23
Raiden
Zephyr was returning today. Hector-Brown-Nose-Read had tattled on their expedition to rescue Kora, and Raiden’s father had commenced the week-long journey down from Skybell Castle.
Some pirate king Hector was. Running to the heir of Haizea’s gift the moment no one followed his orders—which was all the time.
No one respected Hector’s claim as Pirate King, especially not Raiden.
Raiden stormed the sunset-toned hallway from the kitchens to the throne room, where his father no doubt expected them to be.
Reminding them all the power he wielded as Haizea’s most blessed one.
Throwing his title around, as a stark reminder that Raiden lost his own to Aerion.
A small current of air blasted from Raiden—a release of frustration, rattling the portraits lining the walls, the windows and sconces creaking.
He’d been the heir apparent, the First Prince of Galen.
Now, he was nothing.
Aerion had risen to the title after what happened, and Skylar was appointed general.
He tried to not let his differences from his siblings bother him.
Or what he’d done in the past. From how he looked different, and that his power had manifested differently, sometimes having a mind of its own.
How he could speak into the minds of others .
. . not just Kora’s. It was a power not seen before, and one the Windward patriarch had decided to keep secret.
His mother had adored it, frequently reminiscing how, as a baby and toddler, Raiden’s garbled thoughts entered his parents’ minds. She’d loved the connection, whereas his father saw an opportunity to exploit . . . but also something fearful to hide.
As the throne room loomed ahead, Raiden dusted flour from his hands, a small smile playing with his lips. He’d spent the morning baking, creating his next sweet surprise for the Huntress’ growing appetite—mini filo pastries with pistachio cream filling and drenched in syrup.
Apparently, the sweeter the better when it came to her tastes. The weight crushing his shoulders lifted an inch as their bond fortified in the back of his mind. Good. It meant she was getting stronger, recovering like he’d hoped.
“Rai!” a bubbly voice rang, followed by the slapping of footsteps against the tiled floor. Raiden stilled and sighed, his head hanging.
“Sirona.” Raiden pivoted as the healer rushed down the hallway. Her long, wild blonde hair flowed down her back as she juggled a stack of parchment within her spindly arms. Sirona’s beige skirts tangled with her silk slippers and she tripped, the parchment flying from her grasp.
Raiden reached out, his power stopping her fall as invisible hands of wind cushioned her body. Sirona’s honey-brown cheeks heated as they helped her back to her feet, her wide, dark eyes blinking as Raiden approached, his brow furrowed.
“What do you need, Sirona?”
The healer opened her mouth, her eyelashes working double time as her gaze swept over Raiden’s body, hovering at his arms before dipping down. His jaw clenched as she bit her lower lip.
“I have the report on the patient. Erick Cadell.” Sirona’s bubbly voice lowered along with her gaze, and she knelt to collect her parchments.
“Tell someone who cares. Tell Aerion. I have no interest in the prisoner.” Raiden also knelt to assist Sirona. Her rich scent caused his nose to wrinkle, an old memory burning the back of his mind.
“Prisoner?” Sirona frowned, tucking her long hair behind her ears. “I wasn’t informed of this.”
Raiden sighed again. “He’s a prisoner to me. The moment he recovers, I’m sending him straight to the dungeons.”
As Sirona straightened, a single piece of parchment stuck out from her stack, the scrawly handwriting familiar from the notes she used to write him. Raiden’s heart jumped as a name caught his gaze.
“What’s the report on Kora?” His voice cracked slightly, his skin cooling unpleasantly as Sirona’s face slackened, her frown smoothing out into detachment.
“I was ordered to deliver hers immediately to Aerion.” Sirona skirted around Raiden’s large form and his arm flung out, blocking her path.
She sucked in a breath, her gaze level with Raiden’s arm.
It travelled up the length, pausing at his jaw, before meeting his gaze.
“Or I could show it to you, for the right price. I’m sure you wouldn’t want your beloved to know about your antics whilst she’s been gone. ”
Raiden recoiled. “Sirona, that was a drunken night. We were both lonely, and you were with that guy, whatshisname?” His heart thundered, blackness creeping in at the edges of his vision as he fought to dampen his power thrashing wildly within him.
“Chiron,” Sirona whispered quietly. “He . . . left me . . . a few months ago.”
Raiden’s chest tightened unbearably, and he inhaled a shallow breath as a light sweat broke out on the nape of his neck. He couldn’t afford to mess a single thing up with Kora. Her recovery was vital. Not just to him, but to the world.
The tryst with Sirona had been years ago.
Years of the suffocating Mist, years of no sunlight, no escape.
All hope lost across the entirety of Galen.
Suffering within the dark, with only each other.
He’d been convinced the visions of Kora’s life were just that—visions, dreams, a mirage.
That talking to her had just been his mind coping with the loss of the life he’d worked towards.
Sirona smiled, the curve of her lips promising cold dread. “I remember you enjoying it, a lot. I remember your hands all over me—all of your hands.” The purr of her voice sickened him.
“Sirona, I’m sorry about you and Chiron. I had no idea about him until after. I felt awful, really. But we’ve been amicable for years, why the sudden change?”
Raiden stepped away, creating as much space as the hallway would allow between him and Sirona before the walls collapsed in on him and he’d blow this castle to pieces.
His power waned, the tightness in his chest threatening to cut off his air.
His shoulders rolled and he shoved his trembling hands into his pockets.
Sirona’s eyes flashed, her lips puckering as she pondered his question.
“She’s a feisty thing, you know,” Sirona crooned as she slowly walked away, her hips swishing.
Blatantly ignoring his question. “She doesn’t remind me at all of the one before.
Looks like you lost everything you knew, Rai. Just like me.”
An hour had passed within the throne room and Zephyr still hadn’t arrived. The anticipation was palpable, the atmosphere within the domed chamber thickening until beads of grog-infused sweat shone on Hector’s wrinkly forehead.
Raiden paced before the dais, unable to stand still as the tension wrapped itself like a vice around every muscle in his body.
Sirona was potential cause for trouble. She might seem bubbly and innocent, but beneath her healing nature was a sinister darkness that thrived on selfish desires.
He hadn’t discovered her wily ways until after their night together.
At the time, she’d been a small, healing light within the never-ending despair of the Mist. Death rates had been high, a long list of missing names growing each day. One night in the Lagoon had turned into several, until Raiden had given in to her warmth, welcoming the presence of another soul.
The next day, guilt had struck. For Kordelia, but also Chiron, when Sirona revealed she was already a taken female.
If Raiden had known, he’d never have welcomed her touch.
She’d claimed they had issues, but Raiden had frequently spotted them together on the promenade, all sunny smiles and affectionate groping.
He didn’t hold their night together against her.
It was clearly something they both had needed.
But now Sirona was interested again, their acquaintance-level friendship dangerously being pushed into lust on her side.
And she’d visited Kora . . . the healers had a report on her. It could only mean bad news.
And no one had told Raiden.
His gaze whipped to Aerion, who stood tall beside their father’s throne. His dark, doe-eyed stare softened as he met Raiden’s internal panic.
“Did you see the report on Kora?”
Aerion nodded once, his jaw tense. His red headband had been discarded, his wild curls tied back as he bore the finest Galen royal attire. A light cream tunic and trousers with golden and orange ornate stitching, finished with a purple sash across his chest.
“What did it say?”
The tension flowed out of Raiden like a current, and Aerion flexed his tattooed hands.
Raiden steadied a breath, the reminder of those tattoos—what they meant—branding his soul.
Of those who had departed this world too soon.
Aerion ignored Raiden’s pressing questions as he pulled at the collar of his tunic.
On the other side of two thrones carved from moonstone, furnished with purple velvet, stood Skylar.
The sight of her in royal attire was astounding for anyone who truly knew her.
A sweeping gown matching Aerion’s suit, adorned with diamonds in the pattern of air currents, and a small matching tiara nestled on her braided hair.
Raiden paused. He was no longer required to wear the family robes, or to stand on the dais for a royal’s welcome, as they’d done for generations.
His attire was similar to the pirate lords cloistered on the left side of the chamber, surrounded by their closest pirate confidants.
On the other side stood an array of advisors to the Windward family, some healers—thankfully not including Sirona—and high-ranking officials, hand-selected by Skylar from their army and navy.
Between the two groups stood Raiden, wearing a path into the white carpet leading from the grand, sleek metal doors to the dais.
The walls were white within here, compared to the sunset-toned castle.
The floor was still a blinding pearlescent tile, with violet rivulets running through it.
Windows stretched across the circular walls, leading up to a domed ceiling, with the most intricate golden detailing it made Raiden dizzy whenever he looked at it.
Lingering behind the dais was Aryn, almost undetectable if it wasn’t for the giant fucking longbow permanently strapped to his damned back.
“Why are you here, skildaj?”
Aryn’s ethereal gaze shifted, gold lining the hazel iris almost as a threat.
Raiden shuddered as his stare bore into him.
His power at Mossfell Castle had been otherworldly, disintegrating Barron’s magic with his bare hands.
Aryn still refused to divulge his power, the only sign he possessed it in his fluctuating eyes.
But Barron’s magic . . . that was also unique.
Something not of this world. Something not gifted by the gods.
He refused to believe Barron’s magic had amplified Kora’s, allowing her to speak to his mind.
No one could ever reply to Raiden’s gift—no one, except Kora.
It’d been glorious, to know he wasn’t alone.
It felt different with her, like a lifeline tied between their minds.
Even with Kordelia, he hadn’t experienced such a connection.
Except Kora’s was riddled with ice and frost, and something darker the deeper he travelled in that void.
A cold like no other, worse than death, worse than the journey to Umbra.
Aryn’s eyes slid to Hector, narrowing slightly before returning to Raiden. He jerked his chin once before pointing to the west. Raiden’s brow furrowed.
“What are you on—” The doors flew open, interrupting Raiden’s pacing.
“Who allowed the traitor to return to our blessed land? Erick Cadell must be killed at once!”