Chapter 20 #2
“I see you’ve failed to bring me my tea,” he says with a bitterness that sends shivers along my arms. I can’t help but flinch when he growls, “Look at me , young one. Face your king.”
I take in an unsteady breath, lifting my head to face the king every magical being fears, and when I face him, I genuinely don’t know how I’ve managed to live in the castle, unperturbed, for as long as I have.
Without my magic, the human king could dispatch me any time he wishes.
If he knows who I am, or, rather, what I am, would he delay like this?
A hope kindles in my heart, which helps strengthen my legs.
The silver-streaked, brassy hair atop his head swooshes above his carved face, and a tall, bejeweled crown rests over his forehead.
Darkness fills his almost-black eyes. His mouth hides behind a chiseled, graying beard.
Broad shoulders are decorated in layers of robes, all dark colors—black and purple and red.
But I don’t grasp his massiveness until he leans away slightly and glowers down his nose at me as though I’m a pest he intends to crush.
It’s all I can do to keep my breathing steady. To stop my heart from leaping out of my chest. To cool the flow of fear bending through my veins, freezing my arms into place so they don’t instinctively go to my thigh, where my knife should be.
“That’s right,” he chuckles, inkily. “Did you honestly think you could slip into my castle without me knowing?”
I don’t reply. I don’t even shake or nod my head.
I’m sure my heart has turned to ice.
“Pitiful creature. I thought you were more…intelligent.” He rises from his throne, making his way slowly, intimidatingly, down the steps.
He stops mere feet from me. I dare not look at him.
I don’t need to see him to know he is at least thrice my height.
How can a human be so massive? It’s a wonder I endure this much immense hatred and terror at once.
He knows I’m an elf.
Somehow, he knows.
“I brought you here for the exact reason you’ve been sneaking around now.
It was no coincidence that you stumbled into Ramiel.
You were never to be sacrificed to our ancestors.
You’re meant for something more. Don’t you wonder why no one has questioned the way you stand out so obviously from the other maids?
Why would a servant receive a guard to protect her?
” His eyes angle at me to savor whatever expression I’m making.
“Ramiel has much to learn. I can’t keep protecting him from the wary eyes around him. ”
“Protecting him?” I almost scoff, but the tingling feeling of impending death reaches, like a shadow, around my neck, restricting my breath. A thick finger reaches toward my face. I freeze as he runs it along my jaw with a disturbing delicateness that makes me clench my teeth.
“Such a pretty thing,” he says with a sneer. He grips my neck, and the air rushes from my lungs. “How sad it must be, unable to live up to your full potential. Subjugated to the curses cast upon you.”
He bends down to my level, releasing my throat just enough for me to breathe. I don’t mean to, but I gasp for air, feeling the hands of death stronger, now.
“Don’t think for a shred of a second that you have the upper hand here, pitiful thing. With one word, my court mages will separate your head from your neck, and no one will learn of it.”
At the mention of his clergy, the shadows between windows and in the corners of the room seem to move.
I go rigid, frozen by fear or obedience or recognition that he will kill me without hesitation, I’m unsure.
His eyes bore into mine, and though his lips are hidden behind his beard, I know he’s grinning.
“Ah, yes. Onyx. My favorite color.” His hand tightens once more, and I gasp for breath.
Just as he hisses the words, though, he releases me.
He points to a long table at the far wall. Massaging my neck with two fingers, I squint at the table and the items set politely in a line at its center.
A white porcelain teapot
A white porcelain teacup.
A white porcelain plate, whose pristine surface has been covered with thin tea leaves.
“Bring me the perfect cup of tea,” he says with a grin, “or forfeit your life to me, right now.”
If I’m ever to return to my people, to save them from the king, I cannot balk now.
I step away, glad I’d heeded Bernadette’s advice. I thank the fear that drenches my heart in its muck. If not for either, I wouldn’t be as confident as I am now.
My strides lead me hastily to the table, but my hands are steady as I measure the leaves into the teacup, pour the steaming water from the teapot, and wait for the swirling steam to weaken before I take the plate, slide the cup into the center, and carefully deliver it to the king, who hasn’t moved an inch.
If my efficiency impresses him, he betrays nothing.
He purses his lips, considering the cup and saucer before he brings the tiny teacup to his mouth and takes the smallest of sips. His eyes close briefly before he sets the cup with a clink onto the plate.
“You’re smart to fear me, Ether.” He paces around me, the heaviness of his body almost inaudible as he walks on the marble flooring. My pulse pounds in my ears, drowning him out. “But you’re naive to hate me.”
I inhale as much as possible, savoring the sharp air while I can.
Have I failed? Is this the end?
“Tell me, young elf. Do you hate me?”
Yes.
My jaw tightens. I can’t tell him the truth, or I will be slaughtered for treason. Perhaps my mere presence in the throne room is reason enough for my execution.
I don’t want to die. Not here, not by his hand. I simply must lie. Or, at least, I have to convince myself I don’t hate him with my whole being.
I give it a try.
Ah, yes. He’s not all bad. He’s the father of the prince I’ve sworn to teach, after all. Ramiel is nothing like his father, but maybe the king is a little like his son. This is true, it must be true.
Hatred toward this man is impossible, I coax myself.
“No,” I croak, “I don’t hate you, Your Majesty.”
He’s staring at me again, his grin crinkling his eyes with pure joy at the torture he’s putting me through.
I want to scream when his silver eyebrow twitches upward in victory.
I am not relieved at my successful ruse. He believes me, this much I can tell. He’d be dumb not to, especially when he knows what lying does to my people.
“Then you will happily do as I say,” he resigns with a turn. He leaves me in silence as he ascends the steps to his throne. In the time it takes him to turn and seat himself once more, my heart has done exhaustive gymnastics. “Do you know why I brought you to the castle?”
I don’t respond. My answer is frighteningly different from his, and I can’t bring myself to say the damning word Ramiel had implied: sacrifice . The word simmers in my head, stubbornly repeating itself.
Ramiel had been right. He’d warned me, he’d saved me. And what have I done for him? I’ve sent him away so his father can pound me into the ground. The risk he’s taken in bringing me here? A waste.
While my thoughts spiral, the king props his elbow on the arm of his throne and rests his chin on the heel of his hand.
He disdains me with midnight eyes. “One by one, I will have all of your people killed. In one way or another.” His irises glimmer from the colorful light bending through the windows.
Its beauty is lost in his darkness. “But we can postpone the inevitable, if you agree to make a deal with me.”
I stare dumbly at him, my body as still as a gutted beast.
A chuckle rips from his lips, my silence the source of his amusement.
“It would seem that bastard has brought you here to teach him the ways of magic and swordplay. As luck would have it, he’s away right now.
Which means you’ve not yet had the chance to teach him anything.
” He lifts his head, laces his fingers on his lap, and leans forward.
“He is to slay a dragon in two months’ time.
All you must do is to continue this pitiful display of master-teaching-hopeless-student.
It matters not how you train him, only that you cannot let him succeed during his trial at the Feast of Undying.
He must not ascend the throne. You are to create a disadvantage.
Make it impossible for him to prove himself worthy. ”
The Feast of Undying . That’s the celebration the king holds every ten years, inviting nobles from neighboring kingdoms to celebrate their millennia-old victory over the magical creatures who’ve since been banished to Aldorin. Ramiel hadn’t mentioned this was the event at which he’d be dueling.
And a dragon ? The revered creatures have been known to be extinct for centuries.
The dragons entwining above the doors throughout the castle… The king’s emblem… Could the infamous dragon duo, consecrated as holy beings, still be alive?
No, it can’t be. How pitiful would it be to breed dragons for slaughter and sport, reducing their majesty to that of the animals we slay for food?
As my disdain swells, another question rises to the surface: Why does the king want Ramiel to fail?
My forehead wrinkles in confusion.
“Have I made myself clear?”
I gnaw on my lip. He’s the king, so he can do as he pleases, regardless of the consequences. He’s mercilessly killed before, so what will stop him from doing it again? Why does he need to embarrass his son? Why involve me ? He said it himself. He’ll still kill my people regardless of what I do.
Unless…he somehow knows of the prophecy I’d glimpsed in the ballroom. Can he read the elven language?
No, it disappeared as soon as I read it. Maybe whoever wrote it meant for it to remain a secret, designed for only one set of eyes to read it. Elven eyes.
He pounds an impatient fist against his chair, and the crack that booms around the room makes me flinch.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” I squeak. Then, squaring my shoulders and clearing my throat, I add with my remaining confidence, “But, why must he fail?”
His face darkens further, but there is no blackened magic bending around him like with the mages—he must not have touched the tainted power.
Or perhaps he has magic I cannot see.
“If he does not, your people will pay. And you’ll be their willing audience.”
The warmth leeches from my face.
“Do we have an agreement?”
I have no choice. The correct answer here is “Yes, Your Majesty,” and yet, I find my tongue has stopped working. The roof of my mouth has parched along with select words I’ve stored away for him.
Thankfully, my thoughts are still functional.
I plaster on a smile and say with a flourish, “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Tell no one of this,” he adds with a bellow. “Now leave.”
I don’t hesitate another second. Turning on my heel, I stride out of the throne room and shove past the mages hovering at the entrance. The king’s low growl seems to echo in my ears as I leave, following me all the way to the servants’ quarters.
Marchus shouts something as I enter, but I ignore him. My whole body is numb. Filled with fear, helpless to refuse the king. Ordered to doom my pupil for failure.
Thankfully, Marchus doesn’t follow me inside, and Bernadette doesn’t say a word when I slip under the thin covers of my little servants’ mat.
The scratchy fabric lies over my face as I debate whether my presence here will destroy not only my people but also the fate of the entire kingdom.