Chapter 13
ACKER
I twirl the blade in my hand, sitting directly across from my father as I wait for him to reveal why he called this meeting. We’re currently at a stalemate, sitting in complete silence.
Stay. Please.
I can’t seem to quit thinking about Jovie’s broken plea, the desperation on her face.
It should be the least of my concerns, especially after watching her narrowly escape death against the Strou, both in battle and when the lone straggler managed to sneak into her tent.
But the way she folded into me was both agonizing and ecstasy.
It was the first time in the years since our parting that the ever-present thrum of the Bond didn’t feel wrong.
I’m bone-tired after staying up all night to ensure she didn’t find herself on the wrong end of a sword.
Even my body is sore, as if I were physically there instead of manifesting through the Bond.
It did, however, take all of my concentration to remove the Strou warrior from Jovie’s tent.
I didn’t want her to wake to a dead body beside her, so after I was sure she was in deep sleep and her body temperature had risen considerably, I somehow found the strength to get rid of the bastard.
Worry has firmly taken root inside me at her apparent lack of care for her own well-being.
I tell myself it’s because of the oath, but a shameful part of me can’t deny how good it felt to have her in my arms again, that it took me longer than I’d like to admit to peel myself from her.
I try to convince myself that is just due to how long it’s been since I’ve lain with anyone and has nothing to do with it being Jovie, but I can only lie to myself so much before it slips into the realm of delusion.
It was her tears that did me in.
“Would you like a drink?” my father asks, finally.
“No, thank you.”
He waves away Stassia, the maidservant, and gives me his full attention. “You’ve been frustrated with me,” he says, voice a low timbre in the empty room.
I’ve been expecting this conversation for quite some time now. My father likes to be in control of difficult conversations, disarming his verbal sparring partners by pretending the severity of the situation isn’t as dire as they were led to believe.
I, on the other hand, have been dealing with this man for twenty-four years, and I’m well acquainted with his tactics.
“Yes,” I answer evenly, holding his gaze.
He nods, a small grin tugging at the side of his mouth. “Navigating politics in the heat of a conflict isn’t easy for any lone man. Yet, you’ve handled the pressure well. I’m proud of you.”
I’m proud of you.
Never has my father uttered those words to me.
I’ve changed my mind. I do want a drink.
Leaving my dagger on the arm of my seat, I walk over to the liquor cart. Stassia moves to get me a glass and I hold a hand up to stop her, pouring a healthy dose of whiskey for myself and taking a swallow.
“I put a lot of responsibility on your shoulders with my absences,” my father says, voice heavy. “Probably more than I should.”
I turn to face him. “Then why did you?”
He looks at me for a long time, almost thoughtfully, before his gaze lands on the string of stones around my neck. “We both know the mangi stones are not infallible, son.”
“You’ve entrusted me to man the ship for the past year by myself, and now I’m suddenly the liability?” I scoff, shaking my head. “You don’t even wear the stones to shield against your own Match.”
“Greta isn’t the enemy, now, is she?”
“You’re telling me you don’t believe Greta had knowledge of her daughter’s plans to help Jovinnia overthrow you?” I ask, incredulous. “She’s a godsdamned fortuneteller.”
“Greta couldn’t have known. There are no secrets between the two of us.”
“And yet she wears the mangi collar, unlike you,” I challenge.
He’s unfazed by my accusation as he stands and makes his way toward me. “I was informed you’ve been sneaking into the bedroom the princess of Maile had previously stayed in.”
I force myself to not react. If I appear even the slightest bit guilty, he’ll latch onto it. “You’re the one who insisted I share my bedchambers with Irina. It’s the only room in the entire palace where I know I won’t be bothered.”
“So you’re telling me you haven’t visited your Match through the Bond?”
There’s something in the way he’s eyeing me that makes my hair stand on end and it feels like a warning to not lie. “Now, I didn’t say that,” I drawl.
There’s a tense moment where he inspects my unrepentant expression before he breaks, a knowing grin spreading across his own face. “I understand how luring a Match can be, son, but the difference between my Match and yours,” he says, lifting a brow, “is that yours has proven to be a menace.”
I can’t stop my responding grin at his choice of description. “That’s fair.”
He places a hand on the top of my shoulder. “I have a plan,” he says, tightening his grip in the same way he’s done all my life.” But if we have any chance of winning this war, it’s important it remains confidential. Do you understand?”
I nod.
The band of pressure that has stayed wrapped around my chest, suffocating the air from my lungs, finally loosens a degree. “We’ve lost nearly eighty thousand, the trolls have joined our enemy’s cause, and we’re low on iron—”
He cuts me off. “There’s someone I want to introduce you to.
” And as if he planned it, the sound of the door’s hinges creaks open behind me.
He let’s go of my shoulder, and in the blink of an eye, his expression flattens into neutrality.
“Please, come in,” he encourages with a wave of his hand. “Stassia, fix our guest a drink.”
I down the rest of mine, eyeing the empty glass in my hand as I work to rein in the flood of hot frustration beginning to pump through my veins.
Judging by my father’s sudden shift in demeanor, I already know I’m not going to like the person behind me.
The stranger’s voice is unfamiliar as they thank the maidservant and a seed of dread takes root in my gut.
My father holds out an arm to direct my attention to our guest, playing the gracious host. “Ace. Son. Let me introduce you to an old friend of mine.”
The scent hits me first. That strange aroma that anyone who has lived in Alaha carries with them. Like the metal in their veins is rusting, poisoning them slowly, blood turning toxic from being denied land for too long.
My father’s voice drones on, but I barely hear him over the ringing in my ears. “… Wren and I go back centuries.”
I finally turn in place, eyes landing on the Captain of the Alaha.
The man my mother told me scary bedtime stories about when I begged her.
The man who massacred countless in his personal quest for power.
Who incited my father’s own men against him.
At least, that’s what the records say. The history written down for future generations as a warning about this one man’s deranged mind.
He holds his hand out toward me now. An Alaha greeting, to clasp hands when meeting. I stare at it and imagine all the ways I could remove the appendage without so much as lifting a finger. Neither of us move for a long time before he finally concedes, closing his hand in a fist and dropping it.
“You’ll have to excuse my son,” my father interjects. “You don’t exactly have the best reputation here in Kenta.”
What my father’s statement is failing to encompass is the depth of my disdain for the man who stole my Match’s memories from her as a child and kept her in deplorable conditions.
Regardless of my anger at Jovie, no one should be robbed of their mind.
Any man capable of doing so, to a child, shouldn’t be allowed to breathe, let alone stand in my presence.
Whoever helped Wren take Jovie to live in Alaha deserves the same fate.
My father has always maintained his innocence.
He claims it was solely Osiris’s doing, stealing the princess of Maile and shipping her to live with the Alaha.
It’s the very reason Evelyn killed the previous leader of Roison, but I’ve grown increasingly suspicious my father didn’t play a role in the entire scheme; I’ve just yet to figure out how. Or better yet: why.
Stassia reappears to hand Wren a drink. He accepts it with the countenance of a gentleman and gives her his thanks. My eyes drop to the glass in his hand. It’s never concerned me before, but the thought of the glass I possibly used to pleasure my Match being in his hands has me seeing red.
“I’m sure that’s none of your doing,” Wren says, continuing their casual exchange, eyes cutting to my father in a shared conspiratorial glance.
I jerk myself away from them out of fear of doing something I can’t undo, like removing both of Wren’s hands.
Ignoring their mutual ribbing, I move to the drinks cart. The decanter clinks against the lip of my glass as I pour a generous measure and I take a calming breath before returning it to its place next to the other bottles. Instead of throwing it at Wren’s head.
After taking a healthy swallow of liquor, I finally give the two men my full attention, hiding the violent shake in my free hand by sliding it into my pocket.
“Let’s skip the nonsense,” I say, cutting through their bantering, leveling my father with a look.
“Explain to me why the man exiled to live over the sea along with his entire people is allowed to move freely in our home.”
My attitude sobers my father and he wordlessly leads Wren to the seating area.
I follow cautiously, sliding into the seat I vacated moments ago.
It just happens to be directly opposite the one occupied by Alaha’s captain.
He inspects me in a way that reminds me of his son.
Kai’s arrogance clearly comes from his father.
“Ace,” my father says, crossing a leg over the other. “I understand the concept of an alliance with Wren may seem inconceivable to you, but there are a lot of dynamics at play you haven’t been privy to.”
I look at him with a calmness I don’t feel. “I know he sent his son’s puppet to overthrow you, then immediately upon returning to land himself, he joined Roison in their attack against our people and your throne.”
Wren leans forward, and it’s the first time I notice the collar around his neck. “We have been adversaries in times past, yes, but before that we were friends, and this time we’ve come to a mutual agreement that we believe will benefit us both.”
“Hm,” I grunt around a swallow of liquor.
My father tips his chin in my direction. “I’m sure you have many questions.”
I suck on my teeth before saying, “Not really.” I set down my glass and casually pick up my dagger. “The king of Roison made a deal with Evelyn that cut the Alaha out of territory. It’s the only reason a self-serving leader like Wren would ever force his men to join the losing side of a war.”
My father’s voice is tinged with warning. “You speak about things you know nothing of.”
I cock my head to the side. “Enlighten me then.”
Wren observes our exchange with careful consideration.
He tries to disguise his interest by taking a drink and I’m quick to divert my gaze from him to the dagger in my hand.
I know I don’t need full access to my gift to kill Kai’s father.
I could kill Wren in the span of a single breath.
It would be so easy. I pinch the tip of the iron blade between my fingers.
He wouldn’t be the first life nor the last taken with this blade.
Wren’s voice interrupts my murderous thoughts. “You see, my people have lost their magic. We’ve been away from land for too long.”
“You haven’t though.” When I look up at him, his hands are empty, his glass discarded on the table alongside mine. “You and your kin haven’t gone without.”
His eyes linger a moment on the weapon in my hands before replying. “When we were exiled, I made the decision to smuggle soil to Alaha for my son’s benefit, if that’s what you’re referencing.”
“Does he know you’re here? Pledging allegiance to his sworn enemy? Last I heard he was calling for my head.”
His carefully curated mask slips, revealing the animosity he’s been hiding underneath.
My smile only seems to make it worse. He had to know I’d have had spies in his ranks.
A divided house will always have plenty of gaps for vermin to sneak in.
I’ve hung more men than I have fingers on my hands these last four years—men who, under his son’s command, were sent to assassinate me.
“Kai will fall in line.”
There’s not a chance in hell I believe that.
“Wren’s ideals align with our own,” my father continues, ignoring our tense exchange. “We could live in harmony with our neighbor. Not as we are now, in a constant state of defense, subject to Chryse’s every move to needle us from Roison, but with an actual ally on the other side of the border.”
I nod slowly. Their goals would mirror one another’s. They’re both rulers who prefer to hold power over their people by wielding a heavy hand. But I don’t for one moment believe either of them could coexist. Not on this land, in this realm, or while they’re both still alive.
Power craves dominion.
“This puts your armies in a precarious situation,” I tell Wren.
He looks rueful for a moment. “My men are too imbedded within Roison’s army to change their orders at the moment. If Chryse were to find out about the Alaha switching allegiance, it’d be a bloodbath.”
“To prevent such an event,” my father adds, “we will keep the existence of this alliance between the three of us.”
“Until the time is right,” I conclude.
My father nods. “Exactly.”
I manipulate my blade between my fingers. “We’ll continue to lose men at an unsustainable rate if we wait too much longer.”
“A sacrifice not made lightly,” my father says with faux gravity.
Wren leans forward, drawing my attention toward him. “Once Roison’s troops close in on the capital, we’ll have the element of surprise on our side and can finally end this war.”
The statement leaves his mouth with too much ease.