Chapter 24 Antony
Chapter Twenty-Four
Antony
Thyra falls silent where she walks ahead of me, taking careful steps down the ivory staircase at the side of the forge tower.
The tension in her shoulders is painful to see, but it’s of my own doing. At least while her back’s to me, I don’t need to face the hollow in her eyes.
The ruby circlet swishes between us, brushing against the top of her knee-high boot on her right side.
It’s a vicious contraption. One of the worst I could have put on her. But nothing short of true cruelty will ensure she stays within my control and safe from Mother’s manipulations.
I remind myself that Thyra’s feelings are of no concern to me.
Her fear of me is what I need.
This feeling of regret swirling in my stomach… It will pass, I’m sure of it.
Below us, the streets of the Starlit City are bustling with markets and stalls. Highborn housing estates are located further to the east, where all of them live in pristine white towers surrounded by glistening ivory lanes.
Until sunset, the city thrives, but once the sun goes down, a hush falls. It will only last a few moments, but for that short time, the entire kingdom will hold its breath until, once again, Mother will prove the strength of her power.
Our current path stretches out past the bustling markets before it curves to the left and leads back to the Constellation.
If I time my arrival at the Constellation correctly, Mother will only have a few minutes to spare on me before her nightly duties call her away.
In the meantime, I’ll walk this path through the city because the more fae who see Thyra, the safer she’ll be.
None of the citizens currently going about their business will expect me to be here. My appearance is going to cause a stir, and that’s the way I want it.
I want as many of my people as possible to see the Oracle with their own eyes. I want them to know that I have her and I control her.
Of course, the fact that my brother couldn’t see the blade inked into her arm is less than ideal. I wanted my people to see that, too. Regardless, I’ll use every means I can to thwart Mother’s ambitions.
Pursing my lips, I issue a sharp whistle. Then another.
Thyra’s focus flashes back to me and then to the sky, where my blue eagle appears.
He gives an almighty shriek as he soars down toward us, tossing his head at me before he continues through the air above the street, cawing as he goes.
The street is wide enough for him to land once the fae clear space for him, but I whistle again, calling him back into the air.
His screeches and sudden dramatic appearance cause the flurry I wanted.
Every fae on the street flinches and turns to look up, following my beast’s path as he circles the air and flies back to me. Back and forth he goes, his talons outstretched, his red eyes gleaming, tossing his head and shrieking until his cries are piercing.
By the time Thyra reaches the bottom step, every fae has moved to the side of the wide street and is now in the process of sinking to their knees.
Even the highborn women in their silken dresses lower themselves to the ground, although their lowborn servants quickly place padded mats beneath them so they don’t dirty their clothes or bruise their knees.
As I scan the crowd, my attention catches on a lowborn man standing toward the back of the throng. He’s slower to kneel than the others, faltering as he takes glances at the fae around him.
My brow furrows. My people are very familiar with what’s required of them in my presence.
I may demand that my metalworkers keep forging, but every other fae must kneel in my presence. Even Mother.
Lowborn servants even carry mats wherever their masters go in case of this exact scenario.
I make out the man’s short beard and sallow skin, a scar striking across his forehead, before he drops to his knees, disappearing fully behind a group of taller highborn.
My instincts prickle, but another heartbeat passes, and no threat emerges.
Quickly returning my attention to Thyra, I remain alert to the impact of her presence on the onlookers. Other threats are bound to lurk within this crowd.
Despite their deferential poses, the fae lining the street stare hard at her while their whispers build, a soft breeze of what will, no doubt, become a wildfire of rumor and gossip.
Thyra’s back is stiff as she proceeds ahead of me, complying with my order that she remain within my sight at all times. I can’t see her face to know her responses, which could become a problem, particularly as I’ve ensured the ruby circlet is in full view between us.
My people will recognize it for what it is. When Victor designed the circlet, it was our mother who made sure every fae in the city was aware of its uses.
As we walk, most of the male highborn openly mutter beneath their breath, while the women hide their whispers behind delicate fingers raised to their bright lips.
“Who is that lowborn wretch?”
“Why is she chained?”
“Look at how ugly she is.”
“Her boots are filthy.”
“So is her hair.”
“Ugh. She smells like fish.”
The boil of fury within me is unexpected but instant. Yes, Thyra’s appearance is unkempt, but let any of these fucking pampered highborn face what Thyra survived today and see if they’d last minutes, let alone hours. The paint would melt off their faces.
Even as this thought rages through my mind, I fight once again that unwanted swirling regret.
I push it away, reminding myself that I have no choice. I must parade Thyra along this street for all to see. The more fae who know she’s here, the less chance Mother can harm her.
Clear as a bell, a new voice sounds, this one spoken with authority and a lilting harmony. “She smells like roses.”
The female speaker rises from her kneeling position several steps ahead of us and glides onto the street.
She’s followed by no less than five lowborn servants, all of whom fuss around her, straightening her silken dress and brushing the slightest specks of dust from the material before shuffling backward and waiting in a row beside her, their heads bowed.
Thyra doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to reach her, and neither am I. The newcomer’s comment sounds like a rebuke of the insults being slung at Thyra, but I know this highborn woman too well to mistake her for an ally.
“Lady Delphina,” I say, applying pressure to the ruby circlet so that Thyra stops where I want her to.
Lady Delphina sinks into a deep bow, drawing out her greeting, her harmonious voice wafting across the air between us. “My king.”
Her face is painted with the pure white paste allowed only to ladies in Mother’s inner circle, and her cheeks are decorated with finely drawn golden stars depicting the constellation so revered by our people.
She catches hold of her flowing sleeve to gesture daintily at Thyra. “And who, may I ask, is this?”
I take my time answering her, waiting a moment for the silence to thicken before I raise my voice. “The Oracle is mine.”
A hum builds within the onlookers, and now the whispers are far more urgent, a growing cascade that spreads more intensely among the lowborn in the crowd.
“The Oracle!” the lowborn whisper.
“We have the Oracle!”
“Our king has saved us.”
Then, so quietly I would have missed it if I wasn’t specifically waiting and listening for it…
“She looks like us.”
“The Oracle is lowborn.”
“Hush now.”
I raise my voice. “The Oracle’s name is Thyra,” I pronounce it clearly. A name that makes Lady Delphina and every other highborn wince. “She will serve my will, and only mine.”
Lady Delphina can’t seem to stop her eyebrows from rising before she blinks and straightens out her features. No doubt with difficulty.
“Let that message get back to my mother,” I mutter, finally stepping up beside Thyra and commanding her. “Walk, Thyra.”
Thyra’s gaze rises to mine, her now-faded-blue eyes boring into me as surely as daggers.
Inside the forge, her facial features had transformed just like they did at the village.
Golden light had streamed from the blade up her arm, at which her hair had shone black, darker even than the valleys in the bloodlands, her lips turned crimson as if she’d dipped them in paint, and the color of her damn eyes had shifted to a glistening brown.
She’d reached for me, and I couldn’t let her touch me.
If she touched me then…
So help me, I would have torn her apart, taking what I needed from her.
Now, she looks up at me with all her faded anger, and I’m fucking happy to see it. The hollow is gone.
She’s furious again.
My relief is short-lived, swamped with unwanted fear because, for a moment, I consider the possibility that she’s going to rebel.
She’s going to refuse to walk.
With a single insurgence, right here on this street, she could shatter my claim of control over her. I wonder if she realizes how much control over my future she has in this very moment.
Too much fucking control.
Suddenly, I’m forced to confront a question I’ve been ignoring: How far would I go to bend her to my will?
A heartbeat later, she turns her focus to a point on the road in front of her, lifts her head high, and takes a step, then another, her boots clacking on the paved street.
Lady Delphina glides out of the way, but as we’re about to pass her, she speaks in a hush. “With your permission, my king, may I walk with you for a short way?”
I consider refusing her request, but she could be useful. “You may.”
At my permission, she follows the scantest step behind me and to my right so that we’re now walking in a sort of cascade with Thyra at the front.
Around us, the whispers haven’t abated, and I let them grow. More fae have gathered, and I’m aware of the quiet calls passing through the crowd to come and see, it’s the Oracle, the king has the Oracle.
The throng builds in numbers to the point where there’s very little space for newcomers to kneel to me, although I admire the way they try.
Lady Delphina studies the growing crowd while her servants follow on quietly behind her.
Her voice is a murmur as she speaks more plainly than I expected. “You’ve chosen to present the Oracle to your people before you present her to your mother. Are you sure that was wise, my king?”
It’s a shame Lady Delphina can’t see my smile. “Are you sure it’s wise to question me?”
“W-ell…” She recovers quickly. “I would never question you, my king, only that your mother—”
“Will be wrathful.” I cast a cold stare at Lady Delphina. “I’m not sure why that should bother me.”
I expect a smooth comeback, but Lady Delphina is unusually quiet. She worries at her painted lip before saying, “I fear your mother was already wrathful, my king, as soon as she learned you’d taken your sister with you to secure the Oracle.”
I’m unruffled. I expected Mother would be unhappy about it. “Cassia can make her own decisions.”
“That’s true. But when it comes to you, Cassia’s decisions are often to her own detriment.”
I narrow my eyes at Lady Delphina. I don’t miss the warning tone in her voice. Tugging Thyra to a halt, I pin Lady Delphina with a steely look. “Speak plainly, Lady Delphina.”
It’s impossible to tell if Delphina’s cheeks have paled beneath all that white paste, but she swallows visibly before she replies, “Your sister didn’t return with the other riders.”
A jolt of fear passes down my spine. “The border guard told me—”
“Your mother ordered them to lie to you.”
Boiling rage rises up within me, so sudden and uncontrollable that a roar reaches my lips, but I clamp my teeth around it.
I spoke to the border guards an hour ago.
I’ve been back for a whole fucking hour, thinking Cassia was safely home because our mother—
“She would endanger her only daughter to hurt me.”
My snarl is so violent that Lady Delphina takes a hasty step back from me, but she isn’t wise enough to hold her tongue.
“She said it was your own fault.”
I bare my teeth at Delphina, wishing for once that my face wasn’t covered.
Delphina knew full well what she was doing, breaking this news to me in public. No doubt she’s doing Mother’s bidding, playing Mother’s game to perfection.
Their plan unfolds within my mind: Tell me Cassia’s safe, lead me to focus solely on the Oracle, ensure I squander the time that could make the difference between Cassia’s life and death, then make sure my failure is public.
My people may not love me, but they love my sister.
She’s their warrior. She not only fights for them but cares for them, treating lowborn with the same respect as highborn.
It doesn’t matter if I have the Oracle; my people will turn against me if I’ve left Princess Cassia to die.
Already, Lady Delphina’s servants are whispering among themselves, loudly enough for their murmurs to catch on and spread.
“Princess Cassia is in danger.”
“The king left her behind.”
“He abandoned her.”
Delphina’s perfectly painted lips rise in a triumphant smile that reminds me of my mother’s gloating.
Her work is done.
The roar I was swallowing pushes to be released. Not because of the damage that has been done to me, but because I can’t lose Cassia.
She’s the only fae I trust. Even Victor can be manipulated against me. But Cassia remains true. Always. She loves her people more than her own ambition.
I never dreamed our mother would risk Cassia’s life like this. I never imagined she would go so far in her quest to destroy me.
I have to fly. I have to get back to Cassia. I need to find her and bring her home safely.
What if she’s already dead?
I can no longer hold in my roar, letting it out, my rage blasting across the street and echoing against the walls.
At any other time, my anger would have silenced the crowd, but around me, the insidious whispers have turned to genuine cries of concern, a testament to the love the lowborn have for my sister.
“Princess Cassia!”
“She’s in danger!”
“What can we do?”
I’m already turning, a whistle on my lips, a call to my eagle as I prepare to scoop Thyra up and leap onto my bird. All I can do is prepare to race back into the air and pray I find Cassia alive.
Then comes a whisper I wasn’t expecting.