Chapter 44 Antony
Chapter Forty-Four
Antony
My ears might be bleeding. My heart could be exploding.
All I know is that the melody shrieking around me could end me.
Thyra stands, half-naked, dressed only in the long, black pants she chose. She presses her arm across her breasts, the same tantalizing pose she struck at my cabin, her tangled hair falling around her shoulders, and her blue eyes wide.
She appears as startled as a doe caught in my dangerous gaze.
Her thumb…a mere fucking finger…presses down onto the Lethian dress and every drag of her skin against the material plays the threads like an instrument, shrieking and discordant, both desperate and heartbreakingly hopeful.
My hands claw the floor as I try to drag myself to her, roaring as loudly as I can, unable to hear my own voice above the overwhelming music. “Thyra! Let it go!”
Let the dress go.
She straightens from her bend, and now I can see a single thread caught on the pad of her thumb, unraveling from the dress as she moves.
Her face pales as her wild gaze swings from me to Cassia, where my sister huddles on the floor, her hands pressed over her ears.
Cassia’s crying, but I can’t hear her.
The walls tremble. An alarming crack appears in the surface on my right, the vibrations in the air becoming catastrophic.
Thyra’s focus suddenly flies back to the dress, and her whisper cuts through the noise. “Sung with love…”
She bends again, and I brace for pure destruction. Complete annihilation. The cracking of walls. Crumbling of towers.
The obliteration of this city.
I brace for my end as she sweeps the dress up into her arms, holding it close, the same way she might embrace a lost child.
Sound stops.
Silence descends.
So heavy and sudden that I can’t move.
I can’t feel my body, slowly aware only that my ears are, indeed, bleeding, and my hearing must now be impaired, although I’m certain I’ll heal fast.
Thyra opens her eyes and presses her lips together before she whispers, “I don’t think this dress takes rejection well.”
A disturbing laugh rises into my throat, even though I can’t hear it, can only feel it rumbling through my chest.
Rejection? What the fuck?
More terrifying is the determination that falls over Thyra’s features, the narrowing of her eyes, the clench of her arms around the material.
An instant later, she throws the dress outward.
I jolt, preparing for a new disaster as the dress flies back into the air.
The thread caught on Thyra’s thumb stretches taut, snapping taut, and then a boom shatters the silence.
Unlike the screaming melody, this boom is deep, as pure as the resonating beat of a drum.
“It’s time to live,” she whispers.
The dress splinters, every thread parting, an instant deconstruction into a mass of swirling strands floating in the air opposite Thyra.
Without pause, she abandons her effort to cover her chest as she wrenches at the black pants she’s wearing, rapidly shimmying out of them one-handed before she steps toward the mass of threads.
And into it.
I barely catch sight of her nearly naked body, her beautiful curves, before a storm of silver erupts around her.
Magical strands whirl, whip, and wrap around her, conforming to her shape, covering her from her feet to her neck, even threading up through her hair, untangling her dark tresses until they fall smoothly around her shoulders.
She stretches her arms out, her head thrown back, her eyes closed, swaying gently as if she’s moving to a sound I can’t hear.
I want to hear it.
I need the serenity that appears to be enfolding her.
The soothing calm that makes her appear completely…untouchable.
With a final whoosh, the last loose thread wraps into place. Every inch of her skin, from her toes to the top of her neck, is now covered.
The silver threads have formed calf-high boots, fitted silver pants, and a metallic corset.
The threads are thicker in places, forming a triangle above her breasts, its tip pointing to the base of her throat.
Long sleeves, also fitted, extend down into silver gloves while an overskirt rests around her hips, open at the front to allow full movement of her legs.
Silver filigree extends up into the now-silken strands of her hair, which frame her face in striking waves.
My chest is tight. I’ve somehow made it up onto my knees, and all I can do is fucking watch her as she hurries toward me, kneeling opposite me, the overskirt spreading like scattered stars across the floor.
“Antony?”
I manage a quiet, “Fuck.”
Close by, Cassia has unfurled. She must have witnessed the dress transform because her eyes are shining.
“Oh, brother.” A wicked smile grows on her lips. “Let Mother try to fuck with Thyra now.”
An hour later, we exit Cassia’s quarters, moving on foot this time.
Every step we take carries us closer to the inevitable confrontation with Mother.
Before we left, I replenished my iron dagger supplies, choosing two from Cassia’s armory, but only after promising to return them.
Now, Thyra steps ahead of me while Cassia stays at my side.
The circlet clanks softly between Thyra and me, no longer a threat now that she’s wearing Lethian silver. The dress is fabled to have been spun from the finest but strongest metal, mimicking chain-mail, a protection Thyra wears over nearly every inch of her body, even up into her hair.
The circlet has become an added safeguard now, connecting Thyra to me. Anyone who tries to separate us will risk being mauled by its triggered teeth.
A multitude of winding corridors connects each tower in the Constellation. My throne room sits at the center, although I’m rarely there because Mother has commandeered the surrounding rooms.
At this time of the morning, we’ll find her in the vast hall nearest to my throne room, where she likes to entertain herself.
Thyra’s footsteps are more self-assured than she has appeared since I first swept her into my arms and flew away with her.
If I hadn’t already glimpsed her fierce nature, I’d think the dress had given her confidence, but no.
I’m certain the gown merely opened a door through which she has chosen to step.
If I didn’t know Galla as the most cunning fae in the kingdom, I might even feel hope right now, but hope is for fools.
Thyra’s first encounter with Mother could break her, and I’ll do everything I can to prevent that.
A step ahead of me, Thyra pauses at an intersection of corridors and gives me a questioning glance.
“Walk to the right,” I say. “This next corridor will let out into a small chamber. Beyond that is Mother’s hall. When we reach the doors into the hall, approach them ahead of me but stay to my left so that when they open, only I will be visible at first.” I turn to my sister now. “Cassia—”
“I’ll stand on your right.”
“Good.” Then to Thyra, I add, “Wait for me to tap your shoulder. I’ll make sure it’s safe before you step inside.”
Cassia grimaces. “One time, Mother put wild dogs on chains long enough to reach the door and attack anyone who entered. She stayed safe on the other side of the room, of course. She was particularly bored that day.”
Thyra’s expression doesn’t change. Quietly determined. “My presence in the Iron Kingdom is certain to have provided Galla Vividari with enough excitement that she won’t need wild animals.”
Thyra sweeps to the right, her steps purposeful, her skirt billowing behind her, her posture every bit as fucking regal as the silver she’s wearing.
We pass through the corridor quickly, and then she steps into the chamber beyond it.
The door into Mother’s hall is open enough that I judge I’ll be able to see inside as I get closer.
As soon as we appear in the chamber, the guard standing to the left of the door jolts forward as if he would announce us, but I hold my hand up to stop him.
He freezes, poised on his front foot, before he lowers himself into a brief kneel.
Quickly straightening, he returns to his original position.
He won’t want to incur Mother’s wrath, but I’m certain he would prefer not to be thrown into an iron pit.
That’s the least of the punishments he could suffer for disobeying me.
Thyra slows her steps as she keeps to my left, faltering a little when Mother’s screaming voice shrieks from within the hall.
“How could you?”
I give the chain a gentle tug, stopping Thyra where she will remain concealed from Mother, but I now have a clear view of the hall through the gap in the door.
Toward the center of the room, Mother has Rohan on his knees. His leather armor is in pieces, scattered across the floor, and his tunic is torn open at the back.
Mother clutches a whip, its leather straps dripping with blood, while fresh cuts blossom across Rohan’s exposed shoulder blades and spine.
“You failed me,” she screams at him, wrapping her hand in his hair and wrenching his head back. “You failed to bring me the Oracle.”
In the background, the five men who tried to block us from reaching the towers stand with arms folded across their chests.
They’ve removed their armor, wearing only the white tunics and pants of the Court.
It’s clear from the blood soaking through the material at various points on their arms, legs, and chests that Mother hasn’t allowed them to bandage their injuries.
Quintus appears particularly sour, his lips pinched. He was lucky not to suffer my eagle’s talons, but he won’t like that Rohan had to save him.
While Mother shrieks, Rohan doesn’t utter a sound. Now that she’s pulled his head back, his face is partially visible to me.
His eyes are blank.
He isn’t here.
I clench my teeth against the memories I want to forget.
Cassia’s long-ago cry stings like a wound.
She lost Rohan because I didn’t claim him for my army fast enough. I didn’t think I had to. I never imagined Galla would break her own daughter’s heart.
I vowed never to make that same mistake again—I certainly didn’t repeat it for Rohan’s younger brother—but my vow didn’t change Rohan’s fate.
Go somewhere else in your mind, Cassia had cried. Don’t let her take your heart.
Rohan’s response haunts me still.
Cassia, my heart is yours. Know this and take peace from it: the man who loves you dies today. He is no more.
I promised myself I would never again underestimate how far Galla Vividari will go to break anything she can’t control.
Now, Galla gives a petulant cry before she slides down in front of Rohan, pressing her body to his, her grip on his head loosening, but only so she can drag one of the whip’s lashes around his throat.
She pouts at him. “Did you mean to disappoint me?”
Rohan remains silent.
“Of course you didn’t.” She presses her lips to his. “Such a thought would never cross your mind, would it, Rohan?”
Although I can see him, Cassia’s view is blocked by the door, and until this moment, she wouldn’t have known who Mother was beating.
Cassia tenses, her response instantaneous.
She trembles, her face white with fury.
I give her a firm shake of my head, a warning not to act.
But her rage has to go somewhere.
As silent as a breeze, she grits her teeth, her lips draw back, she balls her fists, and her whole body rage-shakes as she mimics a soundless scream, a scream that would, if she let it out, rattle the walls.
All of her fury pushes into her hands and her clenched teeth.
Until she slumps. And her eyes fill with tears.
I heard what she said to Thyra earlier. That Galla steals everything good, and even precious things are degraded.
The only way Galla’s power ends is if Thyra breaks the curse. Even with all my strength, all my violence, I can’t end Galla until I know that the entire Iron Kingdom won’t pay a horrifying price.
Inside the room, Galla continues to croon as she pulls the whip’s lash tighter around Rohan’s neck, and he begins to choke. “You would rather die than disappoint me, wouldn’t you, Rohan?”
I fight the need to burst into the room and take Galla’s fucking head off.
One clean strike with my axe…
Inside the room, Galla raises her voice. “Hadrian, dear, fetch my ivory-handled knife, will you?”
“Of course, Mother,” comes the stiff reply.
My focus flashes across the lords, seeking my youngest brother. He’s never far from Galla’s side, but he must have been standing against one of the walls and outside my field of view for me to miss him.
The click of a door closing reaches me, and I have to assume he’s left the room.
It will take him several minutes to return with the requested knife.
I can’t waste that time, but I count my heartbeats, forcing myself to strategize.
I need to wait just a little longer so that Galla will have expelled enough fury that I can safely escort Thyra inside.
Even if it means Rohan passes out in the meantime.
Not so long that Galla has the chance to use her blade.
Suddenly, I’m aware of Thyra’s hard gaze, the determined set of her jaw, her rage.
Once more, she is furious.
The same fury burns in her eyes as when I came upon her surrounded by stalactites and prepared to sacrifice her hand to escape.
Her eyes meet mine.
My poisoned heart nearly stops.
She isn’t going to wait.
With a smile, she pushes on the door and strides inside.