33. Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-One
My eyes found Tairngire before my brain registered him, seated beside King Caedmon, leathers fitted close, his runes dim but thrumming faintly at his wrists.
He was no longer hiding the pure divinity within. His golden curls caught the firelight, tamed for once, and his eyes—gods, his eyes. They found me across the hall and flashed, bright and unrestrained for a heartbeat too long before he dimmed them.
That look pinned me harder than any hand could.
I faltered on the step. My pulse thundered, warning me to look away—but I didn’t.
His gaze wandered slowly, cataloging every stitch of the gown, every curl of my hair, every breath I took. Heat crawled across my skin until I suddenly hated the dress, hated how it left me bare beneath his stare. The bond between us suddenly felt molten hot.
Beside me, Mairenn whistled, clearly amused by whatever she thought she'd just witness.
Which was absolutely nothing, mind you.
“No wonder.” She murmured under her breath.
I ignored her. The descent seemed to stretch endlessly, every step too loud, every brush of silk a scream in my ears. Tairngire's eyes never left mine. The din of the hall faded into nothing until the world was only the space between us—my feet on marble, his stare devouring.
By the time I reached the dais, my breath came too fast. He was watching me with an unreadable look on his face. Unflinching. His intensity was eough to set the hall on fire with tension.
Mairenn’s smirk was unbearable, smug as a fox with feathers in its teeth. It reminded me so much of Branwyn, and I couldn’t’ help but wish she were here instead, whispering something wicked about the way Tairngire’s eyes burned holes through me.
The king’s booming laugh broke the silence. His arms spread wide as though greeting lost kin. “Seer of the Seven Realms! My Mairenn! Come, sit. We’ve places at my table that grow colder by the breath.”
The king’s laughter shattered the weight pressing against my chest, but it didn’t break Tairngire’s stare. Not even when Mairenn guided me to my seat, which was next to him, naturally.
Godsdamn it.
I lowered myself beside him, pulse unsteady, every inch of me aware of his nearness that I was desperately trying to ignore.
His broad shoulders brushed the air, the faint glow of his runes pulsing in my peripheral view.
Only when a servant set a goblet before him did I feel his gaze leave me, and I could breathe easy again.
The hall buzzed with clattering platters and Caedmon’s booming voice. Mairenn sat across from us now, She caught my gaze with a knowing smile that made my skin prickle.
Tairngire leaned back, entirely at ease. As though my flustered pulse was exactly what he’d expected. Then he bent closer, his breath brushing my ear.
“Eat, drink,” he murmured smoothly, his goblet clinking softly against mine. I still didn't dare look directly at him. “Better than that swill mortals swallow in Anamcroí.”
I stiffened, ready with a retort, but the scent of the spiced wine slid past my defenses. And gods, did I need a drink.
Was it hot in here? I felt like I was on fire.
His smirk deepened, claiming victory without a word.
I gulped more wine as I felt his gaze drag purposefully from the slope of my throat down the curve of the gown Mairenn had ruthlessly chosen.
His chuckle wrapped around me like thick smoke. “Shift too much, and I might start to think you enjoy the way I look at you."
Alright, I'd had enough.
I shifted my lethal gaze to him, attempting to ignore the way his leathers clung effortlessly to his muscle, and the dimple that was appearing more frequently on his left cheek. "Oh, allow me to clear that up for you—I, in fact, do not enjoy it. I hope that helps."
I lifted my glass of wine in a mock toast, and downed the rest of it in one gulp, trying to drown out the sound of his laugh.
The hall roared with laughter and music, chandeliers dripping light across Scáthae’s banners. I sat rigid, fingers locked around the cup, pretending not to notice every stolen glance he sent my way. I ate bread, fruit, roasted meat—cuisine more divine than anything I’d ever tasted.
Why in the realms had he brought me here?
Cindraloch glittered like a storybook—castles and jewels, a king’s table overflowing with excess. Nothing like the Seventh Realm, where the air was wild and raw. What was I meant to learn here, dressed in silk and seated like I belonged?
I'd never belonged anywhere.
Was this training? A lesson in indulgence? Or another of his games, every smirk and low murmur meant only for me?
The wine burned warm down my throat, but the questions gnawed colder than the foreign silks clinging to my skin, threatening to bring my frustration to the surface.
Then, a hush fell—swift, with an edge that lingered. A silence that rippled down the hall as every voice stilled, every eye turned.
I knew then. The War Goddess had arrived.
She appeared at the far end of the table, not entering so much as manifesting. I'd seen Tairngire do this often, but here, in her domain, only she could move this way.
She was shadow and edge, beauty forged in iron.
Her armor shimmered like liquid metal, every piece carved with sigils that beat against the Weave in my chest. Her hair was braided tight to her skull, black as raven’s wings, the metal rings in it catching the torchlight.
She didn’t walk so much as arrive. Each step she took echoed off the stone walls.
Her presence filled the hall until there was no air left for anyone else.
A First-Crafted goddess. The first I’d ever seen…and I couldn’t tear my eyes off her.
Beside me, Tairngire leaned in, his voice uncharacteristically soft, lips grazing my ear. “Sharp edges wrapped in armor like silk. That is her weight. Do you feel it?”
I had no time to focus on the way his breath felt against my skin, Because Scáthae’s gaze cut swept the room, leaving nothing untouched in its wake. I'd never seen eyes like hers. They were a storm barely contained, violence reined so tightly it was more dangerous for the restraint.
If Tairngire's eyes were the unbound forest, Scáthae’s were silver lightning bolts before thunder struck.
“She sees through every falsehood,” Tairngire murmured, reverence shading into something else—admiration, maybe even a warning. “Best pray she doesn’t choose to see through you.”
As soon as he had uttered his last word, Scáthae’s gaze found me.
The hall vanished—the banners, the chandeliers, the king—all gone. Only her, a goddess of War and Shadow, staring straight into my soul as if the rest of me were nothing, inconsequential in her assessment.
And I'd thought Tairngire's stare was intense…
King Caedmon rose, snapping my gaze from hers. Not only was he a burly man, but his very presence was larger than life. Every inch of him radiated authority carved from battle. For the first time, I noticed there was no queen at his side. No regal counterpart to match his stature.
Before the thought could settle, Tairngire’s whisper came in beside me once again, pitched for my ears alone.
“Royalty in Cindraloch are bound to their sired divines. Their counterpart is the god or goddess they serve. It is the highest honor. They may take consorts, yes. Those who sit closest? They are that.”
Was the soul bond allowing him to read my mind? He would deny it if I asked, but I couldn't help but wonder, what with how easily he seemed to answer the questions rattling around in my brain and all.
I followed his words with my eyes. Mairenn sat to the king’s left, her head bowed beneath the goddess’s gaze like every other mortal servant and golden-threaded half-born in the room.
Wait just one goddamned second…
If Scáthae was the king’s mother…and Mairenn his consort, then that would mean—
“Yes, Little Seer,” Tairngire drawled, laughter hidden in the rasp of his tone, seemingly reading my thoughts again. “That’s exactly what it is. Bloodlines are to remain pure in the High Court of the Divine.”
My mouth went dry. The room seemed to tilt, torches flaring as if demanding I truly see where I stood. Tairngire leaned back, smug in my silence.
I tightened my grip on the fork in my hand. “You find this amusing? You sit here smirking while bloodlines tangle and rot and call it purity? That is positively abhorrent.” My tone carried a lethal edge, but it wasn’t loud enough to draw the king’s notice.
He let out a dark chuckle, intending to grate my nerves. I was certain of it.
“I find it amusing,” he said lazily, “that you still expect the realms to bend to your mortal sense of order. Some truths don’t ask for your approval.”
Fury flared in my chest. I wanted to spit fire back. But before I could, the air shifted. The hall hushed, weight pressing in from all sides. Scáthae finally spoke.
Her words came out honed and precise, voice stern yet melodic. “What a sour crowd,” she said, one side of her mouth tilting upward. “So silent in my presence, as if my gaze might strike you down. Have you forgotten feasts are meant for joy?”
The hall stirred uneasily, but her eyes held a sharp kind of focus, and they kept landing on me. No matter how lightly she spoke, her stare pierced through, as if she was dissecting me like an insect.
How wonderful.
Tairngire let out a low and mocking whistle. The urge to strangle him was getting stronger. “She sees you,” he murmured, immortal eyes shining. “Best hope your little stunt with Branwyn in that tavern doesn’t come back to bite you in the ass.”
I stiffened, every muscle taut at hearing the curse word on his tongue. He was enjoying this—my tension, my unease—entirely too much.
Scáthae’s expression smoothed, her voice rolling like lava. “We have guests.”
The words rippled through the hall and very half-born straightened, their heads bowing. None dared to breathe too loud under her regard.