8. Emerald
Two days pass, and the metal collar chafes against my neck. It’s made of silver, studded with rubies, and I swear, it feels harder to swallow and draw breath.
Huddled in the corner of the cage, I have my new gown on. Rholker stares at me from the other side of the room as the comfort woman pours another bucket of steaming water into the bath. The sound makes me sweat.
“The Six instructed me to let you rest for a few days before I bring you back to stay in the room I’ve prepared in the palace,” he says.
The words flow over me, past me, without ever really sinking into my mind. He took me out yesterday for a short walk. It was cold, and there were patches of snow clinging to the trees.
I’d been right about being near the lumber fields. A few of the humans snuck glances at our party—but all turned away quickly, grateful that it was not them paraded around by the prince like chattel.
“The bath is ready, My King,” the comfort woman declares. She wears a tight-fitting leather dress today, and her silky raven hair is half-tied up with a vegetable-dyed ribbon the color of autumn leaves.
I groan, preparing to be thrust into the water yet again. Ever since I was tortured, I can’t touch it without feeling like I’m going to drown. It’s just water, and yet…
Rholker’s eyes dip down from my face to the bare expanse of my chest. Giant women wear deep, square necklines and corsets to push up their breasts, which are typically scarred by artists to enhance bulk and shape—this one is more modest than most because the tip of the Fuegorra barely sticks out from behind the fabric. Rholker doesn’t want anyone to see that I’ve been marked by the enemy.
The joke is on him, and he hates it. I can feel his gaze snake up to the still-healing mating marks on my throat even after I return my eyes to the dirty floor. He wants to remove them. The cruel brute won’t rest until all markings of my time with the Enduares are erased.
Obliterated.
“Come, Estela,” Rholker says, walking over to unlock my cage. I stand up, suddenly very aware of his size. “The water is warm,” he adds, as if that would appease me.
I hesitate, reminding myself that he’s seen me naked before. Hell, he has made people bathe before.
But… I’ve changed. I’m not just some slave that he can torment and threaten into his bed. If Rholker touches me, my Fuegorra will burn him with light and he knows it. My body belongs to my mate because I gave it to him.
You can endure this a while, escape, and exact revenge with Teo at your side.
I wince even thinking his name. It’s wrapped up in too many ruined memories. The pain makes me take a deep breath, turn off my feelings, ignore all sounds, and keep my eyes fixed on the floor. Whatever words pass between the woman and Rholker are lost.
Moments later, I feel her warm, soft hands guide me to the space next to the tub. I look down at the water, and blood rushes in my ears. The fire in the corner used for heating the water suddenly feels too hot.
The laces at the back of my dress start to loosen, one by one, with sharp hissing sounds. It almost reminds me of dragonflies buzzing through the air in springtime, which is a better alternative to snakes slithering into my cage and paralyzing me with their bite.
But delusion only lasts so long. When I grab hold of the large metal tub for stability, a bit of the too-warm water splashes on my knuckles. It doesn’t even touch my face, but the room tilts sideways all the same, and I shove away as hard as I can.
A part of me registers that I hit the soft body of the comfort woman, but it feels like I’m back in the cage, tilted at an odd angle, and water is forcing its way up my nose, down my throat, restricting every airway.
I’m drowning.
Gods-damned drowning.
I focus on sucking in air since it’s become a scarcity. I gasp and tremble as the layers of fabric are removed from my body.
Don’t die. It’s just a bath.You won’t die.
But it might be good if you do.
“What’s wrong with her?” Rholker has the audacity to ask, as if he hadn’t spent a week watching the Six torture me.
The comfort woman gives an apologetic response that I don’t fully hear as she guides my naked form back to the side of the tub. My skin presses against the warm brass metal, and I pause.
This time, the metal actually reminds me of my idyll home—of Enduvida. The place I have to get back to… after I get Mikal.
I hold my choking breaths and lift one of my legs to place it into the tub. The water is warm like it was on the night of my wedding.
As fast as a tidal wave, I smell blood. Terror. The damaged memory.
The sensations from before return tenfold. Water in my mouth, throat, and lungs.
I twist to run away, but my foot gets caught, and I fall. I land atop the comfort woman once more and she shoves me off, shouting, “?Quítate!”?1
I push away from her, my back flat against the wood planks beneath me, while my chest heaves. Rholker’s face appears in my view, looking down at me with worry. He reaches out and hesitates when my gem starts to glow.
Rholker says, “Pick her up this time. She’ll need to be put in like a babe.”
My head whips back to her. Her dress is covered in water stains, and her cheeks are flushed from pushing, hauling, and then catching my fall. She doesn’t deserve this. Finally, I speak to her.
“Por los dioses?2, no. Please.”
Her eyes are hard, but her arms still wrap around me and lift me up. The comfort woman is stronger than she looks, or perhaps, I’ve lost weight again.
When I try to fight or push away, she makes a labored sound, but she doesn’t let me go. She doesn’t so much set me in the tub as she does drop me in. The liquid sloshes and splashes. My lungs seize again, and I fight to breathe.
Red and orange light bursts from my body, and the woman cries out, shielding her eyes.
“Estela!” Rholker yells. “Stop moving, or I will slice the head from your brother’s shoulders today.”
The words cut through the panic, and I freeze. Air still fights to get into my lungs, but my limbs stay close to my sides. The light fades to nothing more than a persistent glow.
A minute passes as I suck in tiny breaths, and I meet Rholker’s yellow eyes. It doesn’t matter how vulnerable I am before him.
He looks worried.
“Mikal is… alive then,” I pant.
Rholker looks down at me with an almost earnest expression. He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t have to.
I hold my breath. The last time that I saw him was when Keksej was restraining me while one of the giant warriors hit Mikal over the head and took him away. My world was torn apart. Even the thought of it causes an icy pit in the middle of my stomach.
I’d seen a vision of him sleeping, dirty, after my Fuegorra was put in. He was growing thinner from the giants’ abuse. Alone. He’s a strong sixteen year old, built like an ox, but he can’t break free alone.
Teo was right. He wouldn’t kill Mikal right away when he could use my brother as a bargaining chip.
Tears prick my eyes and urgency to act thrums across my nerves. I could touch Rholker and let him burn. Maybe sear off his face with a swipe of my hand and brand him the same way he held me down and branded me. Then I could run—fucking run—and be at Mikal’s doorstep.
“Will you take me to see him today?” I ask again slowly, fighting to keep the raging thoughts at bay.
Rholker scowls. “No. We are going to court today.”
“Take me to him after,” I beg, clutching onto the edge of the tub, trying to ignore the squeezing in my throat. I haven’t drowned yet. I won’t. Not today.
Rholker’s eyes narrow as he steps closer to me. “Prove that you can behave yourself, and I might let you see him soon,” he says.
It’s enough for me to remain still, despite the pain coursing through my body as my head is roughly tilted back and water is poured over my long, curly hair. I close my eyes, grimacing, and let the soap be lathered in.
Uno, dos, tres…
Pulling on old habits, I imagine my table. The plants in the small greenhouse that Ulla cared for. I think of their leaves, of selecting the perfect amount to be crushed for a small stomach sickness brew. I smell the minty leaves release their scent in the boiling water.
A swipe of the bathing brush passes over my skin, and I swallow hard, clenching my jaw, and think of healing with the crystals. The Fuegorra warms. This time, it is comforting. As if looking for something to sing to.
From the corner, where my clothes are discarded on the floor, a few small notes permeate the air.
A melody.
A song.
It’s not a quiet ringing, but a song. At last.
Rholker’s eyebrows knit together, and I panic. With my limited singing ability, I start to hum an off-tune melody that I hope won’t resonate with the crystals. It covers the sound well enough, and he looks away.
The metal collar still clamped around my neck warms for a minute under my singing. It’s a strange sensation, but when I stop humming, it fades.
The comfort woman helps me out of the tub, wraps a thick cloth around me, and picks up another length of fabric to start drying my hair. She has a blank face, with just a hint of bitterness. I worry that I hurt her, and think of the small necklace I made.
It was meant to be a reminder of my wedding… but I have a ring and a necklace, and I need to work harder to find a way to help my people. Everything can’t only be about Mikal.
If only we were alone, I would show it to her. Perhaps… we could be friends. I could convince her to come with me, once I can tell her the truth of the trolls.
A new dress is placed over my head and fastened. My hair is brushed until it dries by the heat of the fire, and it is curled and pinned in the style of the giant women. A powder that smells like bark and resembles my skin color is pressed atop my mating marks, then red makeup is smeared over my eyes.
This dress is thinner than the one I wore this morning. Whereas yesterday’s dress had proper sleeves, this one has thick straps connecting to the boned, silk bodice. It’s shiny and revealing but better than the mere scraps of fabric my mother wore to see Erdaraj.
When the comfort woman reaches down to retrieve my old dress, alarm bells ring. I thought they would leave it be—it still has all my jewels. I turn, hoping to talk to her somehow and tell her not to throw the things away, but Rholker is already wielding my leash, ready to clip it onto the collar.
My heart races as he clips it on and opens the door. I turn back to the comfort woman with one last frantic look. She catches my gaze, clearly confused, before I am taken outside.
The sun is brighter than it was yesterday, and it is still morning. I reach my hands up to shield my eyes as a sharp yank forward has me stumbling and coughing. Rholker turns around abruptly.
“Are you well?” he asks, seeming worried as if he hadn’t considered how disorienting a neck leash might be.
I glare at him, hacking one last cough into the crook of my arm. His red hair and yellow eyes seem harsher in the wintry light, but he doesn’t wait for more than a few moments before we continue on.
We pass the fields and make it to the palace. White marble pillars are everywhere, a stark contrast to the woodland cabins and cottages in Zlosa, and a testament to the elevation of the royalty. A depiction of Khuohr, the god of war, is painted across the ceiling, and his consorts line the outer walls. Each holds a gold basin, as if offering some gift to him above.
We are quick to make it into the throne room, which is at least ten times larger than I remember. A long row of furs is laid on the ground for us to walk upon, while rows of giant lords and their wives fill both pews and carefully carved chairs.
Earthy tones are everywhere, along with mountains of brown and auburn hair. A few stray yellow eyes turn to glance at us, but most of the conversations continue as normal. They are a dull roar in my ears as the royal giant warriors congregate around us.
One of the warriors steps into the hall first and pounds his spear against the stone with a loud crack. All speaking ceases.
My eyes move to the end of the walkway to see a giant figure seated next to the throne, and a blue head is hung above where Rholker will place his flat ass.
An Enduar head.
I suck in a breath. My heart pumps loudly and my fingers go numb. That has to be the one who sacrificed himself and let Teo kill him.
Rholker stoops down to whisper, “Remember, if you wish to see Mikal, you will behave today.”
I look up at him, feeling raw and anxious, but I nod.
The entirety of the court stands, then bows. When every head is cast downward, Rholker starts to walk in.
I take in the men from afar. A part of me knows that this is my chance to get information that would be precious to the Enduares—but I hardly know where to start. I wasn’t raised to understand politics.
Right now, with their enormous heads bowed, even if not explicitly to me, something new stirs in my bones. The Fuegorra in my chest hums.
A snippet of a vision. A promise—they would all pay.
I am a queen. Perhaps not one that they recognize, but that kind of endowment comes from within.
My thoughts trail off when I get a good look at the wooden throne at the end of the walkway. There are cushions on either side of the carved seat. One is already occupied by a young giant woman, wearing a white dress similar to my own. She also has a collar on, but in place of being pulled by Rholker’s firm hand, she is attached to the throne. Her head is also bowed into submission, showing off her reddened eyelids and scarred forehead.
She looks like a high-bred giant. Her auburn curls seem healthy, and her skin is otherwise unmarked by the sun, as many giants prefer for their women.
I recognize the gems on the thrones instantly because they call to me from the other side of the room. They don’t sing, they weep. If the others hear, they don’t show it. Liana once told me that the songs are louder to those with stones, but only Teo and I could hear our song.
A few of the giants angle their heads to see what is happening and Rholker gives my leash a tug, causing the Fuegorra’s light to sputter out as I choke.
When we reach the seat, the new king pauses and gestures to the cushion on his right side. I look up at him for a mere moment before I take my place, remembering the way he used Mikal to threaten me moments ago. It just makes me more angry.
No sooner have I lowered myself than he sits on his throne—the one no doubt carved by the bloody hands of slaves past. We gaze out at the audience, and I see others who look vaguely like Rholker—his bastard brothers, from the decree when every royal lord would gift his wife to High King Erdaraj to sire a son.
I’m surprised they let the Terksats into the court.
Unlike the general friendliness that Teo conducted his entire court with, Rholker is aloof and full of rules of conduct I couldn’t begin to guess.
One of the royal court members sitting on a gilded chair at the front of the room stands and opens a book. He clears his throat.
“Gentlemen and members of the court, this session is prepared to begin. Long live High King Rholker!”
Not every member of the court repeats the sentiment. Rholker stiffens at my side, and the silence feels much wider and more ominous than it should. It almost shocks me to see how much dissent there is, despite its not being openly declared.
“We have come to discuss the mid-winter feast. High King Rholker’s official coronation is of utmost importance to each and every one of us.”
One man in the second row looks furious as he watches. His clothes are some of the richest I’ve ever seen, and his wife also wears those cursed Enduar diamonds—blood diamonds formed from the lava that ravaged the continent.
My eyes stick to the gems and their shine as the other giant reads out a list of matters that will be attended to first. Everyone else likely sees the brilliant rainbow of lights reflected from the diamond, but I see the darkness when the light hits it just so.
There’s a flicker of recognition when the name Nandi is mentioned. That was Keksej’s wife before he died.
Wasn’t she also executed by Rholker’s hand? My palms start to sweat when a side door opens, and a giant woman is brought in.
The best way to describe her is haggard, from the dirty red hair that hangs around her face to the clothes that look like they’ve seen weeks on her body. It’s hard to resist looking up at Rholker as half the ladies in the room gasp.
When the female prisoner spots King Rholker, she starts screaming in giantese.
I make out the words “pig fucker” and “my son” before they wrap a cloth around her mouth and hit her with the long end of a staff. Her stream of insults is silenced with a whimper, only for one of the men at the back of the hall to stand up, positively indignant, and resume shouting. It’s a sharp contrast to the general ambivalence coming from most of the giant lords.
“What’s the meaning of this?” he has the audacity to demand. “Unhand my sister!” His silk clothes look expensive, and his burning yellow eyes look just like those of Keksej’s widow.
Rholker doesn’t move from his seat, effectively ignoring the outburst until the man stands up. “Lord Eriekk,” he starts, but the man starts to make his way out of the row. “Ezdur, be seated or you will join your sister.”
The man casts a look hot enough to sear through metal to Rholker before slowly returning to an empty seat and lowering himself.
The woman has started sobbing as she kneels before the king.
The rest of the court looks on. Silent.
They spent so many years making my people no better than animals, but they don’t have a miniscule scrap of conscience they could use to protect one of their own kind? Giants are the worst of us all, and my hatred burns hot within me.
Rholker stands up. “Some of you had begun to doubt my legitimate claim to this throne on the grounds of my nephew’s continued breathing. When I succeeded my father and brother, I thought that leaving my nephew in the court would be a merciful action.”
Rholker’s eyes scan the crowd, and my skin crawls.
She was screaming for her son. Something primal inside me blinks to life. It’s just a child.
“Hell, I feltthe same mercy for the lovely Nandi. But you all don’t want a merciful ruler; you want an iron fist,” he says harshly.
My stomach drops into my ass, and I can’t take my eyes off of Nandi.
Her face is agony and hopelessness.
Rholker stands and holds out his arms. “Do you see Nandi’s son in this court? Son of my brother, the great First Prince Keksej?”
No one answers his mocking tone.
He points at a man glowering in the second row. “Lord Fektir, do you see Nandi’s son?”
The giant lord sticks his chin out. “If you are asking me to play your dirty game, then I will answer that I see my child chained at your side. And that I used to have a second daughter mere months ago.”
Understanding blooms.
He’s speaking about Rholker’s bride. The one he was meant to marry when he took me to his rooms. But… I saw her. Marej, they called her. She hated me, and she definitely isn’t the person chained to the other side of the throne.
If Rholker has taken two of this lord’s daughters, then this must be the other—Marej’s sister.
Did Rholker kill Marej after I was escorted from his room?
Rholker holds out both hands. “Keksej’s heir is gone. He will never claim his right to the throne.”
Nandi lets out another gods-awful sound as the realization that her child is dead sinks in.
Rholker rubs his head.
“Remember that I tried to be merciful,” he calls out to the crowd. “Warriors, come.” The room is silent as they approach, and one holds out a sword. Its sharpness practically sings in the air.
Rholker takes the weapon and steps forward. He moves down the stairs slowly, one at a time, until he is in front of Nandi.
“Please, Second Prince, bury me next to my son,” she sobs, all layers of vicious brutality stripped away to tear-streaked desperation. Her hands tremble as she holds them out in front of her. Guards press down on her shoulders, keeping her kneeling.
I adjust my weight on my cushion, my mouth uncomfortably dry. I take a deep breath and hold it as my slightly jagged fingernails cut into my palms.
“What did you call me?” Rholker demands.
She lets out a sob, then the guard grabs the back of her head and pushes it down. I hurt for her, and I feel ashamed to watch this and do nothing. For a moment, it doesn’t matter that this woman’s husband whipped my back until it was torn to ribbons. She just wants her baby.
“King Rholker,” she says at the floor, her voice muffled by hair and grief.
While her family had tried to speak when she was first brought in, no one speaks for her when Rholker kicks her in the stomach. The wheezing cough she lets out makes me flinch.
Rholker raises the sword and turns around for all to see.
“I am your High King,” he calls. Then, in an uncharacteristically theatrical movement, he points at the guards. “Move her hair so that my blade might slice clean through her neck.”
I utterly freeze as the moment draws close.
Weeks ago, I was in a similar place, watching Teo kill his own hunter. The young boy had volunteered, and it broke something in Teo to do it. Rholker just looks furious. More of Liana’s words return. True rulers fight for their people, not against.
As the sword slices through skin, sinew, and bone, I gasp. The woman on the other end of the throne shushes me, but I can’t stop the tears from gathering.
I look up at the severed head of the Enduar on the wall. His glassy eyes look savage and feral as they stare forward into some unseen abyss. He was arranged to look that way, but I know the truth.
He wasn’t hunted like a beast. Teo’s man offered himself for his people; Rholker kills this woman because she threatens his fragile kinghood.
Disgust coats my tongue as bile rises up my throat.
Nandi’s blood leaks out of her, and the smell of it makes my stomach churn.
Rholker doesn’t clean his blade when he lifts it again. Nandi’s blood drips down the steel, past the handle, and onto his hand. It stains the white cuff of his shirt.
“Anyone care to join her?” he calls to the room.
The father of the woman chained alongside me stands.
“This is cow shit. We did not come to watch an execution—you invited us here to announce your coronation.” He shakes his head hard enough that some of the strands in his well-bound hair come free. His face is red. “Did you bring us here to murder our daughters before our very eyes, you limp dick?”
There’s something about his passionate speech that almost sounds like fatherly care. That evaporates when I remember that he traded Rholker two of his daughters to marry.
Rholker’s chest heaves, and he slowly lowers the arm holding the sword.
“I would sit down if I were you, Lord Fektir,” he practically whispers, voice hoarse with adrenaline.
He turns to one of the warriors and hands off the sword. It is traded for a spear.
Another giant stands up in the pews.
“We will not sit, we will not be silent to your toying.” He thrusts a finger in my direction. “You brought that human bitch to court, you killed one of your own to sustain your throne before the royal court, and you?—“
Rholker cocks his arm back and hurls the spear straight into the lord’s chest.
The woman at his side screams as the man is impaled into the bench, like a needle through paper. His mouth hangs open, trying to speak his last words as Rholker’s guards flood in from the side doors.
Seconds later, every exit is closed off.
“The human woman is valuable,” Rholker says. “She is the queen of the trolls.”
I freeze as a roar of male voices cascades through the hall, shouting, threatening, anguish, and pure rage. Rholker descends into the crowd, shouting at those who oppose him.
“Oh gods, he’s going to kill me, too,” a voice near me sobs. I look up to see Lord Fektir’s daughter pulling against the short leash attached to the throne. When her attempt to break free fails, her mouth starts moving in rapid succession. Praying, I realize.
What good are prayers to a god of war?
My eyes squeeze shut. The smell of blood is everywhere, and the shouting persists.
“He won’t kill you,” I grit out, feeling ridiculous having this conversation when the sound of wood being shoved across marble makes me open my eyes. Rholker has moved farther back into the hall, away from the throne. A small group of guards surrounds him as he shouts in giantese about his divine right as heir to the throne.
I turn to look at the woman with glossy red curls. Her entire face is clearly visible over the throne. The metal leash loosens on my neck as I lean toward the armrest, but she doesn’t look at me.
“If he kills you, your father will never accept him as king. Your father is important, yes?”
The woman stops praying and blinks, finally looking down at me. Her eyes are full of fear and sorrow, just like Nandi’s.
“Yes.”
I swallow, the same compassion stirring in my gut. It’s ridiculous to feel bad for a giant again, but… while the military seems to be loyal to Rholker, his social power is low. I don’t think he would kill another daughter of Lord Fektir. Perhaps she, too, needs a little hope. “Then you are too valuable to die.”
The woman finally looks down at me with glowing amber eyes. “Giant women have no power.”
“You do.”
“I thought that slaves were as stupid as rats.”
“What an interesting thing to say to someone trying to comfort you.”
She frowns. “Does the troll king possess you to come into our court and ensue chaos, human whore?”
Anger and embarrassment flush through my cheeks. I was a fool for thinking she could be anything other than what she is.
“Tell me why you bring the human here!” a giant calls.
“I’ll fucking show you,” Rholker responds. My eyes snap onto him and my heart races as he barrels toward me, face red and fists clenched.
He grabs my short chain and tugs me to my feet. I scramble and choke on the collar. Then he grabs a knife out of his belt and carefully uses it to cut away part of the silk in my bodice, revealing the Fuegorra. “You doubt me once again. She is married to the king!”
Each gaze is heavy, and many grow quiet while others continue to grumble angrily in the corners of the closed-off room.
Lord Fektir is the one who speaks. “You can use her to get to him?”
My skin burns.
“Why should we care about a king who leads a court that is practically a handful of vermin?” Someone else shouts.
“They killed my mother! It is in my right to seek vengeance,” Rholker shouts.
“You will not bring up your displeasure at the murder of your family when Nandi’s blood still soaks the stones at your feet.” Lord Fektir glares—studies Rholker.
When I look up, I see a bloody king standing before his throne, wielding his women in chains. It must be quite the sight for everyone else.
Rholker tilts his chin up and thrusts my chain forward, causing me to take another step. “If vengeance is not good enough for you, then know I also see this siege as preventative. She is proof of their ability to mate with humans. What if they breed an army to fight against us?” He continues, “If they are gone, they would leave behind a city full of riches.”
The silence that follows is full of churning thoughts, and it makes my insides twist.
“If you could finish off the cave rats, every last one, then we could have free access to their mines in addition to our own,” Lord Fektir says.
Rholker nods, panting. “Precisely.”
Diamonds are of paramount value to the giants. Their usage and resale have built the entire capital. I didn’t know that they already had mines, though. Where?
“We have more than enough humans to mine them, and I have already sent more women to the breeding pens to increase population,” Rholker says.
I am preternaturally still.
My people.
My godsdamned people.
The gem on my chest begins to glow. No one shies away as it shines through the silk bodice; they all stare.
“I will not sustain your coronation before then,” he says.
Rholker shakes his head.
“You must. The feast has been scheduled! All of our allies are already invited and have agreed to come.”
Lord Fektir remains silent.
“Lord Fektir, if you wish to be counted among those who make it to the future, to the next great dynasty of giants, I suggest you attend my coronation.”
Fektir raises his chin, mouth in a tight straight line, and a new wave of murmurs spreads across the room like a flame through a dry forest. The threat is heard clearly, but he doesn’t respond. After a moment of silent deliberation, Lord Fektir gives a firm nod.
“I will come to your coronation, Rholker. Then, you will slaughter every last Enduar. Do this, and you will have my continued support in your campaign as king.”
I swallow hard, but when this man is finished speaking, it’s as if most of the room settles into agreement. My mind squeezes as I try to comprehend the threat.
This is no longer a silly infatuation with a female slave.
This is… war. Genocide. Complete annihilation of Enduvida—my home.
My mate.
My future.
Humanity’s future. The Enduares’ future.
My breaths are shallow as the meeting around me begins to conclude. The doors are reopened, and dozens of well-dressed slaves rush in to clean the two dead giants.
I look at Rholker. It’s clear I had underestimated him this entire time.
As if sensing my attention, he turns to look at me and raises an eyebrow.
“What, my dear Estela?” he murmurs.
My breaths are uneven. My mouth opens and closes in rapid succession, trying to find words. “Will you take me to see Mikal now?”
A slow smile spreads across his face.
“I told you to behave. I don’t think using your troll magic is behaving.”
I open my mouth. “But?—“
“Enough. I am growing tired of you. Let us return to the cottage.”
He leaves Lord Fektir’s daughter on the other side of the throne, watching us with an expression that gives away nothing. Her father doesn’t even make a move to unchain her.
Dozens of my people avoid my gaze as they work to mop up buckets of blood and carry out bodies easily three times too big for one person to bear.
A memory flits through my mind, another of Teo. One untouched by the memory shredders. I try not to focus on it, lest it triggers whatever evil magic they’d used against me, but I think of his tall, calming presence.
He was such a large person—in stature and kindness. He made me want to be bigger.
And so I would be—and the giants will pay for every inch I grow.
Before we make it out of the enormous room, one of the lords stops Rholker. He’s got graying hair, and I recognize him as the advisor to late King Erdaraj, Regent Uvog, but he doesn’t look at me as he leans in to whisper in Rholker’s ear.
I don’t hear what is said, but there is movement around the corner.
Green flesh just barely sticks out, and my head cocks to the side.
An arm and a foot poke out seconds before a large head covered in moss and twigs gazes over at us. Large yellow eyes are the defining connector to the giants.
My brows furrow. I haven’t seen a swamp ogre in years.
Rholker shakes his head at the man who is speaking and then proceeds to drag me out of the palace. But not before my gaze meets the ogre.
There’s a strange noise that fills my ears as it does, like being transported away from the wintry forest and to a warm, wet nest surrounded by feathery trees and the ballad of insects singing to the fire.
When the contact is broken, the sounds still echo in my mind. The swamp ogres were volatile and not allowed in the giant court. If Rholker is seeking a relationship with him, it could be dangerous. When I glance up at the ruthless king, I wonder just how much further he’s willing to go.