Chapter 15
Uh, So Anyway …
Since the little chime of the bell as the sun rose the next morning hadn’t preceded any sort of commotion, Eiko could only assume that her monster was correct.
It was a summons.
She dragged herself to the washroom without activating her second sight and edged past the other silent Eclipse soldiers also getting ready for the day to find an empty shower cubicle. They didn’t greet her, or scoff at her, or whisper behind her back.
It was like they didn’t even notice her at all, but she had to assume it was a trained calm, and not a natural one. From what she had read, there was nothing normal or average about a Whispering. Their first reaction—fear and readiness to kill without blinking—was more natural.
They were just suppressing it.
Following their commander’s lead.
Waiting.
Watching.
Silently.
She quickly showered and pulled on the new black uniform, pausing a moment to truly marvel at how well it fit her. It wasn’t tailored to her size or anything, but the material had just enough give and stretch that it would have easily hugged a slightly larger or smaller form than her own.
The undershirt was cut close through the torso and upper arms, made of a tightly woven fabric that felt cool at first touch, but warmed against her skin as it moulded to her shape. The reinforced seams followed the lines of her ribs and sides, giving it structure without any weight.
The short sleeves were fitted snugly, stopping just short of her bicep, where the fabric was different, slightly ribbed to allow easy movement. She bent her arms experimentally and felt no pull or resistance.
The trousers were made from the same strange blend of softness and structure.
The weave was denser along the outer thighs and knees, while the inner seams were smoother, more pliant.
The boots rose to just below her knees, heavier than the rest of the uniform but balanced perfectly, so she didn’t feel dragged down.
The leather was supple, moulded around her calves, the soles almost soundless on the stone floor.
There was a leather breastplate that wrapped so tightly around the undershirt she couldn’t tell them apart when she tried to picture the soldiers in black that she had observed the day before.
She could feel the Eclipse emblem carved into the front, right in the centre.
A smooth, indented circle. So simple. So terrifying.
The mantle was the final piece, a short, whisper-soft cloak that clasped over her left shoulder.
It wasn’t much longer than her ribs, but the fabric draped with the quiet authority of rank.
The weight settled into her like a hand pressing between her shoulder blades, grounding her.
She could feel where weapon straps would follow the line of the mantle, cutting across her chest, and part of her ached for the weight of something to defend herself, though she had never handled a weapon before in her life.
When she shifted, the uniform moved with her. Quiet, dark, and unassuming. Every part of the ensemble felt engineered for silence, strength, and seamless movement. It was like it was trying to erase the person inside it.
Her childhood dream had been to wear gold.
She didn’t know the particulars of the Godsguard, back then.
She didn’t know that gold belonged to them.
She just knew it belonged here. In this place.
Goldmoor. The capital. The centre of the world.
And she had ached to wear it, to become that centre, somehow, to have every possible pathway begin right at her feet, to feel that vast, unstoppable freedom.
This uniform was far from the illustrious, shimmering armour her friends had been wrapped in the day before, but … she wasn’t jealous. There was something she liked about the Eclipse way. The quiet of it, the secrecy of it, where the other banners bolstered and glimmered.
She remembered all those years ago, admiring that golden battlemaiden atop a horse, poised at a turning point in her journey, free and fierce.
Freedom was nice. Gold armour was nice. Even a bloody horse would have been nice.
But she wasn’t the type who glimmered. She was, as she had always been, every dark and dusky colour of the mountain.
She was too stubborn for freedom, and she was going to forcefully follow this path she had set herself upon, learning everything she could cram into her hard head, until she was changed from the girl who dreamed of glory into a silent and deadly weapon.
Like Alessandra or Ilara.
She would be so silent and deadly, that kings wouldn’t even consider her as marriage fodder. They would disregard her as too independent, too powerful, too much of a woman in her own right to be moulded into what they wanted.
She would be so silent and powerful that nobody would ever threaten to hurt her friends again. As a backup, of course. It wasn’t exactly like those glimmering gold “model recruit” bastards really needed her protection.
She adjusted the mantle one last time, rolling her shoulders and feeling the fabric shift and settle before she quickly twisted her still-damp hair into a hasty tie and stepped out of the washroom, her cane clumsily bumping the boots of the other soldiers.
They were filing towards the central staircase in a perfect, wordless formation.
Eiko exhaled slowly and then paused her steps, turning to the person she could hear behind her.
“Uh, excuse—”
“First floor, the office closest to the library,” he responded, without giving her time to voice her question. “And you’d better hurry. I didn’t hear that bell piece go off in the washroom, which means it rang earlier.”
She was holding the small device in her free hand, almost like she might need proof that she was sanctioned to seek out the commander. The soldier must have noticed it.
“Right. Thanks.” She clumsily hurried to the stairs, surprised that they easily stepped out of her way, instead of grumbling in annoyance at her or trying to trip her.
These were not the kinds of men who boarded the Kingsweep in Goldmoor, full of bravado and swagger, obnoxious in their opinions and beliefs. These weren’t men who tried to join the Godsguard. These were the survivors. Whatever they had been before, they were remade, now.
She traced her way back to the library and was about to set her hand against the wall and feel for the first door, but she froze at the muffled sound of a raised voice.
It wasn’t coming from the library, but the very next room.
She switched her position to lean against the wall, turning her head to try and hear better as she pretended to polish the handle of her cane—just in case anyone spotted her loitering.
The muffled voice continued, but she couldn’t quite make out the words, so she shifted further down the wall, and then further again, pausing once more to polish her cane.
“I don’t give a flaming fuck.”
She knew that hammer-and-anvil voice. It belonged to the King of All.
“You’ve insulted me enough with this position,” he snarled out.
“We will not continue this battle of wills. You successfully removed yourself from the marriage market, but you won’t keep them from me.
Especially not the Whispering. You may own these soldiers, but don’t forget: The Godsguard is in service of me.
I own you. Have the two girls sent to me this morning, before your psychotic training does any damage for the day.
I’ve made my decision, and I need their faces fresh and pretty for your brothers to make their decision. ”
The Whispering.
King Grigori had chosen her, and the reason was clear.
He didn’t even think of her as a human. He thought of her in terms of her monster, who he believed was a violent and bloodthirsty city-swallower.
This can’t be happening.
Maybe we should show him— Hymn hesitantly began, but she was already shaking her head.
Absolutely not. If they find out you really are just a helpless, tiny little bab—
Okay, he interrupted, the multiple descriptors were a bit unnecessary, I’m actually not a bab—
She continued with what she was saying. They’ll probably kill me just to set you free and capture you for study.
The king doesn’t care about me. He cares about power.
He doesn’t want trained soldiers from the Godsguard; he wants fresh, untapped power before it can be shaped or influenced.
Imagine if he discovers you’re helpless.
He wouldn’t need me to keep you contained anymore. He could just kill me and capture you.
Hymn made a disgruntled sound. If he killed you, he would have direct access to me. But that won’t give him control over me.
Eiko inwardly rolled her eyes. You saw that library?
You saw how there was a book in Chasin’s language that basically covered every possible word that could mean injury or death?
They know how to hurt monsters, Hymn. They know how to kill monsters.
I’m sure they know how to capture and torture them—having one small enough to contain would be all they needed.
“Of course they’ll have a choice,” King Grigori scoffed in response to whatever Chasin had signed.
“Corvan will be free to choose the pretty one, whose pretty head will so prettily bear a crown and whose pretty little womb will happily spit out pretty little babies, and Ceran will choose the powerful cripple, because that will be the only remaining option, and I want her blood carried down through my line.”
Wow.
Eiko entirely forgot to pretend-polish her cane. She was too deep in shock. And King Grigori was in for a big shock if he thought Rion was about to do all of those happy things very happily.
Maybe he was talking about Vana? Hymn ventured with a wince in his voice.
Right. He used the word “pretty” a hundred times, and he wasn’t talking about Rion. Absolutely, you’re so right.
Have you always used deep sarcasm as a coping mechanism? Is it a Stonesigh thing?