Chapter 9 #2
When we arrived in my quarters I excused myself to wash up in the bathroom, hastily grabbing a pile of garments from my wardrobe on the way.
I peeled off my soaked clothes, letting them fall heavily to the tile.
I then dipped into the lukewarm water in the tub, scrubbing my hair hurriedly beneath it, conscious that the King was waiting for me just outside my door.
Once I had washed away the grit and grime, I rubbed my skin dry with a towel and ran a comb through my tresses. I winced as it snagged on the knots that had formed when I dropped into the lake like a stone.
Returning to the pile of garments on the floor, I pulled on a woolen shift and dark overdress, lacing the bodice down the front.
Once I was dressed, I exited the washroom to find Mordric lounging in a chair by the fire, flipping through one of the tomes that Enhart had tasked me with studying.
This particular volume detailed the mechanics behind defensive psychal magic, something that I evidently was not very good at.
I dawdled by the washroom door, unsure how to act with the King of Valen in my bedchamber. I supposed that anyone else might look awkward idling alone in the chambers of someone they barely knew, but this was his domain, like all else, and he could never look out of place.
He placed the book face down on the table, turning his black eyes to me. “I hope Enhart didn’t frighten you off,” he said.
I smiled. “I’m more stubborn than he realizes.”
“Excellent,” he replied, coming to his feet. “I actually came to look for you because I wanted to borrow you for the rest of the night.”
“Really?” I asked, my heart skipping a beat.
Despite his request at the solstice to call on me, we hadn’t spent time alone since.
He’d asked after me plenty, often stopping me in the corridors to inquire about my training, and he’d even invited me to dine with him and a handful of his friends one evening this week, but I’d been seated at the opposite end of the table beside a boisterous vampire lord who feigned sympathy—unconvincingly—at my apparently heartbreaking upbringing in the Outlands.
Something he’d learned from the Duchess of Altwater, of course.
The lord spent the rest of the evening talking about himself, only ever pausing to take concerningly long swigs of wine. I’d stolen glances at Mordric as the evening went on, my heart fluttering when I caught him staring back at me more than once.
“Indeed,” Mordric said, offering me his arm. “I thought we might venture off the grounds this evening.”
“Sounds lovely.”
He helped me into a deep blue coat with a fur trim and I held my breath as his fingers brushed the nape of my neck.
Heart pounding, I steeled myself before folding my damp hair into its hood.
Leaving through the main doors without an escort, we hiked up the winding path that led to a thick tangle of trees on the eastern edge of the grounds.
The crescent moon lit our path, the bare branches of the trees waving in the bitterly cold wind and casting shadows around us.
I had never felt at ease in these woods, the few times I’d ventured into them, but it was different by Mordric’s side. Safe. The sentiment was new to me.
After some time, the light steadily grew.
I glanced up, stifling a gasp. Chandeliers hung from the trees above our heads, their crystal skeletons clinking together like wind chimes.
Through the thick tangle of branches, I spied a small clearing.
A table sat in its middle, covered with a white lace cloth and adorned with flickering beeswax candles and holly branches.
Fire pits flanked either side of the table, presumably for my warmth rather than the King’s.
“What do you think?” asked Mordric, beaming.
“It’s breathtaking,” I said.
“I originally intended to call on you on a far less trying evening, but perhaps this is for the best and will take the sting out of my brother’s actions. His style of teaching is a little …” He trailed off before settling on, “Brusque.”
My pulse quickened as he pulled out my chair, waving me into it. Beneath the table, I fiddled with the edge of the tablecloth in a pathetic attempt to calm my nerves.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, settling into the chair opposite me, “I can tell that it’s working.”
“What is?” I asked.
“The training,” he said with a wink. “Your wards are strong.”
I flushed, recognizing the cool imprint of a vampire’s will tapping against my mind. “Thank you.”
A waiter materialized as if from nowhere, lifting silver cloches from our plates.
My stomach growled at the sight of roast beef smothered in gravy, with leafy greens in a tangy vinaigrette on the side.
The waiter popped open a bottle of red wine, tipping a generous serving into my glass.
When I took a sip, it fizzed over my tongue.
“Sparkling red,” explained Mordric, grinning at the confusion that was plain on my face. “A specialty of the priestesses of the Florin Isles.”
The isles were a tiny, self-governing nation that lay outside of Valen, somewhere in the middle of the Great Sea. “Have you ever been?” I asked, still marveling at the unusual taste.
“Many times,” he said. “It’s unlike anywhere in Valen. The beaches are covered in black sand, and it’s warm year-round.”
“Sounds magical,” I replied, remembering the cold, icy water of the lake only an hour ago.
“You should join me on my next visit,” he said over the rim of his glass.
“I never thought I’d leave Wealdstone, much less journey all the way to the Florin Isles,” I admitted.
Mordric grinned, entertaining my many questions about his travels as the waiter served us plate after plate of some of the finest food I had ever seen.
Sheep’s milk cheese threaded with delicate ribbons of saffron, pears poached in red wine, green grapes plump with tangy juice.
He was surprisingly easy to talk to, I found.
So much so that I allowed myself to choke down the niggling fear that I didn’t deserve any of this.
Stranger things had happened at court than an Outlander catching the King’s attention, I supposed.
Although if they had, I had yet to hear of them.
The nobles were more commonly known for using and casting aside the common folk with whom they crossed paths.
“It’s quite a big world out there,” he said as the waiter cleared his plate, replacing it with a crystal glass of spearmint sorbet. “I have a feeling you’ll enjoy exploring it as an official adviser to the King of Valen.” He raised his glass. “To new adventures.”
I mirrored him. “To new adventures.”
After we had cleaned our plates, Mordric offered me his hand again, but led me away from the path that had brought us to the clearing. “We’re not going back to the castle?” I asked, confused.
“Not yet. I want to show you something first.”
I trudged after him into the darkness, unable to see more than two feet ahead of me.
We walked in silence until I caught sight of a guard leaning against a gnarled oak.
Another stood not far from him. I blinked.
It was unusual for a guard to wander this far from the palace. “What is this place?” I whispered.
The guards bowed to Mordric. “Welcome back, Your Majesty.” They ushered us forward to a sight that made my jaw drop.
An iron enclosure sat before us, holding what appeared to be two winged lizards the size of small horses.
The creatures squawked as they grappled clumsily with one another, the sound so grating that I nearly clapped my hands over my ears.
The larger of the two reared onto its clawed feet, its wings fanning out behind it.
I followed the sharp edges of the bone with my eye.
The wing was held together by a parchment-thin membrane, sporting a single, fatally sharp hook at the frontmost tip.
It reminded me of the bats who roosted in the courtyard behind the cellars.
“Wyverns,” I whispered. I had never seen them up close like this.
Mordric grinned. “What do you think?”
I watched the wyverns in awe as they played roughly, snapping their jaws at each other like street dogs. Their leathery hides were greenish gray in color, not the deep russet that I had often seen depicted in books and paintings.
My head snapped up as a hair-raising screech sounded above us.
Mordric laughed, wrapping an arm around me to pull me in close.
A wyvern nearly three times the size of those in the pen descended upon them.
“Her hatchlings,” he explained without my having to ask the question.
Her squealing offspring beat their wings as she descended, sending clouds of dust into the air.
I watched through splayed fingers as she dropped a mangled sheep carcass from her talons before drifting to the earth with remarkable grace for her size.
“It’s the Yarrows,” observed one of the guards, as the small wyverns trilled before diving into their meal.
“What?” I asked Mordric.
“Do you see the blue chalk on its pelt?” He pointed to the sheep, which was now being feverishly ripped apart by the hatchlings.
“The mating pair primarily prey on deer and elk in the forest, but every once in a while a farmer’s flock will catch their attention.
The crown has an agreement in place with the farmers in the surrounding areas, like the Yarrows, to ensure they are compensated if the wyverns make a meal out of their livestock. ”
“How many are there?” I asked, scanning the skies for another.
“Just the two hatchlings in this brood, along with the female and her mate, who tends to spend most of his time elsewhere,” he explained. “We were hoping there’d be more this season, but wyverns are notoriously difficult to breed.”
He turned to one of the guards. “How many hatchlings do we have in the other clutches?”