblet again, and with relieved expressions on their faces, the fae raise theirs, too. “And to new allies.”
The hush takes on a different quality. It becomes an expectant pause. A question hangs in the air.
Jai doesn’t move away from the table, nor does he sit down. He’s breathing hard, those formidable broad shoulders rising and falling with each exhale.