Chapter Eight
There was nowhere for Solana to carry the dagger in the dress she wore, so she held it at her side, knuckles white around the hilt as she trailed after Reyes like a fish out of water.
Castle staff gave her a wide berth, and the guards subtly moved their hands to their own weapons as she passed by. The feeling was mutual.
Reyes, on the other hand, seemed to think she was entirely incompetent.
The way he strode ahead of her, his back completely exposed, told her that he didn’t see her as a threat.
Whether that was because of the oath she had just given, or the fact that he had so easily disarmed her before, she wasn’t sure.
She was tempted to challenge him to a duel where they were on even footing.
She didn’t need a partner, much less a master.
Six months, she reminded herself, and then she could ram her dagger into his belly and let him feel the burn of her vengeance.
They walked through the second story of the throne room toward a large set of windows that faced the castle grounds entrance and the city beyond.
She could see the winding streets of Sonqo, the colorful stone and layered brick that reminded her so much of Qhilli.
People small as ants roamed in and out of buildings along the main road that led to the gates.
Solana knew that, on special occasions, the road was lined with flowers and stalls made of brightly colored fabrics, where sellers from all over Supay could come and sell their wares.
Jewelry and weapons, sweets and drinks, dresses and shoes. Once upon a time, she had walked through the market and pointed at a thing and it would appear in her hand—not because of magic, but because of a father who had once been the king’s right hand.
“There,” Reyes said, his voice bringing her back to the present, reminding her why she was there. He pointed to a spot far beyond the left wing of the castle, where armed guards hauled a bound and struggling man between them.
Heart racing, Solana pressed her hands against the window, the dagger’s hilt cutting into her palm. Her breath fogged the glass. “Why is he bound?”
“He’s a prisoner. He’s lucky to be alive.”
“Was a prisoner. And there wasn’t a trial.
He could have been found innocent.” Sami tried to break free of the guards and, to her surprise, turned back to the castle.
His mouth opened, like he was screaming, and though Solana couldn’t hear the words, she knew he was screaming her name.
“He thinks I’m still in there. I have to tell him—”
“Tell him what? That you’re choosing the king over him?
That you’re staying so that you can leave him for good?
Let the man keep some of his dignity.” Reyes spoke casually, hands in his pockets, his face toward the city.
Solana took in his profile—the sharp angles of his cheekbone and jaw, the silver hair that lay back and to the side, the lines of a feathered wing up the side of his neck, right over a pulsing vein—and took several deep breaths.
She could not open that vein and watch him bleed to death. Not yet.
Never would she admit that he was right.
It was better for Sami to leave, to go back home and take care of his family and tell the others that she was gone.
She hadn’t betrayed them, not really. Solana had sacrificed the last fourteen years of her life protecting them, and the king was replacing her with a whole retinue of guards who would do a more thorough job than she could.
Her people would wonder, but they didn’t have to know the truth.
This was the right thing to do, even if it felt like the opposite as she watched the guards free Sami’s hands and shove him past the gates. They closed behind him, and he turned around to pound on them, screaming some more words Solana couldn’t hear.
She turned away and clenched her jaw. All that mattered was that he was alive. “Well? Are we going to continue the private tour?”
Reyes spun to his left and gave her his back once again. “It’s not a private tour. I’m following the king’s orders and taking you directly to your rooms.”
“Such a good boy,” she murmured, her eyes flicking over the hall they had turned down, noting the things that had changed since she was last there.
The ice-blue carpet was newer and plusher, muffling every one of their steps, and the lights were closer and brighter.
There was no art along these walls, but the silver gilding framing them was luxurious on its own.
“Torturer, private escort, lapdog. What a strange combination of responsibilities.”
“There are three groups of Masters that patrol the cities. Each group is made up of five members—”
“Six, now,” Solana murmured.
“—with strengths in differing gifts. There’s manifestation, discernment, healing, longevity, and persuasion, although that is the rarest and therefore uncommon within our ranks—”
“Yes, yes, I’m aware of the gifts and how special they are. I want to know the juicy stuff. Is it true that the Masters have trials to the death? I heard that they aren’t allowed to fraternize with students with differing gifts, and that there’s this secret room where—”
“Rumors are for children,” Reyes said brusquely. “Masters go through extensive training to master their gifts and serve the kingdom, which takes incredible amounts of composure and tenacity.”
Solana listened to his rehearsed speech with confusion.
“Now imagine doing all the things you do, but without gifts or training or support,” she said, hand waving in the space between them.
“The difference is, I don’t think I’m better than anyone because of an entirely inaccessible and, quite frankly, unnecessary education. ”
There was no response, not that she expected one, but she saw the way his broad shoulders tensed, how his hands shifted in his pockets, as if he was curling them into fists.
It gave her the fuel she needed to continue.
“The king must pay you extraordinarily well, but you don’t seem the type to enjoy such benefits.
What a shame.” Solana gasped dramatically.
“Unless, torturing is what does it for you.”
They took another turn, passing a set of windows wedged into a small corner, and she caught their reflections in the glass.
Reyes was like a giant wraith wrapped in shadows, only the gleam of his strange hair visible within the quick flash as his long, muscular legs carried him past. Solana tore her eyes away from him and couldn’t help but glance at herself and admire the way her dress hugged every curve of her body and trailed behind her.
Utterly useless, like everything else in this castle, but beautiful nonetheless. Much like Reyes.
“I know the perfect place in Qhilli where you could explore that preference,” she continued. “Of course, there are rules to abide by, which I don’t think will be a problem for you, but truly, it’s not something to be embarrassed—”
In a flash, Reyes’s hand was at her throat, like the wraith she had thought him only a moment ago, the same hand that had taken her pledge pressing her hard against the wall.
Though she felt the pressure of his fingers digging into the tendons of her neck, she could still breathe. He only meant to scare her, to mark his territory, perhaps, but Solana would die before she admitted it was working.
Reyes’s hand shifted so that his thumb was underneath her chin, and he tilted her head up to meet his glare.
“I would have left you down there with the rest of them.” His voice was barely above a whisper, the scent of him enveloping her as their chests touched with every breath.
“And it has nothing to do with your lack of education.”
Solana had the urge to sink her teeth into his skin, to draw blood, to make him hurt just like he had hurt her. She settled for digging the tip of her dagger into his belly, satisfied at the way his eyes widened infinitesimally. “But you couldn’t, because your king wanted me. Are you jealous?”
“You are no threat to me,” he said, solidifying Solana’s earlier thought.
“You may be powerful, but you are reckless and a coward, and that is a dangerous combination.” He stepped further into her dagger, which gave way as it pierced layers of clothing to the flesh below.
“You are going to create more problems than you are worth, and I will be the one to clean them up.”
Dark satisfaction flowed through her at being called powerful by this man who towered over her, who had carved rivers into her body and exuded power with every word he spoke. “You must be so proud of how useful you are,” she cooed, delighted when his eyes darted to her lips.
“You know just how useful I can be,” he snarled as he pressed deeper against her throat.
Solana’s left temple throbbed, and it was all she could do to keep from plunging the dagger to its hilt into his belly.
It was hesitation that got people killed in the callejon, and it was Solana’s honing of her instincts that had kept her alive thus far.
At that moment, all her instincts were screaming that Reyes was dangerous.
His face, on the other hand, showed nothing, even as she knew she was drawing blood. “I’ve saved your life twice now.” His hand shifted again, this time from her neck to her collarbone, then lower, over her heart, which beat frantically in her chest. “Another life debt to owe.”
“I wouldn’t have been dying if it wasn’t for you.
” She shoved him away with all her strength.
Much to her dismay, he barely moved. “Why not just kill me like you so desperately want to? Oh, wait,” she said, tapping a finger to her lips, satisfied when his eyes flickered toward them again.
“You can’t, because you won’t go against his wishes. And you call me a coward.”