Chapter 14
ACKER
It’s well after midnight when my father waltzes into my bedchamber.
I knew when my father ordered his favorite wine from the cellar and called for his royal taster that it was going to be a long night listening to him and Wren swapping old war stories if I didn’t recuse myself.
But I also knew he was unhappy with my less than welcoming attitude to Wren and that I’d likely hear about it later.
Likely at a time of inconvenience. Another one of his tactics to gain the upper hand.
I close the book I’m reading and rise from my place at the desk, sliding my hands into my pockets as I wait for his temper to make itself known.
He takes in the empty bed with an unimpressed raise of his brow, then turns his gaze to the barren walls and pockmarked surfaces as he leans against the mantle. “You’ve been following me.”
I’m taken off guard by the accusation, but don’t retreat from it. “I hired a shifter to track your scent.”
At first I thought the rumors to be true, that he was just being cautious about his extra-marital exploits.
After being lectured for years and years about maintaining appearances within the palace walls, his being elusive about such things wouldn’t have been a surprise.
Nothing is more important than keeping the status quo with the courtiers.
But on his recent excursions it was his habit to visit the mines first, checking on the efforts to excavate more hearthstone, before moving south.
And that’s where the shifter would lose track of him every time.
“Who told you?” I ask.
“I have my sources,” he says, noncommittally. “I suppose I should have expected as much. You are my son, after all.”
With a flick of his wrist, the hearth erupts in a blaze of fire before dimming to a more normal smolder. It’s a gratuitous display of the magic he’s been hiding, and I stagger back a step.
“How?” I ask, trying to mask my fear, but I’m sure it’s evident in my astonishment.
He looks at me with an amused glint in his eyes, enjoying my shocked reaction. “You shouldn’t let the cold seep in like this,” he admonishes, ignoring my question. “Then maybe your wife might prefer your bed over her consort’s.”
I don’t tell him that I actually sent her away, having anticipated this confrontation. “Don’t patronize me,” I say instead. “Tell me how you’ve regained your gift.”
“I believe it’s best we sit for this conversation,” he says.
The reading chair slides across the floor toward us and I take another step back, alarmed by its independent movement.
That is, until my father sits down, and I realize with abject horror that he’s also somehow developed the gift of a kinesis.
A gift that allows for the moving of things with the mind.
There’s only one person I know of with that gift, and they were confined to the palace dungeons at the end of the last war, when the Alaha were first exiled.
He’s unbearably smug as he leans back and crosses one leg over the other. “I’ve discovered a method that enables the transference of one Heir’s gifts to another host.”
“And what method is that?” I ask.
His eyes dip to the stones around my neck. “If the information was to leak…” he says as he moves closer, “… it could be catastrophic.”
“You’re killing people and stealing their magic,” I deduce, warily.
He doesn’t deny it, and there’s no chance I’m able to disguise my true feelings, my upper lip curling in disgust.
He isn’t the least bit offended by my reaction. “Only the ones who have used their gifts to harm others.”
“And what of us?” I motion between us with a wave of my hand. “Should we be stripped of the Mother’s blessing for those we’ve harmed?”
“We are kings.” He speaks slowly, as if the concept is new to me. “We are granted … privileges.”
I shake my head. “Not to take that which rightfully belongs to another.”
“You and I don’t use our gifts against our people.” He levels me with an admonishing look. “We use them to fight for our people.”
A number of responses run through my mind, but the truth is I haven’t done much fighting. Not as of late. Not unless I count the other night when I fought to keep Jovie safe, but that wasn’t even in defense of my own men.
Instead, I’ve been navigating court politics and plotting war strategies while being kept in the dark about the things that really matter.
I might as well have gone to the front lines without any weapons, blindfolded.
That’s how useless I’ve been—just a very convenient placeholder in my father’s absence while he was doing the unimaginable.
I’ve been waiting for this.
The moment I would know there’s nothing redeemable about my father.
A dagger sits on the edge of my desk. The temptation to use it screams inside my mind.
To remove the stones and send the weapon straight through my father’s throat, ending his tyrannical rein right here, right now.
His eyes flick down to where my hand hangs by my side, clenched into a fist, and I hurry to check that my mental shields are fortified.
There’s no telling how many gifts he’s hiding.
He returns my stare. “Whatever you’re thinking, just know any move you make against me will fail.”
I need to calm down.
Pointing to the other tufted chair, I ask, “Will you?”
Without moving a muscle, my father makes the chair skid across the floor. I sit, then glance at the glass of wine I left at my desk. My father catches on quickly, and the glass floats into the air and over to my awaiting hand. I take a long sip of the contents.
“Cheeky,” he states, a smile slowly coming back to his face. “But do you see? The possibilities are endless.”
“I can agree that it has its benefits.” I twirl the stem of the glass between my fingers, pasting on what I hope to be a believable enough expression. “My concern is making sure that we take from Heirs who have abused their magic in ways that go against Mother Nature’s intentions.”
“Of course. I’ve already sent word to the lords of the court that they’re to turn over any prisoners they’ve detained and charged with magic-related infractions.”
“It wasn’t Roison’s territory you agreed to give Wren, but magic for his people in exchange for this alliance,” I say, putting the pieces together.
He nods.
I absorb his answer. “Do you have an idea of the numbers of prisoners?” I ask.
His mood shifts, smile dipping in response to my question.
“If we’re to appease Wren, then not nearly enough.
This is where having an oracle would have been of great benefit, to help us find the truly bad eggs.
I haven’t been able to source one, however.
At least, not one trustworthy enough. Or, say, if we had someone like Beau… ”
I tense in my seat, my magic responding to the insinuation, burning through my veins like a wildfire. But I don’t move. “She’d never agree to it,” I say.
He gives me a look straight out of my childhood, like he gave me back when I used to advocate for my sister to train in the courtyard right alongside me.
Like he’s humoring me.
“Her gift is one of a kind,” he says. “It’s truly unfortunate how everything went down with her. She was my best hand. Yours, too, I know.”
I finish my wine and give a shrug. “Mm hmm,” I murmur, noncommittal as I inspect my empty glass.
We discuss his plans to send soldiers to neighboring townships to begin rounding up imprisoned Heirs.
I interject when appropriate, the wine in my stomach turning sourer with every minute that passes by.
But I must do a decent enough job at appearing untroubled and invested, because it isn’t much longer before he decides to turn in for the night.
I wait for a long time after he leaves to ensure the coast is clear before grabbing the oil lamp from my desk and slipping out.
The alcove outside the door to my bedchambers hosts the bust of a princess long forgotten.
I always found her sad expression comforting, as if she’s always been sympathetic to my place as prince, having been in the same position once in time.
Behind her, the wall gives way to the hallway hidden beyond.
The secret passages here run the length of both wings of the palace, but I’ve never explored them in their entirety.
Just one of the reasons neither my father nor I knew of Beau’s duplicity, only later realizing she’d utilized the passageways to sneak in the Maile soldiers.
The acrid smell of rat piss burns in my nose.
Their scurrying feet echo down the corridor as I encroach on their space.
Once I reach the end of the narrow passage, I feel along the wall until a portion of it gives, swinging open and allowing me to emerge into the hall before the closed doors to the library.
It’s impossible not to feel small before their enormous height.
I can only imagine how Greta feels from the inside, having not been permitted to leave the library’s confines ever since her daughter played a key role in Jovie’s betrayal.
As my father’s concubine during my childhood, Greta maintained the library as the record keeper for the king.
He gave her the responsibility in a bid to disguise who she was to him, but it didn’t take long for rumors to spread of their Bond.
It was an unspoken understanding to never discuss the dynamic in court.
Anyone caught gossiping was charged with treason.
By my mother’s doing, or so I’ve been told.
The library no longer serves that function. No one dares to step inside the library’s walls. Ever since Beau’s treason, people have shunned her mother, believing she must have known beforehand and therefore must be just as traitorous. Even though my father refuses to believe so.