Chapter 52
ACKER
Stassia opens the door of her personal room, and her eyes grow to twice their size as she takes in the sight of me and the man at my side.
“Please,” I say, eyes darting down the hall to the kitchens.
She motions for us to come in and Fredrich and I rush inside. The space is barely large enough for a bed and a small desk, let alone for the three adults to crowd in, but Stassia crowds against the wall to make room.
“Thank you,” I tell her.
I suspect my father gave me an oracle’s gift just because he knew how much I would despise it.
My mother made me paranoid of people who read minds and made me train how to shield myself from their ability.
Understandably, now, considering what my father was doing to her, but he made a grave mistake making me take on the gift.
During the days following, I struggled to control the influx of mental sound from the people around me, especially those who haven’t been taught to shield their minds in the presence of Heirs.
They projected their inner thoughts like a beacon, almost as if they were shouting them directly at me.
And it was during one of those mind-splitting moments when Stassia’s revulsion toward my father came through.
My father’s most trusted maidservant despises everything about him, down to the way he breathes, and he has no fucking clue.
Fredrich pulls back his hood and shakes the ice from his shoulders before dropping the cache of swords and daggers on the neatly made bed. “They were right where you said they would be,” he says.
I take in the numerous weapons carved from hearthstone. “I knew Wells was skimming off the top, but godsdamn.”
“This isn’t even all of it,” Fredrich says, lifting a weapon of his liking. He runs his thumb along the flat of the double-edged sword. “Just all that I could carry.”
Stassia watches the interaction with careful consideration, and I nod to the weapons. “Take one.”
She lives only on the pay of a servant, which is basically nothing, and I know her family could never afford basic iron weapons or tools, let alone any made of hearthstone. She chooses the smallest of the daggers, tucking it carefully beneath the sleeve of her uniform.
Fredrich looks at Stassia, then at me and the stones around my neck. “How’d you convince Jo to leave?” he asks.
I look at him as if he’s dumb. “You’re here, aren’t you?”
He at least has the decency to hide his grin, knowing the only thing Jovie would bargain for in return for leaving would be my safety, and having his shield here is the best thing to help with that. “So, how’s this going to go?”
“We wait for Kai. He’s organizing his men to ambush the dinner.”
“What about Zion?” he asks, having been updated on our friend’s imprisonment from Messer.
“I’ve been unsuccessful in getting a key to him all week. My father’s paranoia has made him hide them. Not even the guards know of their location.”
“I have a key.” Both of our heads whip in Stassia’s direction. “The kitchen sends gruel to the dungeons every night for dinner. I can make sure a key gets to … Zion, right?”
I nod. “That’s right.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” she says.
“Okay, that’s good.” I look at Fredrich. “Stay here.”
“What’s the signal?” he asks.
I find a couple of daggers in the pile of hearthstone weapons with metal hilts, shoving them in the waist of my pants and adjusting my shirt. “I’ll send Hallis to come get you. If he doesn’t show, then come when you hear the screaming.”
“All right,” he says with a sigh. “But if I don’t hear anything in an hour, I’m coming anyway.”
We embrace, and then I follow Stassia out of her room and into the hall.
She’s quick to stop me with a touch to my elbow. “Your father has said tonight’s dinner is about declaring the official end to the war, and the formal creation of the new alliance, but…” She looks both ways before leaning close. “Like you did with Jovie, he had Greta sent away.”
Shock has me reeling back. I hadn’t been able to find her and had come to the conclusion that he must have been keeping her in his bedchambers when I didn’t find her in the library. I never even considered that he’d part with her. “Did he say where?”
She shakes her head. “No. It wasn’t long before you arrived.” She swallows before steeling herself to continue. “But I think he’s scared.”
“Of what?”
“I don’t know, but I felt like I should warn you.”
“Thank you, Stassia.”
She dips her chin in a nod and excuses herself.
I continue toward the dining hall as I try to process what she just told me.
My father has never once taken Greta away from the palace. While he’s pretty much ignored her for years, he hordes her like a prized possession. He wouldn’t send her away unless he was truly concerned something might happen to her. Who would want to harm Greta? She’s practically a saint.
By the time I reach the dining hall, my stomach is in knots.
Everything appears as expected. Helmeted soldiers line the edges of the hall, keeping watch over the festivities.
Each territory’s ruler has a seat at the table on the dais.
My father, Chryse, seats for Irina’s parents—Joss and Ulrich—although only one is filled with Bru, their appointed regent since they’re not in attendance, and Wren.
Tonight, my seat will be among the rest of the council on the hall’s floor.
Until dinner is served, however, everyone mingles, clustered into small groups in the spaces between dining tables. I make eye contact with Hallis and we circumvent the majority of the crowd to meet in an unobtrusive location.
“Where the fuck have you been?” he questions.
“Getting her out and Fredrich in,” I say, keeping my answer vague.
But he understands, and it’s enough to cool his temper. “And Z?” he asks, abbreviating Zion’s name.
“I’ve got it handled.”
He releases a breath of relief. I slide one of the daggers from my waist and hand it to him as stealthily as possible, keeping my gaze toward the crowded hall.
“You’re my best friend, Hallis, but I wouldn’t blame you if…” My words trail off, letting the silence fill in the gaps for me.
“Shut up,” he smarts.
I don’t reply verbally, just slap him on the shoulder and leave him to make my required social rounds.
The families of the council members aren’t at court any longer, having left when they heard the battlefront was headed straight for the city’s walls, so the room is mostly filled with dignitaries.
Men who are used to speaking to their subordinates and therefore who believe everything they say is golden.
After I’ve done my due diligence, I approach my father as he chats with Lord Draken. “Where’s Wren?” I ask, interrupting.
He excuses himself from the conversation before turning his vexation on me. “He’s likely to make an appearance when it suits him.”
“And you’re going to stand for that?”
He takes a drink of his wine, swallowing with a sharp breath. “As long as I hold the slatstone, he’ll obey,” he says, but his words lack their usual cockiness.
I’ve never seen him be so … shifty. Fingers drumming his chalice, pulse racing in his neck as his eyes study the room.
A servant passes and I swipe a glass of bubbly alcohol from the platter. “You know how much I despise these dinners,” I say, forcing conversation.
He doesn’t look at me when he replies. “It’s important to show your face, son.”
“Your face is slipping,” I say, pinning him with my stare.
My forwardness seems to knock him out of his thoughts, face hardening at my attitude. “Your insolence is the least of my concerns tonight.”
A servant comes to inform my father that dinner is ready to be served, and he leaves me to ascend the dais, where he directs the room to take their seats.
Everyone disperses to their assigned tables, and the glaring emptiness of Wren’s chair makes his absence all the more noticeable.
The smell of food envelopes the hall as dish upon dish is delivered to the tables in a seemingly unending stream of indulgence.
I force myself to fill my plate, all the while watching my father as he barely even picks at his meal.
Out of nowhere, the scent of wildflowers tickles my nose, only to be gone by the next inhale.
But for a few split seconds, I’m convinced Jovie is behind me.
I feel for the stones around my neck, half tempted to take them off despite being so visible.
Just as I’m about to stand to find a private space where I can take them off unseen, the man of the hour finally makes his appearance.
Wren strides across the dining hall’s floor, steps even and measured, as unhurried as if he were the one who owned the place. My head whips about to observe my father as he watches Wren approach the dais, the whole room falling silent.
“Edmond,” Wren greets him. “I see you’ve begun without me.”
My father rises from his seat. “You haven’t missed anything, my friend,” he says, waving to the empty chair beside him. “We saved you a place.”
Wren’s smile is empty. “I realize it’s impolite to rush, but I’m sure a man as important as yourself understands the value in skipping pleasantries and moving straight to the task at hand when necessary.”
The hair on the back of my neck stands up. Kai used almost the exact same words during our meeting.
There’s an awkward beat where my father meets Wren’s smile with an equally empty one of his own before he concedes. “Of course.”
My father motions a nearby soldier over, speaking directly into the man’s ear. The soldier accepts his directive with a nod before departing via the door to the side of the dais, taking the stairs toward the kitchens. Hushed whispers float around the room.
Wren’s gaze tilts up toward the golden ceiling, to the chandeliers dripping with crystals, and the tapestries hanging between the stained glass windows.
“You’ve spared no expense when it came to building your empire, Edmond.
” His gaze falls on my father. “Truly a masterpiece,” he says for the entire hall to hear.
My father misses the condescension in the man’s voice, or he chooses to ignore it. Either way, he dips his head in a proud nod. “I like a man who notices and appreciates the finer details in life,” he says from the dais.
From my father’s perspective, I can see how he may feel as though he has the upper hand.
But from down here on the floor, it’s obvious who holds all the cards, and I don’t care for the disparity.
Standing, I look at Hallis, giving him the signal as I make my way toward the dais.
My father’s eyes dart to me and there’s no masking the sense of reassurance my approaching presence gives him.
Let’s see how long that lasts.