Chapter 23 #2
Horror crashes into me like a rogue wave, and I shoot out of the chair so fast I’m halfway to the balcony before Elio Paladini, the king’s third-in-command, can order me to stop. He punctuates the warning with a ball of sizzling electricity that now floats threateningly above his palm.
“Is it open?” I demand, skidding to a stop, dread dripping from every word.
My terrified gaze flits from face to face like a desperate hummingbird, my heart beating faster than even the creature’s wings.
My hands curl into fists to stop them from threading through my hair and pulling it out in clumps.
How could this happen?
I asked about the gate. I asked about the Matron’s connection as soon as I saw where she was hiding, but Aeson didn’t tell me. He didn’t trust me?.?.?.
“Is the gate open?” I shout when no one immediately answers me.
“No,” King Noctis declares, and the singular word goes down like a calming tonic that has a nauseatingly bitter kick to it too.
“Has anyone else tried to get to the gate or mess with it in any way?” I press frantically, locking the air in my lungs as I recall another thing the Matron said that I didn’t put much stock in at the time.
King Noctis studies me like a hunter who’s spotted his next meal amongst a grazing herd and he’s now calculating how to get to it. “Now, why would you ask that?” he queries, his tone regal and measured, but his eyes flashing a promise that I don’t want to make an enemy of him.
“She said something to me, the Conduit, when she was dying,” I answer hurriedly, as though the faster I can get it out, the quicker I can start fixing the terrifying problem it’s about to reveal.
“She said the fae will come for me, and not the ones on the other side of the gate—the ones who are already here.”
The room goes perfectly still, perfectly silent, and unease coalesces in my marrow. I repeat her words over and over in my head, and for some reason they orbit only one thing?.?.?. the Tainted.
I don’t exactly know how they’re connected, but my gut is screaming that they are.
Like an evil jack-in-the-box, Wistan’s face springs forward in my mind.
I want to shove it as far away from me as I can, but I force myself to analyze it.
The long sorrel-brown hair, the starburst of rust-orange around his pupils, the ugly fucking mustache.
But no, he can’t be fae; his ears are round like a sorcai, he doesn’t have fangs, he lacks the tall, ethereal beauty the fae are known for, and his casts were definitely sorcai—the hand movements, the incantations, the scent.
“Ever Tenebrae!” someone shouts, and I tear myself away from my frantic thoughts.
Nine pairs of eyes stare at me expectantly.
Shit, did they ask me something?
“Sit down,” Elio orders, and from the look of him, it’s not the first time he’s asked. “Please,” he tacks on before reclaiming his own seat and absorbing his affinity back into his palm.
I look around at everyone seated on the balcony, note their lack of panic and urgency, and try to discern what it means. Do they also think the Matron was lying, or did they already know what she knew and none of this is a shock to them like it is to me?
I turn and stride to my seat while trying to figure out what the fuck is going on. When my ass is once again in my seat, and I resume facing the firing squad, the room settles and seems to relax.
“Scioness, were you trying to open the Fae Gate?” Commander Zeir asks evenly.
“No,” I answer firmly.
“Do you know of, or have you colluded with, anyone that wants to open the Fae Gate?” Zeir questions.
“No. I would never do that,” I defend.
“Did you know killing the Conduit would weaken the gate?” Commander Ventis asks, the warmth in her eyes giving me something to cling to as the world around me spins.
“No. I was under the impression that she wasn’t connected to the gate at all.” My eyes flash to Aeson, who meets my glower head-on.
“Then why did you kill her?” Lorn demands.
“It was the only way to break the curse.” Indignation blazes through me and I focus back on the king and pull in a deep breath.
“I was well within my Right for Redress to hold the Relacours responsible for what they did to my kith and kindred. The death toll for the Relacours does not exceed the toll of their actions against the Syphons. I was not overzealous. I did not draw it out. Their deaths were kinder than anything the Syphons suffered. I followed the letter of the law and executed justice on behalf of those who are no longer here to demand it. I’ve done nothing wrong. ”
“The Rite for Redress is ancient and outdated. Those laws no longer apply here,” Commander Drazyn contends.
I turn to take in the large commander with his wiry brown beard and his equally wiry brown hair.
“The old ways may be ancient, but King Noctis never abolished them, nor did King Tenebrae before him, King Han before him, King Gunner, King Khaldun, all the way back to the queens. The laws have stood for thousands of years for dragons like me who’ve been wronged and there’s only one way to make it right. ”
King Noctis waves me off, his features pensive, and I know it’s time to do what I came here to do. I need to start leveling with The Horde to see if they can help me and in turn help the others.
“It was the only way to break the curse,” I repeat like a plea. “We deserved to be free, to be whole. It was the least the Relacours could fucking do.”
King Noctis’s contemplative gaze clears, and homes in on me. “We?” he recites evenly, like I didn’t just gift wrap the word and set it right in his lap.
Every eye on me is sharp, and I know one wrong move and they’ll slice me open to get what they want. Lorn’s words on my Naming Day surface like a blooming lotus flower, floating in the murky waters of my existence.
“Let him in. Let us help.”
My heart hammers in my chest, but I can’t tell if it’s pleading for me to stop or begging me to continue.
What I’m about to do goes against everything the Syphons have done to stay hidden, to stay protected.
This admission could either save us or condemn us, and I can only hope the risk is worth it in the end.
I look at Aeson, and his eyes are like two searing blue flames as he waits tensely for an answer to his father’s question.
He leans forward, like he’s hanging on every labored breath I take.
We’ve both taken swipes at each other; we’ve both scored hits.
Will this truth fracture things even more between us, or will it finally allow us to stand on even ground?
“Are there more Syphons?” Aeson asks.
Let him in , I tell myself, but I feel like I’m walking a tightwire with no one there to catch me if I take one wrong step. I pull in a deep breath, close my eyes, and take the step anyway.
“Yes,” I finally answer. “There are more Syphons.”