Chapter 53
ACKER
The shackles around Irina’s ankles force her to shuffle onto the dais.
Her hood is pulled over her head, shielding her face from the congregation.
She doesn’t look up as she is navigated toward the stairs.
She’s covered in filth, and I can imagine how humiliating this must be for the princess of Strou.
There’s even a part of me ashamed I’ve put my own wife in this position.
I’d do it again to protect my Match, but I never would have imagined I’d subject any woman I married to such neglect.
“With her gift, you can have any gift of your liking,” my father says, holding his hand out in a flourish as Irina reaches the floor. As if she’s dressed in finery and not excrement.
Wren looks over her malnourished body with a casual stare. “I was beginning to think you didn’t have her at all,” he says, moving closer to Irina. “Especially once you and the council voted me out of court.”
“Wren,” my father says, placating. “You know it was a decision not made lightly, but that’s behind us now. You requested this dinner to facilitate the final step in our alliance. Please, let’s proceed to my sitting room for some privacy.”
Wren grins, and I don’t like it.
“Just one thing,” he says, removing Irina’s hood.
I’m still impressed by the image of my sister. Irina’s eyes don’t falter as she looks up at Wren. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a full mouth that mirrors so much of my own features.
“The infamous and terrifying Beau,” he lilts, the first genuine smile to grace his lips. “I’ve been eager to meet you after the stories of your ability to make the most ruthless of men cry reached me all the way across the sea.”
Irina doesn’t reply to his admiration and it’s obvious Wren is disappointed by her lack of response.
He removes the sword strapped to his waist and the entire congregation grows uneasy.
I finger a dagger loose from my strap. My father’s eyes slide to me; a stern and fierce shake of his head tells me not to interfere.
Wren leans close to Irina’s ear, whispering for only her and the likes of us on the dais to hear. “Can you point to all the men and women in this room who have taken the magic of others?”
My father takes a step forward. “What are you doing?”
Wren cuts my father a look of warning. “I am ensuring you have been honest in your claims to have not given the knowledge to anyone outside the heads of the alliance.” This seems to mollify my father and Wren turns back toward my sister’s figure. “Beau?”
Irina holds his stare for a long moment before she shakes her head. “I can’t,” she says.
“Is it the shackles? They’re bothersome, I know.”
Snapping his fingers at my father’s soldiers, the men step forward to remove the chains from her ankles. I look toward my father, silently asking him if he’s going to allow another man to order his men, but he only shakes his head at me in response.
Irina practically sags in relief when she’s released from her bonds. It doesn’t last long, however, as Wren grabs her by the shoulders, positioning her in front of him as he faces the majority of the room, his back to the dais. A brave thing to do, as I flip the dagger in my hands.
“Now,” he says. “All you need to do is point out to me who has partaken in the stealing of another’s gift.”
I can see the top of Irina’s head as it turns side to side.
“Is it easier to point out the ones who have not?” he asks.
Still, she continues to shake her head, refusing.
He steps out from behind Irina, inspecting her. “Are you … not able?”
His eyes narrow on her, and there’s no way to stop what’s coming as he reaches up to touch her face. We can’t see what causes the flurry of raised voices from the congregation, but I already know, as Wren’s accusing stare shoots at my father.
“I thought you knew better than to fool me,” he says, voice veiled in threat.
My father is confused. Wren grabs Irina by the face, turning her by the head toward the dais, and my father’s confusion quickly morphs into rage as Irina’s illusion falters to reveal her true identity.
The entire congregation gasps. Bru, the Strou’s regent, yells his displeasure toward my father’s back.
But my father is too focused on me, outraged. “You bastard,” my father spits.
I keep my posture lax, movements unhurried as I continue to manipulate the dagger in my hands. “I am your son after all,” I say, repeating his own line back to him once again.
He never sees the sword coming.
Fredrich plunges the blade straight through his back, the tip of the dark hearthstone protruding from his chest. Blood gurgles from his open mouth, shock displayed across his face as he falls to his knees.
Fredrich places a boot on his back, kicking my father forward and onto his face before ripping the blade free.
Not a word is spoken, not even a whisper as he swings the blade into the back of my father’s neck in a final blow, severing his head from his body.
And for the first time since Greta’s premonition, I breathe a sigh of relief.
The helmeted soldiers lining the room don’t know what to do, hands on their swords. I motion for them to stand down with a shake of my head. They’re anxious but submit to my instruction.
Wren is the first to speak. “Edmond always kept a messy house,” he says, voice void of any emotion.
Fredrich wipes the blood from his sword on the front of his pant leg. “Consider it cleaned,” he remarks.
Wren makes a face. “Not quite.” He steps onto the bottom step of the dais as he looks up at me. “You see, I requested Beau for the purpose of cleaning house. Without her expertise, I’m left with no other option but to assume every person in this room is guilty.”
“Guilty?” Chryse asks, standing from his seat at the table. “Of what? Ending the war?”
Irina takes the distraction as a chance to run to Bru, the regent of Strou shielding her from the rest of the room, from Wren with his body. They collectively try to make an escape into the stairwell, but Wren stops them with a point of his finger.
“Sit,” he demands, the power of his gift ringing in the single word. They easily submit. He issues the same command to Chryse, but it doesn’t require the force of influence for the king of Roison to acquiesce. “Claiming to have fixed the problem you created is a fallacy, Chryse.”
“You began this war right alongside me,” he protests, pounding a fist on the table.
“I was left with no choice,” Wren says, taking another step higher. “I was fine living amongst my people over the ocean, but after being barred from the Market, we were going to starve unless I decided to join you in your efforts to supersede Edmond’s control.”
“He was getting too powerful,” Chryse says.
Wren’s upper lip curls, signaling the anger simmering underneath. “And yet, here you sit, on his dais like the leech that you are.”
“Because of you,” he yells, standing from his seat once again.
The air begins to crack around him, electricity seeping from his person.
“You went to strike a deal with him behind my back, and that was after your Match failed to honor our agreement.” He ends that last bit with a finger in my direction.
I’m unbothered by the accusation, lifting a shoulder in indifference.
Wren isn’t concerned either. “I was finding the root of the poison,” he answers, reaching the last step. “I didn’t tell you because I knew how fallible you were. The second Edmond pushed me out of the palace, you came running like the fucking dog that you are.”
A bolt of lightning shoots from Chryse’s hand toward Wren, but it’s as if the captain was expecting it, and he shifts just in time for the snap of electricity to surge past him.
In the next instant, he speaks a command, his gift of influence booming across the stage. “Remove your dagger from its sheath and shove it through your temple.”
Chryse’s eyes widen in abject terror. His hands shake as he pulls the dagger from the sheath on his waist. The metal glinting underneath the light of the chandeliers as it vibrates in his hand.
His muscles strain in the effort to stop what is already happening, but nothing aside from Wren’s command will suffice.
And the captain stands with one foot on the stage, elbow draped over his bent knee, completely at ease as he watches the king of Roison position the tip to the soft spot behind his eye. “Do it,” he says.
Irina covers her eyes at the exact moment Chryse plunges his own dagger into the side of his head, eyes wide open as he slumps forward, face meeting the table with a sickening crack.
Fredrich and I look at each other, astounded, but no less pleased by the turn of events. We couldn’t have planned this any better ourselves. The rest of the congregation, however, has the direct opposite reaction as they all begin to make a run for the nearest exit.
Wren doesn’t look away from me as he says, “No one leaves.”
Holy hell.
His gift is un-fucking-matched.
Any doubts regarding the veracity of the tales about his capabilities to manipulate entire armies are dispelled as the entirety of the mass exodus comes to a standstill.
Most of the soldiers abandon their posts, removing their helmets and standing amongst the council.
The few who are loyal are shaking in their place.
I feel Fredrich move closer, and I’ve never been more grateful Jovie fought so hard for him to stay with me, because I wouldn’t stand a chance against the man before me otherwise.
A muffled scream sounds in the distance, somewhere outside the dining hall’s doors.
Zion releasing the prisoners. Where the fuck are Kai’s men?
Wren speaks his next command with too much confidence. “Take a seat.”
There’s a beat where I hold his stare, and a slow smile pulls at my mouth at his obvious confusion when I don’t obey.
He eyes the stones around my neck, but he’s plenty strong enough to overpower them, but so is Fredrich.
I prepare the blade in my hand, ready to end this with a careful flick of my wrist.
A seedling of fear crosses Wren’s face. “I have your Match.”
I quit breathing. All of the air in my lungs refuses to budge as I come to a halt.
It’s the only thing he could say that would make me hesitate.
I immediately strip the stones from my neck as I feel for the tether.
It snaps into place, the anchor tying me to the other side of the Bond.
Not in the west where it should be, but here, in the palace.
I don’t have to leap through the Bond to find her, because she’s being carted through the dining hall doors by two Alaha guards.
“Ace,” Fredrich warns when I begin to move toward her.
“She’s my security,” Wren says, hands slipping into his pockets.
The congregation parts as the two guards carry her to the dais.
As soon as they lay her down on the table, I have two daggers poised in the air and aimed at their throats.
They back away with their hands raised, practically on their tiptoes to avoid the dip of the blades pressing against their jugular.
I issue a third dagger angled at the back of Wren’s neck, ready to sever his spine at a moment’s notice.
He senses it, head tilting toward the weapon. “If you kill me or either one of my men, she’ll never wake,” he says.
I look at Fredrich who nods, letting me know he’ll stay with me as we collectively move toward the table. Jovie’s chest rises and falls on even breaths, as if she is indeed sleeping.
“Where the fuck is Messer?” I ask.
“Dead, most likely,” Wren says, as though speaking of the weather.
No.
Hatred like I’ve never felt in my entire life has me seeing red.
I hear Fredrich, but I can’t make out what he says as I call two of three daggers to my hands.
They’re covered in blood and tissue, the two guards dropping like sacks of potatoes.
But their deaths don’t feel good enough.
I want the life of the man who made the order.
I turn to Wren. “Wake her up right now,” I say, surprisingly calm.
“No.”
I stalk toward him, bloody daggers in each fist. “I will fucking kill you, then your wife, and your pathetic excuse for a son if you don’t wake her up right the fuck now.”
He doesn’t flinch in the face of my rage. “You’ll kill me anyway.”
Every one of his breaths feels like a testament to my restraint, because he’s right and he godsdamn knows it. I pivot in place, eyes snagging on Irina as she trembles in her seat, Bru next to her, doing his best to shield his princess from Wren’s sight.
I point at them with a dagger. “Let them go.” When I turn back to him, I search for his eyes. I want him to see my sincerity when I say, “Let them go or I’m severing your spine.” It won’t kill him, but it’ll incapacitate him for a long while. “They’ve done no wrong.”
His gaze flicks to them, and with a begrudging shift of his chin, he releases them. “You may go.”
They scurry from their seats and toward the stairs leading to the kitchen. Irina’s worried gaze lingers on Jovie, then me, and I nod my okay for her to leave.
Hallis appears at the top of the stairs just as they pass, his eyes taking in the room at rapid speed. “Evelyn is invading the city. What’s your order?”
While I wanted Evelyn to do exactly as such, it was under the assumption Jovie would be leading the charge. Now, my father is dead, and Evelyn is undoubtedly out for blood. My men’s blood. My blood.
Fredrich looks at Jovie’s motionless body. “If she finds Jovie like this, we’ll all be dead in the matter of seconds.”
I shake my head in defeat, knowing the only hope I have is to surrender. “Tell the men to stand down–”
“That is not your call to make,” Wren says, cutting me off.
I pin him beneath my stare. “Excuse me?”
The cocky son of a bitch shrugs. “According to the agreement you made with my son, you no longer hold claim to the throne.”
That spineless motherfucker.
I knew better than to trust Kai, but I was hoping the hatred Messer swore his childhood friend held for his father trumped his hatred of me.
“You missed a vital part of that agreement,” I say with a sneer. “Which included your death.”
He grins. “Then it appears we have a battle on our hands, now doesn’t it?”