Chapter 29 #3
He took his time, the sharp blade slicing easily through my burnt hair. He put no more emotion into it than I did when cataloging artifacts, but still the air between us felt blistering.
The tent was silent besides the sound of his efficient slicing of every ravaged strand.
Eventually he cut the last burnt piece, but he didn’t move away from me.
Instead, he ran his hands along the bottom of my curls, taking the time to brush away any excess.
When it was done, I lifted my hands up to the ends of my hair.
I wanted to lean back into his warmth, feel the skin of another person against mine.
I’d been alone for so long that being near Kiyan felt like stark relief in comparison.
He cleared his throat, and I looked back over my shoulder at him. He was so close I could see the dark irises of his eyes against the deep brown, rimmed with thick lashes.
I didn’t understand him—at times he was curt, dismissive, and bottled up, but other times—like in the woods when he killed the halmasti, and here in the tent—he was like a quiet, raging fire.
He cocked his head, surveying me. “It suits you.”
His hand skimmed my hair, and I felt the impression of his palm on the back of my head. He pulled one thick curl between his thumb and forefinger. Then he dropped it.
It was rare to get him alone, and even rarer to see him soft like this. I didn’t want to waste this chance to find out everything I could about the Viceroy, so that when it was time to run, I could do it.
“What did the Viceroy mean? When he said his power comes from the Court of River?”
I wanted to know where the Viceroy’s magic came from, and what its limits were. I still didn’t know how I was going to steal the crown once we found it and every little piece of knowledge helped.
If there was one thing I knew, it was that research, information, and preparedness would be my best chance of getting out of here.
Kiyan ran his fingers through his own hair then, chewing the inside of his cheek in thought.
“As you know, Reza’s magic is different from ours.
His skills are to absorb the magic of those he drains and take it as his own, as is all the Salt Court’s.
Normally that ability is only temporary—a way to borrow the magic of other peris.
But when he came to the Court of River, he had something that amplified his ability to take—the ancient peri King Rusul’s crown. ”
I’d read about Rusul when I’d been learning about the ancient fae Queen.
They had been married, but had started a war that lasted hundreds of years between the peris.
His magic was said to be an antithesis to hers—an opposing force.
Hers was about the creation of magic, of power, of life, while his was meant to be about the absence of it.
Not death exactly, but the removal of life.
If King Rusul had created a crown forged from his own powers, that explained the Viceroy’s ability to reduce the Court of River’s life magic.
Kiyan said the words simply, without inflection. But something was lurking in the back of his smooth voice, something edged in anger.
“Take it . . . the Viceroy removes magic from you?”
Kiyan smiled, but it was without humor. “Not me. Not yet. At least not in the same way. He’s managed to limit our magic and amplify his own ability using the King’s crown embedded in his chest.”
He tapped his own chest as a reminder. My eyes flickered there, realizing with alarm he had been in a state of semi-undress when he’d come into the tent and his shirt was half open, revealing the various scars still there. But he was unaware of my distraction and kept speaking.
“What Reza does is a form of punishment—a peri is drained of their magic, their language and their memories taken too. The one that performs the punishment takes their magic.” He screwed up his face.
“It isn’t theirs exactly. The magic becomes twisted, different.
So, the Viceroy has a significant amount of magic due to the punishments he has performed, but the King’s crown enhances that magic. And in turn, limits ours.”
“I’ve seen them, those he punishes,” I said slowly, thinking of the woman with the backward feet who had helped me at the River. “An old woman near the River who spoke nonsense.”
Kiyan nodded. “Yes, we call them zulmi. For our Court, magic is life. Taking it away doesn’t kill us, but we no longer have our language, our thoughts, our ability to move the same. It ages us, makes us husks of who we are.”
“The Viceroy has done that to others?” I whispered, looking up at Kiyan.
His mouth flattened.
“He has.” Then he leaned in closer to me, his eyes alight.
He’s going to kiss me, I thought. His lips were so close. I saw every crackle of fire in his dark eyes, every glowing strand of his hair.
It was different shades of silver, I realized. Almost white. A shimmering pearlescent steel, catching dark and light.
I turned my head toward his, my mouth parting. The air was charged, and it felt as though at any moment it would ignite between us.
Kiyan stopped just before my mouth, his hot breath on my lips. “But you would know all that if you were from here.”