Chapter 14 #2
Before I can finish, the doors to my chambers burst open, wood scratching across the stone floor, and the largeness of the king standing within its frame.
His dark eyes are cold as he takes in my drab appearance, identical to my aide’s.
If he has any opinion of the rules of etiquette being broken, he doesn’t say so.
I will never grow used to his presence. The time he’s sacrificing to meet with his worthless son… How much does it cost him? Does he regret each and every second? All the years between us without so much as a conversation… Does it make things uncomfortable for him too?
He’s wearing court garb—glistening gold buttons flit along his rose-colored tunic, and an embellished wine-red robe drifts around him as he walks into the room.
The king’s eyes burn into Ronan, who stands an awkward distance between us and hunches over the bucket, hands frozen above the water with a dripping towel in his hands.
“Leave, boy,” the king chides through his teeth, disgust warping his features.
Ronan coughs into his fist, a subtle gesture but an appreciated one. Good luck , he seems to say. Even without meeting my stare, I understand his sincerity, his fear. He doesn’t miss a beat and scurries away like an animal with its tail tucked, closing the doors politely behind him.
“Now,” the king says, sneering at me with black, judging eyes. His gaze trails down to my feet, still sunk in the bucket. An amused chuckle puffs from somewhere within his overgrown beard. “I heard you left on an unauthorized trek outside the castle. Do give me an honest explanation as to why. ”
I know thinking too much on his question will only lead to further suspicion, and the likelihood he knows why I left is high, so I tell him the truth. Well, half of it anyway.
“Yes,” I say carefully, attempting to be as nonchalant as I can to avoid his scrutinizing glare.
“I left to find a master, since no one here dares to support me. I wonder why that is?” But at the sight of the absolute rage reddening the king’s face, my courage betrays me, and the next words spill out a little more rushed than I’d like.
“I failed. But I did find a promising maid in an outer village. She’s getting acquainted with Bernadette now. ”
“Just one?” King Azriel’s tongue clicks as he says this, a patronizing tone shimmering over his enunciation. “How absurd, a prince bringing a maid with him when he should be searching for a master of the sword. Unless you think a maid can help you.”
I breathe in, then smile to hide my horror at his deduction. Because yes, it is unheard of indeed. But it’s all I have. “I hold my personal servants to high standards. I’m sure you’ve already heard about my refusal of Xavelor’s harem?—”
“Your standards matter not, Ramiel.” He lifts a hand to his eyebrows, massaging them together with two fingers, and sighs.
My ego deflates further. “You clearly have not realized that your leaving the castle unannounced has caused an uprising in the outer villages, where our land touches the forest.” He spits the last word as though it’s a curse.
“Word has spread about a breach in our peace treaty with the creatures of the wood.”
Damn it. I bite the inside of my cheek. He knows. Seven hells, he knows.
“Ramiel, villagers are spreading intel about a certain young regal roaming a village bordering the magic-dwellers’ land.” His voice bleeds with annoyance. “Tell me it wasn’t you.”
Arcanvale.
He knows.
King Azriel raises a thick, gray eyebrow, but he is neither surprised nor complacent. “Your expression tells me it was you. What business did you have there? Arcanvale is the last place anyone ought to go to find a master.” His mouth twitches. “Or discover a maid.”
“I went to Arcanvale, true. But I also went to other villages in search of a master. Tell me, how has the peace been broken?” I bite my tongue to keep my breath from catching, to ensure the king doesn’t discover my obvious attempt at a change in subject.
The king’s expression remains enraged, but he doesn’t call my bluff. Instead, he orders Ronan to reenter with a sharp, “Perri!”
My aide doesn’t waste a moment, entering almost exactly as my father speaks. He tosses a glance between both of us, then stands with a fist curled over his chest.
“Listen,” my father growls. His eyes flicker to Ronan, who straightens under his judgment.
“The two of you are to attend to the crisis at the border. A royal informant has been slain and left to rot in the cursed forest. It happened during your…escapade.” He settles his glower on me, eyebrows angled over black irises.
“You are to find the body, track who killed the messenger, and report to me within the week.”
Panic rises in my chest. Not at his order nor at his time frame, but at the pieces of a puzzle I hadn’t even considered existed, now coming together all at once.
The memories of the past day rush over me coolly, of our trip from Bellmane to Arcanvale and the encounter we had with Ether in the town’s center. Among them all, Ether’s strange question sticks to the web of incoherence.
Did you see a Sanvira, by chance?
He’d been her escort, and he’d disappeared, leaving her defenseless in a human village. I thought maybe he’d been careless or heartless…maybe both.
But if he’s been murdered, that’s a different story.
Even I know that the death of one of the elves’ revered would be catastrophic.
With the king’s emblem flaring on their cloaks and their uncanny appearances, no one would dare harm one, let alone kill one.
That would mark the killer as a traitor to the kingdom, destined for an immediate execution.
If that’s not bad already, the killing of a magical creature on their land would be catastrophic to the treaty we’ve tried so hard to uphold.
No, it can’t be. There must be another messenger. King Azriel has too many men working for him for this to coincidentally be the same escort and informant used to bring Ether to him. But would he care this much over a measly informant?
Coincidence?
Or a trap?
He could also be trying to divert my attention away from the very thing that should be occupying my thoughts, like the Feast of Undying and my trial for the throne.
I allow a smile to rest calmly over my lips, hopefully masking the mixture of dread and anticipation I feel. A trip outside the castle is exactly what we need, and now we won’t have to go in secret again.
When King Azriel tilts his head toward me, darkness invades his expression as soon as the sun’s rays touch it.
He glares at the curtains, and for a moment, I think he might call for them to be shut.
But he merely scowls at the velvet fabric, at the bar of sun glinting in his dark eyes.
The weight of that scowl pounds into me. “Have I made myself clear?
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Ronan and I speak in unison. Our voices sound dissonant together, whereas a soldier might try to match his neighbor’s intonation to create a one-voice effect. The clashing of our words makes me flinch, but the king has already disappeared, apparently content with our agreement.
His voice echoes from the hall, “Within the week, Ramiel. Disappoint me , you disappoint all of Arioch.”
After Ronan leaves, I remove my feet from the now-lukewarm water.
I don’t dare glance at the slimy residue clinging to my soles, nor do I bring my nose anywhere near my toes.
I’ve never left my ankles to soak this long, and it seems submerging them for the length of our conversation has had the opposite effect I wanted. They’re more swollen than before.
As though sensing a summons from me, Bernadette’s familiar single-knuckled knock sounds on my door.
“Enter,” I say in exasperation. My feet splat on the rug skirting around my bed, soaking the woven fabric. The bucket’s water is murky, gray. With a sigh, I collapse onto the soft cushion of bedding.
I barely hear as the old maid makes her way in, nor do I hear when she leaves. I don’t even hear the sloshing of water in the bucket or the closing of the door.
The hairs on my arms prickle.
I straighten and find that my nose is less than an inch from two wide, golden-yellow eyes. My heart lurches into my lungs, searching for a place to curl up and hide, or perhaps burst from my body to seek solace elsewhere.
“What are you…that is to say…how…” I sputter, failing to grasp any semblance of confidence I might have had if I’d watched as the elven girl, not my dear old maid, entered my bedchamber.
The smallest of smiles tugs at her lips, and I can tell she wants to conceal it. Her secretiveness, I realize, makes me want to hear what she has to say. My curiosity supersedes her intrusion.
“I’d like to hear your plan,” she says lightly. Her voice rings like a song, but the notes are slightly dissonant. Doubting.
I return her smile, and she blanches when she realizes I caught her change in expression. Now her face goes to stone, which makes me want to grin even wider, but I keep my lips as flat as I can.
I suppose I’ll have to enjoy her smile from afar if I ever want to see it again.
“My father has sent us on a mission to the border. Supposedly, there’s been an uprising in a village within the kingdom. While we’re out, we’ll find your tallup.”
She retreats a step, her interest flickering from my forehead to my chin, then resting on my eyes. Hers blaze from yellow to brown. The change is flawless, nearly imperceivable, thanks to her wildly distracting flushed cheeks.
“What’s more, I find myself desperately wishing to earn your trust.” I dare to lean closer, hoping she puts more of her mystifying emotion on display.
But she quickly darts her head back, dodging me.
She must’ve wanted to surprise me, but she herself doesn’t like surprises.
My heart stills, as though cradled by a pair of cold hands.
She’s beautiful , the owner of those hands seems to say, but she’s dangerous, and she’s your master. Not an object to gawk at. Certainly not an idol to foster an attraction for.
I will the voice away, as it only seems to feed the growing flame in my chest, and I set my shoulders.
Ether regains her composure too, kneeling before me, her eyes focused on my feet, then on the bucket still sitting there.
Horror. Pure horror fills me as I realize that her proximity to the bucket means she can smell the rancid liquid and bloated saltiness emanating from my ankles.
I know elves have keener senses than humans, which means she’s probably smelled it since she stepped into my chamber, and she’s simply been kind enough to ignore it.
I open my mouth, but she raises a hand to silence me. Dumbly, I oblige.
“You’ll have a rather unpleasant ride with sore feet,” she says plainly, looking at my feet. I freeze when she stoops to her knees and leans closer. When she takes my right foot in her cold hands, a sizzle of heat snakes around my leg.
What is she doing?
Thoughts I should not be having overwhelm me, and it’s all I can do to make them stop before I misinterpret her actions. I squirm away from her, but she holds my foot steady. Something feels different about her somehow.
She doesn’t seem to hate me that much, for one.
“Watch,” she says quietly, balancing my foot in her hand. “You will need to master the elements. I’ll start with water. I don’t have much magical energy, so it may not be as effective as it usually is, but it’s something I want you to experience, especially now that we’ll be separated for a time.”
Guilt raps at me. She seems to have accepted that I’m leaving her behind without question. Could she be hiding how she truly feels?
Her pale, slender fingers slide under the arch of my foot, and where they trail, a prickling sensation is left behind. Ice. And then heat. Blistering heat.
I wince as Ether somehow manages to extract the liquid swelling in my heels, pulling it into the air and dispersing it into a mist.
“Infinite heavens,” she gasps. At first, I think it’s because of the disgusting job she’s put herself through, but when I dare a glance at her, I realize her skin has faded to a shade of light blue.
A sign I read about in one of the tomes on elven history and magic.
An older one, covered in dust and missing many pages, but the side effect of using magic with no sustainable force to draw from results in extreme fatigue and, in some cases, death.
With this small display of magic, she’s overexerted herself.
I’m almost too slow, but I manage to catch her before she falls to the hard floor. Her hair, freshly braided and darker than it was before, falls over my forearm as I catch her with the left half of my body.
She begins panting, her skin slick with sweat.
If I’d known using magic here would drain her like this… No, I tell myself. She’s here now, and I can fix this. I just need to get the damned fish.
I call for Bernadette, and not a moment later, she appears in the doorway. Her small eyes widen at the girl in my arms, then at me. I know her pointed look isn’t judgmental. It’s curious and questioning, and…worried?
“Ronan explained your imminent departure to us, Rami. I can take care of this one from here. Sir Marchus Haddock is also stationed to watch her on your command, Your Highness. All is accounted for here. Please, be safe and do not worry. She will be fine.” A sparkle in her eye tells me she knows exactly what to do, and the heat rushes from me.
Ether is light, so I easily maneuver her onto Bernadette’s shoulder.
As they leave the room, my worry slides away.
Then I remember the bucket.
But when I turn to find it, it’s gone. A small trail of droplets winds toward the door.
If there’s anyone I can trust wholeheartedly, it’s Bear.
I smile as food is wheeled into my room, rations arranged for us to select from for our travels.
No doubt an order from the king. I make haste in choosing the lightest and most filling confectioneries, like bread, frosted cakes, and scones.
I also swipe three apples from the cart before leaving my room.
Ronan is already waiting outside, a fist to his chest and his body creased into a bow.
He quirks an eyebrow at me, and a smirk pinches his cheek.
“Let’s go fishing.”