Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
Accept the invitation at your peril. Decline at your doom.
–An Incomplete Guide to Kraken Survival
“This is highly irregular,” Freyja complained.
And yet, here we were, headed to my inaugural gossip session with someone named Lady Harpa, which told me something my personal assistant hadn’t. Sebastian had instructed Freyja to follow my orders rather than his schedule.
My desires mattered to him.
He was a man of contradictions. A cipher missing its key. A key I intended to find. Every bit of knowledge I acquired about him was as valuable to me as a gold coin. More so! Coins could buy many things, even influence, but they couldn’t buy character.
The next time we were together, I hoped to be rich in knowledge. On equal footing with him, considering he knew so much about me.
“I had to cancel a protocol seminar for this,” Freyja added, voice tight.
“You are booked solid for the next three days. There can be no more of these… tea drinking sessions. Until you complete your etiquette lessons, you could inadvertently insult someone you shouldn’t.
Or accidentally wreck a time-honored tradition. ”
“Sebastian will smooth over any mistakes.” Though I didn’t like the thought of him following behind me, fixing whatever I got wrong. I could handle this.
I lifted my chin. “As the king’s… special friend, I have certain liberties and I intend to exercise them. If Sebastian objects, he will come to me directly.” He wasn’t one to withhold complaints.
Freyja missed her next step but quickly righted herself. She cast me a glance over her shoulder and nodded, happy to pass this battle onto someone else. “Já, princess,” she said, her lips maybe, possibly quirking, as if I’d finally broken through the formidable Freyja’s defenses.
Much better.
We passed a gaggle of servants cleaning the hallways. Everyone stopped to watch me, unabashed. Whispers came next.
Danced with the king.
Suite next to his.
Private lesson.
His colors.
I’d felt as if I lived under a microscope my entire life, so being the center of attention wasn’t unusual for me.
I met every gaze, chin up, shoulders back.
I’d changed into a gown made of handwoven silk with layers of tulle, each embedded with hundreds of tiny crystals, perfect for disguising an interrogation as a social call.
We turned a corner, entering a sitting room that looked as if restraint had lost a war with imagination.
Layered silks in the color of deep water draped the walls, pinned back with coral clasps in the shape of coiling tentacles.
Low tables overflowed with half-burned candles, teacups in mismatched sets, and stacks of slim books piled at odd angles, as though abandoned mid-thought.
A faint scent of bergamot and salt lingered in the air.
A woman who looked to be in both her thirties and sixties reclined across a chaise.
Her silver-streaked dark hair had escaped its pins and hung in wild curls around her face, one lock standing straight up in defiance.
Her dress was… interesting. A flowing gown of seafoam green layered over plum.
The colors clashed unapologetically, while the pearl buttons were fastened incorrectly.
One shoe was a delicate slipper embroidered with matching pearls.
The other a practical boot, scuffed at the toe.
“Greetings, Lady Harpa,” Freyja said and, shockingly, she appeared intimidated. So intimidated she curtsied. “May I introduce—”
“You may not. I know who she is.” Lady Harpa tipped her teacup in a lazy salute, liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. “You may leave us.”
Freyja winced, as if she’d just been publicly flogged, and cast me another look, all remember, you asked for this. Then she made a hasty exit.
I followed the assistant’s lead and dipped low, my skirt whispering around my ankles as I gave my best curtsy, honed by years of court and ballet. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Lady Harpa.”
The other woman peered at me over the rim of the teacup, eyes both bright with intelligence and glazed with dreams. An odd, unsettling combination. “You are the dragon who has enamored my grandson so totally, he’s broken hundreds of years of protocols to keep you close. This, in only one night.”
Whoa. “Sebastian is your grandson?” Forget the protocols for now. In ten million years, I never would have guessed Lady Harpa shared a familial connection with Sebastian. They looked so different. Not just physically, but everything. He was composed; she was… not.
She offered a slightly crazed smile and leaned over to pat the chair next to hers. “Did you think mermaids created my little Basty with sand and water and dropped him at the palace door?”
“Nein.” I did my best not to rush over. To center as I eased down on the commanded spot. “I just, I suppose I hadn’t considered that his family still lived.” I’d heard nothing about them.
“I’m the only one left. But then, the Raving Pearl isn’t so easy to kill now, is she?” After pouring me a cup of tea, she passed over the steaming beverage.
I thanked her with a dip of my head. “Raving Pearl is an… interesting nickname.”
“Isn’t it? Occasionally said with a laugh. Mostly with fear. You, however, came armed with curiosity.”
“Ja. I came for a cup of truth,” I admitted, and the other woman nodded. “I’m told you are the one with answers.”
She smiled. “If you’re brave enough to ask, I’ll respond. Though you might not like what I have to say.”
Well. She’d just made it clear: there would be no steering her into inadvertently revealing facts about Sebastian. Either I stated my interest outright, or I walked away disappointed.
I’d start small. “I’m not ashamed of my curiosity regarding your grandson. I’ve only just met him, but he has utterly consumed my world.” Honest without giving away too much.
“Ah. The consuming of worlds. That’s his specialty,” she said with great fondness.
“He’s exactly as you imagine, I suppose.
Cultured. Attentive. Dangerous in ways that might feel flattering.
He never forgets. Not names, birthdays, or small preferences.
He listens. To everything, even to what we don’t say.
” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Tell me, my dear. Are you here because you wonder if you’re special to him? ”
My chest tightened. “Am I special to him?” Or was I merely a tool in his arsenal?
“You are and you aren’t, I’d say. He chose you for the convergence, didn’t he?” Lady Harpa cackled as she refilled her cup. Or rather, missed the saucer and didn’t notice. “That has to matter. At least for something.”
Guess our arrangement wasn’t quite as secret as he’d claimed. “You know about my bargain with him?”
“Oh, my dear. I know everything always. Not because he told me the secrets you share. He did not. My eyes and ears are everywhere. And now, I’ll share something with you. My Basty doesn’t keep his women. Never has, never will. He knows better.”
So we were diving into the deep end. “Why does he know better?”
She looked at me and frowned. “Because he does. Why else?”
Subverted—check. I was disappointed, ja, but not out for the count. I tried again, growing bolder. “Does he not long to create a bond with his firebrand?”
The cackling resumed, only on a larger, louder scale. “Long to create a bond with his firebrand,” she echoed, wiping a tear from her eye. “That’s a good one. I’ll have to remember to tell the ladies in my knitting circle. If ever I start a knitting circle.”
Her mockery stung. I’d yearned for my firebrand my entire life, craving his camaraderie. His affection and comfort. To be held as only a firebrand could be held: treasured, adored, protected. A deep need for the kind of love my parents never had.
I went stiff all over. My parents, a subject I despised. My father… he’d murdered my mother. A horrific, public slaying done to pass the queen’s crown to his mistress.
Mom hadn’t been his firebrand, but the mistress had.
My hands curled, and I hurried past the memory. If I dared linger on it, sorrow, loss, grief and fury would swamp me. They always did.
“You have never been in love, Lady Harpa?” I asked.
“Oh, I have, most certainly. And I learned my lesson well. Where love goes, pain follows.” Her tone hardened. “Never again.”
Hmm. Had she lost the man and still grieved? “Please forgive me for my candor, but I believe love is worth any price.”
Olyssa had recently found her firebrand.
The two were absolutely disgusting together, and it had made my craving for mine a thousand times worse.
They were always smiling, kissing and reaching for the other’s hand, and I couldn’t wait to experience that kind of nauseating affection for myself.
To know I could trust my man with every part of me.
But could I see Sebastian fulfilling such a role if he considered a firebrand disposable?
Not that I was fully convinced he was mine.
I might be too stubborn for my own good, but I held on to my few remaining doubts with a death grip, refusing to give them up.
And okay, fine. Here, now, I didn’t mind admitting I hoped he… was mine.
“I’m intrigued, princess.” Lady Harpa observed me closely. “If love is worth any price, as you say, you would be willing to give up everything for it.” She paused. “Even your dreams.”
Ja. I would. And that was the reason I must be sure, beyond any doubts. “For love, I would absolutely give up one dream for another and move from Ashmorra to Krakenstrond—or, um, anywhere—forever.” Not just three years.
She studied me for a long while, and it wasn’t a pleasant sensation. When I verged on squirming, she set her cup aside with a hard thud. Her voice changed. Not louder, not softer, but heavier. “Let me tell you a story, girl.”
I leaned closer, eager. “Please do.” I wanted any information she offered.