Chapter Thirty Samira #2
Then he lowered his hand and took mine. He lifted it to the side of his head and rested the tips of my fingers against his runes.
I met his gentle brown eyes in surprise.
“The older a person is,” he said, voice quiet, “the easier it is to receive the runes. We’re not really sure why, but I think it has to do with the magic settling inside of us.
Usually, it’s done around the age of sixteen.
” He turned his head, giving me a better view.
I swallowed hard as I traced the symbols, the same way he’d just done. His were sharp and pointy, not softly curling like mine. Like they’d been carved with a blade. They cut from his temple to the nape of his neck.
“I was twelve when I got mine,” he said.
My fingers stilled. “Why so young?”
“My mother… she was desperate to save our people from the Shroud. She thought if she conceived a child inside of it, that child would be able to stop it. So she went in, and when she came out and the healers examined her, she was pregnant.”
I lowered my hand to my lap. “You mean someone inside…”
Rade nodded. “I’ve never known who my father is.
And I don’t think she did, either. But she’d been inside for a full twenty-four hours.
She shouldn’t have been able to leave, and she wasn’t the same person when she returned.
” He bowed his head and gave another shrug, like it meant nothing.
But the stiffness in his muscles said otherwise.
“She wanted my magic awoken right away. If the previous king hadn’t stopped her, she would’ve taken me to the Seer as soon as I could walk.
I was lucky she waited as long as she did. ”
Though I didn’t remember much of Mama and Baba, the few memories I had were happy. Pleasant smells, music, feelings of bliss. It was blurry, but I knew it had been a good home. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have memories like Rade’s.
“I vomited, like you. Multiple times. And I could hardly walk. I don’t—I don’t remember much of what happened directly after.
I just know that every time someone tried to confront my mother about my being too young, she would only say, ‘It worked, didn’t it?
’ ” He tried to smile but it was weak. “She was right. It did work. Even when I was twelve, my power was undeniable. The people demanded I be put on the throne. The previous king was forced to abdicate, despite being the heir to a well-established line of Kaldfolk rulers, and pass the crown to… me.”
I processed that with a heavy heart. Softly, I asked, “Is your mother in Frostguard?”
He shook his head. “A few weeks after I got my runes, she went back into the Shroud. It had gotten into her. She said she… belonged to it.”
For a brief moment, compassion for Rade overshadowed my fear.
“Keir’s aunt Katla raised me after that.
They’re the only family I have.” Rade blinked several times, like he was clearing away cobwebs, and faced me again.
“I don’t know why you had such a strong reaction to the runes when you’re nearly twenty, but I can sympathize.
You’re in pain right now, but it will pass. I promise.”
In fact, I was twenty-two, which just made my reaction all the stranger. But maybe the rules about age only applied to Kaldfolk. They were born with wild magic in their blood. Maybe my reaction was normal for an Ashoran.
“And the green?” I asked again.
“That’s probably because you’re a Gods-Chosen,” he said with a soft smile. “But I’ll check some of the old texts, just to be sure.”
Obviously, that wasn’t it. Amunet was a Gods-Chosen, not me.
There was something else, and some instinct told me it had to do with that shadow creature.
By Zarqa’s reaction, I knew that hadn’t been normal.
Had the shadow creature messed up the ritual somehow?
Confused the magic so that instead of black I was left with some indecipherable green?
And the way Keir had smelled my runes… Did he know what had gone wrong?
Rade gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. “You will be all right, Amunet.”
I looked up at the king, at his warm eyes and gentle smile that put me at ease almost instantly. He’d gotten his runes at twelve. I wondered what it must be like to have a mother abandon him for the Shroud. Rade did not seem bitter. He was friendly and kind.
Amunet had received marriage proposals from everyone with even a hint of royal blood in their veins, from jinn-descended princes to no-name emissaries.
Some even came to Khada Palace to try to woo her in person.
I’d always observed them to be unpleasant.
Greedy or lecherous or plain cruel. I couldn’t help but think that if my queen had to marry, she would be relieved to marry someone as nice as Rade.
“You’re not what I expected,” I confessed.
The king blew out an amused breath. “Neither are you, Amunet Khada.” His fingers stroked along my palm, feeling the calluses there. “You never told me what weapon you trained with.”
I could see Amunet clearly in my mind, sweaty and exhausted from training with the Khada Guard. She’d return to her room in a huff and toss the curved battle-axe—the khopesh—on the floor before flopping onto her bed, cursing the king for making her go.
“A khopesh,” I answered.
Rade whistled low. “Only my Shifters are skilled enough to handle that sort of weapon.”
I prayed he wouldn’t ask me to demonstrate. “I never said I was skilled.”
Rade laughed.
My own lips pulled up in a smile.
The door crashed open, and Keir stormed in, rage practically pouring off him. My smile slipped. He slammed a bowl of broth onto the end table beside me, some of it sloshing over the edge. Then he faced Rade. “Now that I’ve been a good errand boy, can we speak?”
Rade’s eyes flashed, but he offered me another smile. “Rest,” he said, giving my hand a squeeze, before he followed Keir out of the room.
I waited for that second click. My door hadn’t been locked in days, but I listened just in case. As expected, it didn’t come.
Good. Because Keir knew something about these inexplicable runes, and I needed to know what it was.
Which meant I had to follow them.