Chapter Eighteen
Antony
Iwait for Thyra to recoil at the sight of Victor’s horrific scars.
It doesn’t matter how strong her stomach is, or even how compassionate she believes herself to be.
The right side of my brother’s face, along with his right shoulder, upper right chest, and upper arm, is a horrific mess of melted flesh and bone that would shock even the most hardened warrior. It’s only by some miracle that he retained full use of his right arm.
“Ember Fire,” she gasps, and I’m not surprised she recognizes its effects. Nothing burns quite like it.
I can’t keep the anger from my voice. “An assassin sent by the last Ember King is responsible for this. He thought Victor was me. An easy mistake since Victor was taller than me even when we were boys.”
The corners of Thyra’s mouth turn down, and a deep furrow forms in her brow as she struggles within the protective suit. “Get this off me!”
I assume she needs to throw up. It’s a natural response, but its impact on Victor can’t be dismissed. He retreats back into the shadows, and it triggers my anger. More so at myself than at Thyra. I chose to bring her here, after all.
My movements are sharp as I unclip the front of the suit, vastly different from how I buttoned her into it, but damn, the darkness got the better of me then, the alluring scent of her body nearly overwhelming me.
The coat is so big that once it slides off her shoulders, it crumples to the floor around her feet, forming a mound that reaches all the way up to her knees.
She shoves down on each side, pushing the leather to the floor, and I expect her to run for whatever receptacle she believes she can vomit into.
My forehead creases when she approaches Victor, at the same time wrenching up the right sleeve of her tunic, baring her right shoulder for him to see.
A melted scar cuts across her upper right arm, fully visible now that she’s lifted her sleeve.
She stops at the edge of the light, only two paces away from where Victor has also paused.
Cautiously, I watch them both. The fact that she has a scar troubles me. Surely, her father’s Sight would have given him the chance to prevent it. Unless he was not so ‘kind’ as she thought he was.
“This was the edge of a single flame,” she says to Victor. “It hurt so badly I wished for death.”
Victor’s lips are pursed. I’m not sure if Thyra can make out his reactions within the shadows, but I can.
A wary light has entered his eyes, and his tension is palpable.
Many times, he’s been taunted by false compassion, only to be ridiculed as soon as his trust was gained.
It doesn’t matter that he’s my brother or next in line for the throne.
He lives in the forges because our mother can’t stand to look at him.
Her attitude toward him has spread like poison.
Thyra lifts her chin, defiant as she asks him, “How did you find the strength to survive?”
Victor’s expression softens, and the tension eases from his shoulders. “My brother commanded me to live.”
I did.
I fucking told him.
When he begged me to put a stop to the pain, to end it, I responded with rage, ordering him with all the authority of my then eleven years, to endure it.
I told myself my resolve was calculated. Even when Victor was a boy, he showed more talent with melding iron than any other Iron Fae. His control of all metals was beyond his years.
The kingdom needed him. Our people needed him.
But more than that… I needed him.
He was my protector, and then I became his.
I haven’t stopped commanding him since. I wouldn’t stop, especially when the cruelty he suffered moved past physical agony and came in the form of insidious verbal barbs inflicted by condescending fae, spurred on by our mother.
“How old were you when it happened?” Thyra asks.
“Ten,” he replies, the shadows around his eyes returning.
“I was thirteen when I was struck.” She grimaces. “I was told the scar would worsen as I grew, and it did. Claiming more of my shoulder over time. It still aches sometimes.”
A swirl of anger forms in the pit of my stomach as I consider the burn mark on her skin.
I can’t stand the thought that Ember fire touched her before I could.
“It’s worse in the cold,” Victor says, his forehead puckering. “It seems strange, but winters are painful. Summers are better.”
“That’s the same for me. The cold makes the burn more noticeable. I was lucky to grow up on the west coast. Winter was never too harsh there, not even in the north.” Thyra pauses, then says, out of the blue. “This is your forge.”
Victor grins, the perfect side of his face lighting up, the monstrous side stretching. “My brother may disagree, but I like to think so.”
More like his fucking cage, but he’s found ways to cope, I suppose, immersing himself in his work here.
“I don’t disagree,” I mutter, my voice gruffer than I intended.
Thyra’s pale blue eyes are piercing as she casts her gaze at me. Then back to Victor. “The king needs his armor mended.”
Victor steps fully into the light, no longer shuffling. “So he does.”
I scowl at both of them.
Victor approaches quickly, one big hand landing on my shoulder. “You’re unpracticed at concealing your emotions without your armor, brother. This needs to be rectified immediately.”
“I didn’t realize I needed to conceal anything in your presence,” I snap back, unsettled by his warning.
I thought I’d mastered my facial expressions long ago. But then, it’s been a long time since my face was uncovered in front of anyone.
I smother a sigh. If Thyra thought I brought her here solely to fix my armor, she’ll soon discover she was mistaken.
Ignoring for now the unavoidable task ahead of me, I point to my face and then to my shoulder, indicating to Victor where the steel needs mending, although the broken helmet is obvious. “Here. And back here.”
“Let me see.” Victor steps closer while Thyra moves aside, allowing me to present my back to my brother, leaving me facing his workbench, which sits against the back wall.
I’m met with silence.
It’s broken only by Thyra’s soft footfalls as she relocates herself to the left of the workbench, where I can see her.
When I tilt my head at her action, she arches her eyebrows.
But of course. I told her to remain in front of me at all times. It looks like she’s willing to play my game for now.
Once she understands the real reason I brought her here, she may not be so willing.