Chapter 10
Imani’s foot ached, and she tried not to limp to the throne room.
While all of her obvious glamour was gone today, she couldn’t truly strip herself bare in front of the king.
This wasn’t like the duel against Aiden.
She wouldn’t risk the king seeing her red brands, and it would only frighten people to see her missing fingers and scarring in such a public manner.
So, she had sliced off another half a toe and shaved off the nails on the rest of the others to cast a flesh magic illusion.
The nails, at least, would grow back. She only hoped it would be enough to stand up to the king’s scrutiny.
Kiran knew part of what was hidden, but hopefully, he’d just assume it was the echo shield at work.
Besides the flesh magic and echo shield over her red brands, missing fingers and black marking, she was out in full force.
Entirely without glamour, her soft pale skin glowed.
Her eyes were piercing bright blue and her lips pink and full.
Even her hair shone lustrously in beautiful curls that she’d tied loosely with a ribbon down her back.
People stared when she walked past, desire in their eyes.
Gripping her wand, she felt exposed but somehow more powerful than she had in years.
The throne was located at the center of Menlone Mountain, and she wondered how long it had been here. A long time, she guessed, because the castle seemed to have been built around the room, and it was older than anything in Essenheim.
Dank hallways led them downward, deeper into the belly of the mountain. Dozens of sconces and candles lined the walls and table, casting everything in an orange glow. But, without windows, it grew darker and colder, too.
Imani’s teeth were on edge as she tried to calm her racing thoughts. She hadn’t even laid eyes on it yet, but the throne seemed to feel more menacing the deeper they went, bearing down on her heavily.
Paths became steeper the deeper they climbed. Crowded, too. It scared her a little to be this deep and so crammed in.
The steps leading down were narrow, and with her injury, she slipped a few times. Luvon, the other high-bred Norn witch who’d survived the assessments, grabbed her arm before she could totally lose her footing.
“Thank you,” she mumbled, irritated at herself. The pain in her foot was excruciating, but she needed to get it together.
Luvon stared a little too long at her binding mark but didn’t say a word. He was kind.
Suddenly, she forgot all about looking demure. It was almost difficult to breathe as they approached the large room. Guards swung the doors wide open. Luvon and Imani stood awkwardly together as breeds found each other and began conversing. Their two-person group of Norn elves was the smallest.
Women dressed in simple gray gowns—similar to the fashion in Essenheim—and a single guard surrounded the two Norn elves.
Imani peeked around them to see that the other breeds were also being grouped together and assigned staff.
The shifters took up the entire front of the room, with the nymphs holding up the rear.
Pixies were scattered throughout the center, along with Imani and Luvon.
Up front, there appeared to be a scuffle. Imani craned her neck to see and watched as one man took a swing, missed, then stumbled into the empty space near the stairs to the throne. In an instant, he convulsed on the floor.
Curious, Imani couldn’t look away. “What’s happened to him?” she asked Luvon, her eyes fixed on the man.
Luvon came to stand next to her, and she felt comforted to be here with someone else of her kind. She wondered if he missed his heartmate.
“That was the throne, and only the king can control it. Otherwise, it protects itself from anyone getting close, to keep its power from unworthy usurpers. No one but a monarch has been able to sit upon it since its inception, and no one but a monarch can invite you into its circle.” Luvon sighed.
“He’s lucky. He was only too close for just a few seconds. He’ll live.”
The massive throne on which the Niflheim king presumably sat looked fearsome and grotesque, but unlike the subtle power of the crown, an intense and overt feeling of magic emanated from it, drawing Imani’s attention.
Anyone attempting to steal the crown could probably get it off the king’s or queen’s head, despite the pain it would cause the monarch, but once they did, the person would eventually become overwhelmed and choked by the growing branches and roots.
Some say the crown could devour a man whole and embed the organic matter into itself, only making its power stronger.
The only person the crown did not destroy was the monarch.
There were few things in the realm that wielded their own magic without a conduit, like a wand. The crown and the Draswood trees were two of them. The throne was the third.
It pulsed with an obvious destructive yet intriguing magic of its own, making her wonder how Tanyl was imitating such a powerful magical object. It seemed nigh impossible.
The immense seat of the throne was created of black obsidian rock and glittering diamonds with skulls and bones embedded in it.
Imani narrowed her eyes—the bones were real.
The arms of the throne were each finished with a skull on which the king’s hands would rest. She wondered if the throne imbued itself with its victims’ magics, as well.
The crown did the same, and each time a new branch would grow or a flower would bloom.
As she took a place near the front, the impressive throne loomed over the crowd like a monster in itself. Frankly, she’d expected nothing less from the ruthless monarch of Niflheim.
A wave of dizziness suddenly overtook her. Her vision blurred, and when she opened her eyes, she was somewhere else. Tanyl stood in a darkened doorway, his tall, broad frame taking up most of the space.
“I want to let you out, but your escape last time tested my patience,” he boomed.
Imani could see Meira crying on the floor with a cup in her hand. Although a small part of her ached a little to see her in pain, Meira probably deserved any punishment being dished out. She was a sneak, and it made Imani scowl.
“Finish the potion, and we’ll talk about seeing your brother.” Then the door slammed shut, leaving Imani and Meira in darkness and Imani coming back to reality.
It took her a few moments to compose herself, but she steeled her back and pretended like nothing had occurred.
What was happening to her siblings? They seemed unhurt, although she hadn’t actually seen Dak, but Tanyl was being a real bastard to Meira for some reason.
Did she deserve such treatment? Did he know about who she really was, or was this some punishment for Imani disregarding Tanyl’s spying directive?
Questions tumbled through her mind, but she couldn’t focus on them now. She needed to be present for the royal family.
Five chairs were placed just outside the circumference that Luvon had mentioned.
The princes didn’t have permission to sit close, not even Saevel.
She’d heard the king had grown more paranoid, but Magnus must have distrusted his family immensely.
She briefly wondered where the sixth brother was, or maybe he was going to make Kiran stand.
The room filled up. Not only were the Essenheim witches here, but Imani saw the royal council’s master witches grouped together along the edges, as well.
The ones who answered to the First Witch—to Kiran.
The princes should be here soon, and Imani couldn’t lie to herself—she was nervous to see them all in one place.
Picking a piece of lint from her dress, Imani scanned her body again to ensure everything looked perfect.
She’d chosen a simple black velour gown that was fitted in the arms and bodice but flowed down to her ankles gracefully.
While she was a little self-conscious about her lack of jewelry, the binding on her hand and her shimmering, long, silver hair, which was elaborately curled into soft waves, gave people plenty to admire.
Whispers broke out around them.
Her breath caught as five figures emerged from the corners of the room and made their way to stand or sit around the throne.
Broad-shouldered, graceful, and imposing, there was something about them all standing together around the king’s chair—their inner politics and personal feelings forgotten as they became a fearsome unit—that turned a prickle of unease into a fight-or-flight response.
All vying for dominance, all indulging in their own beauty, it made tension roll through the crowd.
Even the lords and ladies of Niflheim seemed ready to bolt.
Saevel led the line and took the chair to the right of his father, looking far too big for such a small piece of furniture. His eyes were a brilliant shade of green as he scanned the crowd like a lion hunting prey.
The second prince was not at all what Imani had expected.
He wasn’t as large as Saevel, and he didn’t give off the appearance of cool boredom like Kiran, or even exude royal arrogance.
There wasn’t anything particularly dangerous-looking about him, either, except Imani spotted several knives hidden on his body from head to toe—they were well-concealed.
This prince was probably good with his hands.
If he decided not to shift, Imani wondered if she could take him if it came down to a duel.
She did enjoy a good knife fight.