Chapter 8
SORROW
The moment your powers emerged, those who loved you carried a pocket of grief and fear for the new you, the Anomaly you were about to become. Tip up that proud chin of yours and never allow them to see how it hurts.
— MRS GLESNI GRACE’S ADVICE FOR MENTORS: THIRD EDITION
There’s something rather hypnotic about the hummingbird. Feathers, iridescent, shimmer in the summer heat as the tiny creature flitters from a plum fuchsia to the dusky pink honeysuckle. But I can’t focus as it shudders before me. Not when I know who stands beneath the rose archway.
The days at Bronzehold were merging into one grey mess.
But my dreams allowed me to track the passage of time.
This was the fourth night I found myself amongst the untamed beauty of the bower.
That little, unspoken spot where Matthias and I would always meet.
I resist the urge to turn at the scuff of a boot, the tread of achingly familiar footsteps.
Rational Sorrow understands this is a dream.
That the hand sending sparks through my veins as it slides from the nape of my neck to the base of my spine is an illusion created by my lonely mind.
But as our fingers lace together, and his other hand gently grips my chin and turns me to face him, I push reality to the darkest corners of my mind.
Logical Sorrow would demand answers, would coat her words with the bitterness she carries in her shattered heart.
And as Matthias smiles that smile that makes me tremble quicker than the hummingbird’s wings, I don’t want to waste these dreams on reason. I want—
His lips brush mine, softer than the breeze amongst the petals. But I don’t close my eyes. I can’t, for fear that when I open them, he’ll be gone. My soul is far too bruised and tattered to bear this nightly loss of the man I love.
He moves back, his green eyes narrowing as he looks at me and I know he’s about to talk.
Every night he makes some effort to speak.
I shake my head, place my hand over his mouth.
For a heartbeat, resignation flickers through his green eyes, a weak smile playing on the corner of his mouth and he nips my fingers.
I giggle and reach forward, one hand sliding around his back and the other round his neck.
I wonder if he knows he’s the only person alive who’s ever elicited that ridiculous noise from my lips?
He tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear, smirking as I lean into his touch.
Grabbing my hand, he lays a slow, lazy kiss to the inside of my wrist, those emerald eyes locked on mine and a playful glint sparks within as I gasp. I arch my brow as he presses his mouth harder against my skin, his mouth moving reverently up my arm. My core bursts, warmth spreading through me.
His fingers trail down the back of my neck and I shiver.
A chuckle rumbles through him and I bite gently on his bottom lip.
Damn this man and his arrogance. Flames ignite under the warmth of soft hands roaming across my hips.
Each bruise and ache pulsing through my heart eases as lips, soft and pleading, press against the hollow of my throat.
My back arches as my name escapes his lips in a moan and I reach for him, track my fingers across the down of his stomach, smiling as he reacts to my touch.
The embers that only my husband can stoke flare within as his mouth claims mine.
Matthias’s kisses grow deeper, more ragged as his hands slip over the pulse in my neck.
He trembles, shakes as though he knows our time here is running out.
He grips harder, groaning as though his hold can deny fate and keep me with him.
No. I close my eyes tighter, press myself harder against him.
My fingers entwine with his hair, as though my will alone can keep us here.
It’s getting harder to breathe as his hands start squeezing…
‘Can’t trust me.’
A tongue, sloppy and stinking of raw meat, dragged across my face.
Grimacing, I opened my eyes, meeting the amber gaze of the wolf.
A knowing glint flashed through as I pushed myself onto my elbows.
Pablo whined, shoved his snout into my face as the scent of lavender remained in the air.
It’s just the posy under your pillow, I reminded myself.
Skye placed it there, convinced I’d sleep better.
Pablo yipped, his paw on the wool blankets, dragging them away, exposing me to the cold.
‘Fine.’ I tossed my legs over the side, shivering as my bare feet met the floor. ‘But I’m starting to wonder if it is truly time to trade you in for a stick.’
The wolf turned, giving me a look that had me mumbling promises to get him an extra steak as an apology.
‘Sorrow?’ I jolted, casting the lingering memories of Matthias and the bower from my mind.
Enfys narrowed her gaze, jutted her chin in the direction of the throne room.
I cleared my throat, sat straighter. I turned to face the room heaving with advisors seeking favour from their new queen.
Perhaps if the advisors gave her the briefest opportunity to open her mouth and speak, they’d fare better.
But as my blurry gaze scanned the simpering pricks vying for attention, I realised that was never going to happen.
We sat around a huge circular table, Asher standing behind me as we still couldn’t be certain those loyal to Romero wouldn’t lodge a dagger in my spine.
All twenty seats around the table were taken.
Extra chairs had been brought in and others stood against the walls or blocked the light from the windows.
I trailed my fingers through Pablo’s fur as the courtiers offered guards, money, weapons and, worryingly, the services of Anomalies they’d bought who were apparently chomping at the bit at the thought of laying down their lives to die for their kingdom.
Matthias may have the innate ability to make astounding mistakes, but at least the Anomalies in his service had opted to be there.
‘I haven’t been fortunate enough to purchase the services of any Anomalies myself,’ a tall woman called from the back. ‘But I do have some Vyrium-imbued weapons. They’re priceless heirlooms, but for our new queen, I’m willing to sacrifice them.’
‘Thank…’ Enfys’s voice trailed off as more shouts bellowed.
Apparently, every fucker in Drufaera had a priceless weapon they simply couldn’t bear to be parted with, but for our queen?
I cleared my throat and met Enfys’s wide-eyed stare.
I offered her a weak smile as she sat straighter, turning back to her subjects and nodding vigorously.
She looked so much like Mama right now. Mama, who’d sit beside Romero, her elegant, bejewelled hands lying primly on her fine skirts, her face a mask of interest and concern.
Mama never once spoke in those meetings.
These courtiers were in for a shock when they learnt Enfys carried the fury of Romero beneath her angelic exterior.
I leaned in to whisper words of encouragement.
The sooner she stood up and spoke, the sooner this meeting would end and I could go in search of the possible Deviant I’d discovered the other night.
He’d remained stubbornly difficult to find since I’d realised he carried a pair of gifts in his blood.
I moved closer, sweat beading on my brow as the body heat of the room intensified, when my skin prickled.
I halted, and Enfys raised a questioning brow as I turned.
Lurking in the doorway, just behind a Lord whose name I’d never bothered to memorise, the hazy form of the eternally inebriated mariner swayed.
He raised a blurry crystal glass before downing whatever foul liquid it contained, and my heart skipped.
How he had managed to charm his way into this meeting, I’d no idea, but I gripped Pablo tighter.
The way the mariner had sniffed me the other night? His questions about my father? Despite the sweltering heat of the room, I shivered. But if he was a Deviant? Then I had to swallow every retort on the edge of my tongue and sweeten him up.
My own father was dead – Romero had delighted in giving me the details of how he’d died protecting me and Mama.
He was a man whose name was forbidden knowledge.
I squinted at the slouching figure across the room.
I looked nothing like Mama. Enfys was almost a mirror to the woman who’d birthed us, with her golden hair and bright blue eyes.
It was clear I resembled my papa, who’d be in his early forties if he lived.
I squinted at the mariner, a flash of annoyance rising through me as I tried to gauge how many years the man had existed.
The man who’d brought us to Drufaera had thick dark hair and glowered at me with deep brown eyes, but surely that was where the similarity ended?
A knot writhed within. My papa was dead. Why the interest in his name? There was so much we didn’t know about the sailor, but his ability to weave a drunken bawdy tale and apparently save my life had earned him a place amongst the lords and ladies of Drufaera. I was missing something. I had to be.
I leaned back, catching Asher’s attention, and tilting my chin. He lowered himself to his knees, his eyes darting for any sign of danger.
‘How did he get in here?’ I asked.
Asher’s brows furrowed. ‘I get you’ve lost your glasses, Sorrow, but it’s fairly packed in here. You’ll have to be specific.’
I tutted. ‘The sailor, the drunk one.’
An amused twitch lifted the corner of his mouth. ‘Well, we still owe him a lot of money. We did steal his boat and order him to sail us here.’
‘I get that, but why is he here? In this room, listening to war plans?’
‘Because he saved you when I wasn’t there. I don’t know who I can trust in here. The more eyes on your back the—’