Chapter 11
My heart weighed down on me, my chest heavier than I could bear, as I left Nayana alone in our bed. If the tiny woman hadn’t looked so peaceful and content, and if my own health hadn’t improved by a landslide during the past few days, nothing could have forced me to leave the suite we shared.
But I had no choice. There was something urgent brewing inside my mind. A swarm of angry bees was buzzing relentlessly through my body, demanding that I jump into action immediately.
My hand was hovering over the ornate handle of the bedroom door, but instead of leaving, I threw a last glance at Naya.
Some strands of her silky tresses had fallen into her face between my previous checkup a few minutes ago and now, and my skin itched as my fingers twitched with the urge to brush them back.
“Damn it,” I mumbled to myself as a crunching noise alerted me to how hard I’d gripped the opener during my visual examination.
Peeling my white-knuckled hand from the dented metal, I stormed back to the bed, sat down on the mattress, and gently tucked the wayward blonde locks behind Naya’s ear. Her nose scrunched as if the motion tickled her, and I cursed both myself and her offending hair.
Steely bands blocked my lungs, and every breath I drew was a challenge as I took the chance to verify her well-being—the last time had been at least ten minutes ago, after all.
I couldn’t help myself. Whenever my eyes landed on her, my mind flashed back to when I’d found her in that dungeon cell.
Broken, injured—dying.
There had been a lot of fucked-up shit I’d experienced in my life, but I’d never been in such distress before. Well, maybe once, but that didn’t matter in this moment.
Even now, after almost a week, relief hadn’t settled in yet, and a large portion of my thoughts was occupied with making sure she wasn’t in mortal danger. Or slight discomfort. Monitoring her well-being had become an obsession—as with everything else concerning her.
But the bees were merciless. My throat bobbed as I swallowed the lump stuck in there.
Willing my legs to work, I stood up and, gathering my iron will, left the bedchambers and her behind.
Before the insistent inner voice, which chastised me for abandoning Nayana, could convince me to return for another confirmation that she was still alive, I slipped into the corridor of the Ivreian royal guest wing. A deep breath, and my usual mask of indifference returned. At least, I hoped so.
A similar fancy door led into another suite a few paces away from ours, and as I focused my thoughts on the conversation I was going to initiate, I pulled the red velvet cord hanging next to the closed entrance. A bell chimed inside the room, and it didn’t take long before the door opened.
“Dion.”
“Fig.”
As usual, the scar-covered face of my general looked grave, and his eyes met mine devoid of any trace of fear or insecurity.
Few could hold my gaze without at least radiating waves of unease, and I registered some surprise about how much I appreciated lately that some people existed who didn’t give a fuck about the danger I presented to everyone’s life around me—theirs included.
Yes, there was a lot that annoyed me about my comrades, but during the past few months, they’d proven their loyalty, dedication, and fearlessness.
Maybe for the first time in centuries, I’d felt seen in a good way, and although much of me loathed how parts of me had been revealed to them, another cherished the transparency equally so.
I had to admit to myself that a few people existed in my life I’d prefer to keep around—Antas, Fig, Ireas. Nayana, of course. Her presence was beyond debate.
Not that I’d tell them or would go all soft and sappy around them, since I preferred that they continued being on edge around me. Again, everyone except Nayana.
But there was still the issue of how to get rid of Thain.
“Anything special you want to talk about?”
“Actually, there is.”
“Then come in.”
I nodded, followed him to his sitting area, and planted myself on top of one of the plush couches. Fig picked a chaise for himself, and I chuckled as he comically dwarfed the piece of furniture under his giant form.
“So, Dion. What made you abandon your suite?”
“You have to do me a favor.”
If Fig was surprised, he didn’t show his confusion.
Of all the people around me, he was the one best in control of his facial features.
Still, I’d expected at least a small sign of bewilderment, as I usually didn’t bother to ask for boons or anything.
Ordering and commanding, I could do. But politely—yes, I’d been polite—requesting?
How curious.
Was my recently changed mindset softening me?
Ugh, not good at all.
“What favor?”
“We haven’t discussed our strategy yet, but I’m sure we’re all well aware that we’ll have to return to Galanta sooner rather than later.”
“Yes. I don’t think we can avoid following Galrach’s summons.”
“In Alaiann—I want you to keep an eye on the others when I can’t.”
“Of course.”
“And—”
“And?”
“On me. I don’t know what King High and Mighty will try, only that it’s a given he’ll attempt something.” I fought against gritting my teeth, but couldn’t stop my jaw from locking.
Asking anyone to watch out for me was a special kind of horror, which I despised, because as much as I regarded myself as indestructible, when it came to my grandfather and his ways of containing me, I was far from having an advantage.
He had the upper hand, and no matter how hard I was rebelling, helplessness never stopped clawing at my insides.
Not that I’d resisted Galrach during the past decades, but the last months had caused a change in me.
My eyes were open, and I couldn’t allow him to force me to submit to his every whim any longer.
Fig scanned me, and his scrutiny had me straighten involuntarily. I checked the mask of indifference I wore before I sighed and endured doubt marring my face.
“We will, Dion. Every single one of us. You don’t have to ask.”
A trickle of relief wrapped around my anxiety, and I nodded. “But there’s something else.”
“What?”
“The merchant.”
“What about him?”
“He’s still alive. I can smell his vile stench whenever I breathe.“
“Yes. And? Do you want me to get you a fancy assortment of aromatic oils?”
Ignoring the sarcastic remark, I glowered through my brows as a cruel smile appeared on my face. “He must die for what he did to Nayana.”
My general didn’t seem surprised, more contemplative, and his gaze crawled all over my form, alerting me to him assessing and calculating. Sometimes, I wondered what was going on in his mind when he strategized.
“You know how much of a diplomatic disaster hunting down Feroy would be? You’re a foreign royal guest staying here because of a relic of a protocol, after all.
One, King Pritatus and all the monarchs before him in their graves surely regret having forgotten to abolish.
Even though this prospect should be impossible, acting on your petty revenge fantasies could burn all remaining bridges between Galanta and Ivreia permanently, and this time, such an outcome would be your fault alone.
” He tapped his chin with his index finger.
“There’s no way I can change your mind?”
“No, Fiolar. The merchant’s demise is as inevitable as the sun rising every morning. If you’d seen what he did to Nayana, you’d understand why I can’t tolerate worlds where scum like him is alive.”
“I feared so.”
“Besides, the consequences afterward—even if they were of any importance to my decision—won’t be as drastic as you paint them. After all, Queen Anneria approves.”
“Maybe of the outcome. But of your methods? That’s very unlikely.”
“Your reaction wouldn’t be any different if you were in my shoes.
Denying the truth is futile. I mean, do I have to remind you of Cupla?
” My eyebrow rose, and triumph blazed through my chest as I witnessed Fig’s stoic composure falter for a moment, followed by a twinge of unease I was unwilling to analyze.
A little over two centuries ago, his twin sister had been taken at night by unknown enemies, and normally, I wouldn’t mention those dark days my general was working so hard to forget, but here I was, throwing fistfuls of salt into the barely scabbed wounds.
What had Fig expected? After all, I’d earned the favor I wanted to call in back then. For a long time, I’d held on to the boon, but the right time had come. Killing the merchant was that important to me.
“Bastard.” Fig leaned forward.
I retaliated to his bared teeth by showing him my own, my throat vibrating with the low, rumbling warning I granted him instead of just pouncing at his provocation—after all, we were comrades.
“So you want to redeem what I owe you?” Fig forced his voice into a carefully collected tone, but he couldn’t fool me. A skilled warrior like me easily spotted the muscle ticking in his cheek, the clenched jaw, and the tightly balled fists, even if all those signs were minuscule.
Surprisingly, a sliver of guilt raised its small head inside my chest and lingered in my throat, something I’d rarely experienced, and I, disgusted as I was, did my best to harden myself as fast as possible, convincing my conscience—if the pitiful remnants could be called by this name—that the end justified the means.
Anyway, I’d unpack these confusing notions later, not in the middle of a very important bargaining conversation.
“Yes. Join me when I get my revenge.”
“Then so be it, Your Royal Highness.”
Ouch, his use of one of the honorifics he knew I hated was like him thrusting a knife into my guts, but honestly, I should have expected his displeasure.
Although my skills were superior in almost all areas, I wasn’t too vain to admit that tactfulness was not my strong suit—maybe there would have been a better way to approach the exchange we’d just had—and well, I wasn’t so arrogant as not to acknowledge my shortcomings.