Chapter 32
The chamber the boy leads me to is fit for a queen.
I lock the door behind me and stand with my back to it, staring at the room and trying not to be impressed. I’m not ready to let go of my anger. And certainly not over a bedroom. But I’ve never seen anything like it, not even in Amkrieg or Barivum.
To my left is a giant bed with a tall post at each corner, supporting a canopy of thin, draped, sheer gold fabric that seems to blur the bed without darkening it.
One entire wall of the room is dedicated to cabinets and shelves of books, pottery, and decorative glass.
The gold rug on the floor is so thick I could comfortably sleep there.
There’s a writing desk with its legs carved to look like scales, and a set of low plush chairs in a corner that look meant for curling up with a glass of wine.
The table in front of the chairs holds a misshapen rock, bigger than both my fists put together, that’s glowing.
And directly across from me, at the far wall, the day’s dying light spills through a long open gash in the ceiling. The floor there slopes away to grates that must take care of any rainfall. The row of vibrant potted plants lined up where the light falls makes my heart skip a beat.
A fountain set amongst the plants spills a waterfall, like the one in my room in the village.
Somebody left a pile of folded clothes, a glass of wine, and a tray of cut fruit and savory pastry on the writing desk.
After the journey here, I’m hungry, and my body still aches.
I wash, lotion my aching thighs, and dress in fresh trousers and a tunic.
Then, I proceed to consume so much fruit that my stomach feels tight.
A knock sounds at my door.
I go stiff in the chair I’m curled up in, berry raised to my lips, as my eyes snap to the doorway.
“Cai?” Roiven’s voice is muffled.
It’s dark outside now, and the only light in the room is the glow of the rock. It’s bright enough that I can see where everything is.
I would love to be childish enough to pretend I’m not in. But even though my petty heart would enjoy the mental image of Roiven searching all over the mountain for me, I remember his words this morning when he explained the bond. Assuming it wasn’t a lie, he can tell where I am.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” I call.
“I know,” Roiven says. “But it can’t wait. We have to talk about it.”
I huff in annoyance, uncurl myself from the chair, and walk toward the door. Leaning against the frame with the door still shut, I make my voice as cheerfully sarcastic as I can.
“Huh, you think we should’ve talked this morning?”
“I couldn’t risk you refusing. And then, I thought better to tell you here, where you could find privacy, not on Savasaeirn’s back where we'd be stuck together.”
I rip the door open and glare at him. Roiven stands just outside the room. His whole body is tense, and there’s a wary look in his eyes.
“You call that private? There was a crowd.”
“I know,” he sighs, and steps forward. I hadn’t invited him in, but the Witch King squeezes past me, and I have to step back to avoid his body brushing mine.
Inside, he looks around the room as if seeing it for the first time.
His eyes linger on the worn clothes I draped over the back of the desk chair.
“What do you want?”
“It was cruel of me to let you find out in front of the whole coven. But when Aria said Torain was doubting me, well, I realized your anger and shock would prove that this hadn't been your plan. That you were not controlling my every move through the enchantment.”
I’m not surprised he was using my pain. I’m surprised to hear him admit it so openly. The door rattles as I slam it shut and turn to face him.
“How romantic.”
“This isn’t about romance.” Roiven takes a seat in one of the corner chairs, resting his elbows on his knees. He has no right to make himself so comfortable here, even if he is the king of this place.
“Thank the fucking gods for that. I demand a sailboat and provisions so I can leave.”
“I can’t give you that.”
“You said I wasn’t a prisoner. So I guess that’s a lie, too.”
“You aren’t a prisoner. All we have here are rowboats. It's that or swimming. Sit down, Cai.”
“Fuck you.” I glare at him and don’t move from beside the door.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth, but there are more important things than either of our happiness.”
A flood of emotion barrels into me, like somebody’s tapped a cask and emptied it over my head. Roiven’s mind is a mess. Guilt, and frustration, and a heavy doom in his gut that no matter what he does, this place might not survive the next day.
It weighs on me and drags me down. My muscles tense, shoulders rising up to my ears.
“Stop making me feel bad, asshole,” I growl. The emotions cut off abruptly. Roiven leans back in the chair, his eyes hard on me.
“That’s not what I was trying to do.”
“Well, it’s what happened either way. And if you didn’t tell me the truth this morning, what did you think would happen when we showed up here?” I throw my arm out towards the door, gesturing to the rest of the mountain.
There’s a long pause. Roiven sighs.
“...Honestly?”
“No, please lie to me,” I snap.
“I thought it would go about how it did. About how it’s going now.”
I close my eyes and lean back against the desk, then draw a steady breath through my nose.
For the first time since my exile, I find myself longing for a dull, pointless day at the Bluff.
I want to tell Roiven to fuck off, but with the Hellions on the horizon, I can’t wallow in my feelings any longer than I already have.
I may hate him. And I may be just the tiniest bit hurt by him right now. But that doesn’t mean everyone else here deserves to die.
“Then why do it?”
“Because I needed to know how you really felt about everything. But you’re focusing on the wrong thing,” Roiven says.
“Not sure I agree with that statement,” I tell him through gritted teeth.
“You can feel the enchantment on me when you touch your hand to my skin, can’t you?” he asks. Roiven stands back up out of the chair, as if realizing I’m not going to join him. Hands in his pockets, he stalks towards me across the room.
“So?” I rub my forehead. The King of Witches stops a single pace from me, looking down into my eyes. My heart pounds harder and I feel my skin quiver in awareness of his nearness, but I refuse to budge.
“I can’t feel it in myself. Why is that?”
“I don’t know. Because you aren’t used to working with it,” I mutter. “Maybe if you…”
“It’s not that,” Roiven interrupts. “I could feel it in Hevrin, just not myself. Because I'm the enchantment's prey.”
I know it’s terrible, but right now, I couldn’t care less about him being Enchanted. He doesn’t deserve my pity.
“You said witchcraft couldn’t steal someone’s will, but I would never have agreed to become your wife. Explain that.” I jab his chest with my finger.
Exasperation roils off of him. Roiven’s head shakes minutely.
“You agreed to a permanent bond,” Roiven says.
“You agreed to tracking, and shared emotions. What it means to my people is secondary.” Apparently Roiven is as good at finding loopholes in truths as he is in magic.
“But Cai, listen, can you feel the enchantment in your own arm?” His gaze flicks to my armor.
I stare down at myself. Slowly I curl the metal hand into a fist, relax it again, and gulp. My armor doesn’t hum. There’s no buzz of power. There never has been.
“I can feel the enchantment in you. In that armor you never take off. It's doing something to you.” Roiven says. “Nor and Avreen told me they felt it too.”
I don’t look up to meet his eyes, even though I can feel them burning into me.
“I know it’s enchanted.” My voice comes out hoarse. “That’s how it saved my arm. Obviously.”
Roiven takes a step even closer, crowding me. I lean back further against the desk, my teeth clenched tight and every muscle straining.
“They pulled you from the sea,” he says, his words spilling quickly from his lips, like he’s trying to get it all out before I stop him.
“They put you in an enchanted suit of armor and they sent you to kill your own people, and when you showed a hint of power they exiled you, and when they were finally ready to go against the Tower the first thing they did was try to destroy you entirely—without enough time for your familiar to bond again. Why is that?”
My eyes snap up to meet his. I rub my temple as it throbs.
“Were any of our conversations real, or were you just trying to gain my trust?” I growl.
Roiven sighs, but he doesn’t move out of my space. I can feel the frustration bubbling in him through the bond.
“It was both.”
I take a step forward, bringing our bodies so close there isn’t an inch of space between us. When I place my palm on Roiven’s hard chest and push, he takes a step back.
“Tell me what deal you’ll agree to.”
“With the War-Father? None.” He folds his arms.
“You said you’d think about it.”
Roiven’s chin juts forward.
“I did think about it. I thought about how I would never do that.”
I exhale hard, my eyes cold as I stare at him. My spine is stiff and for a moment, I’m too angry to get a single word out.
Tricked. By him. Again.
“...Fuck,” I finally mutter, and bury my face into my hands. “I can’t believe I was starting to trust you.”
“Cai, this war…”
I shake my head hard. I’ve listened to him for long enough. I’m an idiot for being so gullible. For thinking that I could believe a word he said, when I knew the enchantment didn’t stop him from finding loopholes and speaking in half-truths.
I’ve always known this man was my enemy. Since when did I let myself forget it?
“Keep talking all night if you want, but I’m done listening.”
“When the coven agreed I should get close to you,” he starts.
“I’m still going to help your people. But you? You’re dead to me.”
I step around him and stride towards the door.
“Cai,” Roiven says. I wrench the door open and turn back to him, gesturing at the hall.
“Get out.”
The Witch King lifts his chin, eyes narrowed.