Chapter 21 #2
Your own people. The pain cracks through my forehead, sharper and faster than usual, as if it’s realizing I’m learning what it doesn’t want me to know. I drag a breath through my nose, nauseated and eyes watering from the pain.
“Cai? What’s wrong?” Roiven asks, his brow furrowed.
“Nothing,” I tell him through gritted teeth, as I force myself not to think about his words too hard. I reach for the food and drop some onto my plate. Head bowed, I begin to eat, to focus on the flavors and the delight of new foods until the pain slips away from me.
I can feel Roiven’s eyes on me, but I don’t dare glance up to see the expression on his face.
“I want to trust you,” Roiven says. He sounds like he’s begging. “Form a bond with me.”
The idea makes me feel sick, despite everything he’s said about it.
“No.” The pain is easing, but my shoulders stay hunched.
“Why not?”
“Why do you even want me to?” To control me, that’s why.
“My people’s safety. Say you’ll do it.”
Roiven’s hand reaches into my vision. He touches my wrist.
I look up to find Roiven’s gaze is hard on me. Intense. His dark hair forms a stark curtain around his stubborn face, the lines of enchantment cutting angrily through his skin.
And he wants to do the same to me? To put me under witchcraft, just as he’s been put under enchantment? He’s insane if he thinks I’d agree. Even if I’m beginning to wonder if the War-Father’s teachings weren’t wholly accurate.
“I won’t.”
“Then I can’t just let you go where you please. Avreen told me you were in the other courtyard.”
“I don't even have my sword, or a real way to get home. What do you think I'll do?”
“I’m responsible for the people here. I can’t let my own feelings put their safety at risk.”
I take another bite of bread, chewing slowly.
“I understand.”
“Do you?” His forehead furrows.
“I kept you near me at the Bluff, didn’t I?”
Roiven stares at me for nearly a full minute, but I don’t meet his eyes. At last he takes his own portion of food and begins to eat.
Even with my mood soured, the food is good. The pleasure of having a meal grown on land hasn’t dimmed, and I savor the textures, glancing around at the beauty of the garden courtyard.
This is better than how Roiven was treated. It’s even better than I was treated, on the Bluff. Good food, the prettiest garden I’ve ever seen, and no punishments.
I don’t belong here. It seems cruel to taunt me with this place’s beauty when it’s not meant for me.
We eat, in strained silence, for some minutes. My plate is nearly empty.
“I want the war to end,” I announce.
Roiven stops mid-chew and stares at me.
“The War-Father used to call it necessary cruelty. The Enchanted. But it isn’t. Maybe we don’t have to slaughter each other at all. Will you negotiate with me?”
If I can’t stop the council at Barivum from giving Harfor even more Enchanted, maybe I can stop the War-Father from draining them. Because if the witches aren’t as evil as we’ve been taught, draining the Enchanted isn’t necessary cruelty. It’s murder. By the hundreds.
“Negotiate for what?”
“If we could reach terms. For peace. Then I could go to the War-Father, and try to convince him…”
“Cai,” Roiven says, in a gentle voice that makes me want to punch him. “The Empire wanted you dead. They must know you’re a—”
“Don’t,” I interrupt, before he can get the word out. He frowns at me.
“Denial won’t change anything.”
“Just don’t,” I snap. “Look, do you want your people alive or not? Because I don’t want any more Enchanted to be consecrated.”
He sighs heavily, and shakes his head.
“Do you really think they’d agree to peace?” Roiven’s hands curl into fists on top of the table.
The honest answer is that I don’t know. The Enchanted’s deaths never seemed to bother the War-Father too deeply.
I know he wants to win, but it’s not like we’re losing the war to begin with.
The casualties are high, yes, but over the years the number of dragons have shrunk.
The Empire is vast. We can consecrate more Enchanted, train more knights, build more Hellions.
The witches don’t have that option. They hide, and they harry the ships. But if we’ve found the Gray Tower…
Why would the War-Father negotiate? He’s about to get everything he wanted anyways. An attack on the Gray Tower will require a huge amount of power. Power in the form of lives. Would the War-Father care about resource cost, if he doesn’t care about the humanity of it all?
“If it felt like winning to him, he might agree. If they got the isles…”
“You want us to leave our homes.”
“If that’s what it takes.”
“You aren’t asking me to negotiate, you’re asking me to surrender.”
“It’s better than everyone dying.”
“We aren’t going to surrender.”
There’s a finality to Roiven’s tone that I can’t accept.
“But if everyone dies—”
“Enough,” Roiven says, shaking his head. “If it’s the best you think that thing would take, then no, I won’t negotiate. Are you done eating? Can we get started on the rest of the enchantment?”
Did he just call my War-Father a thing?
“Watch your words, witch,” I growl. Roiven snorts.
I’m not going to give up, but I don’t have a better idea yet. Half the isles? Two-thirds? There must be some compromise they’d both accept that will stop the bloodshed.
Roiven stands up.
“I want my magic freed,” the witch says as he offers me his hand. I look up in surprise to find him staring at me with a determined expression. I ignore his hand and stand on my own.
“I’d rather start with the pain rings.”
“Why? Scared?”
My shoulders tense. I’d be much more comfortable starting with the parts of the enchantment that don’t let him massacre people. Even if other enchantments are still binding him from attacking the Empire or attacking me.
“Nobody in their right mind would want to give a witch back his power.”
Roiven has the nerve to smirk at me. The Witch King folds his muscular arms over his chest.
“I know I bested you when we fought, but unlike the Empire, we don’t attack our prisoners.”
“Bested me?” I scowl. “I’m the only one who landed a hit. You still have the scar.”
His eyebrows raise slowly. Roiven’s eyes start at the top of my scalp and inch down over my scars and my metal arm.
“You and the truth don’t get along very well, do they?”
“This was your dragon, not you. If we were fighting on flat ground and she wasn’t there to win your battles…”
He snorts and unfolds his arms, taking a step towards me. I brace myself but don’t move back.
“You think I couldn’t have killed you the moment I laid eyes on you, knight?” Roiven’s voice is cold.
“Obviously not, or else you would have.”
“A challenge, then,” Roiven says, eyes narrowed. “No magic, no familiars. If I win, you free my magic. If you win, you remove the pain rings. And I’ll take you on a tour of the village.”