12. Aquamarine Beryl
Iblink into my spyglass as I look up at the house.
We stand in the shadows behind the trees. A faint red magic shimmers along the door handle and glows from deep inside the house. We are stripped to dark-colored leather under armor garb grown stiff after days of wear. Waiting for Ra’Salore to scale the side of the house feels like being forcibly submerged underwater.
Like the houses in Enduvida, it is cylindrical. However, this dwelling also has dark, leafy green paneling up the side. Glamour had covered such a vast space. Clearly, our crystals can’t pick up every trace of their magic; otherwise, we would’ve seen the enclave.
A seed of respect for these women is begrudgingly planted, despite what they are forcing us to do.
I hold up my hand, and our strategy is set in motion. Every inch that Ra’Salore scales feels like a mile. I’m on high alert, anticipating something just beyond our sight that could reach out and hurt the stone bender.
Ra’Salore looks over at me, hanging on the balcony of the second floor, primed to act as soon as I give the signal. A feeling deep in my gut holds me back.
We’ve waited for over a half hour, and there has been no movement from the inside. A part of me wonders if there really is a woman in those curved walls, or if the queen of tricksters has merely sent us on a wild spider chase. The note said that she sleeps on the second level, which is why we chose the window to break into.
The hairs on the back of my neck rise, and I look over my shoulder to see what creature watches us—but there is no bear nor dryad. It is likely one of Mrath’s spies ensuring that we make good on our word.
I take a deep breath, listening to the rhythmic sway of the trees in the night breeze, and nod to Ra”Salore. Like an expertly tightened spring, he swings his legs up and climbs to the window, latching onto the side of the house and using his tail to steady him. Faster than the strike of a serpent, he holds out his hands, and the Fuegorra in his chest lights up through the fabric.
In seconds, the cloudy window melts away. When it is completely gone, his tail adjusts position again before he swings and ducks inside the house. Even with our strong hearing, I can detect neither the creak of a floorboard nor the scrape of furniture against a polished floor.
The passing time is measured in my racing heartbeats, and I find myself holding my breath until he comes back. When he does, he slides out of the window, clutching to the side of the house with the ease of the most experienced crystal harvesters.
Ulla and I look at each other.
“I’ll go first, then help you. Are you ready?”
She has a hollow paleness to her complexion, but she nods and slips her crystals into her lace-up pockets.
We don’t speak as we approach the space. I try to follow the exact path Ra”Salore had taken up the wall, but I falter. When I slip, it makes a loud groaning crash, but thankfully, the wooden panel on the side doesn’t break.
Ra”Salore reaches out and helps me into the room. As I roll onto the ground, I take a second to breathe before righting myself and spinning around to help Ulla up as well. Once all three of us are inside, a loud snort from another room breaks the silence.
I freeze, and the choking sound recedes into a deep, labored breath. The house isn’t enormous, so it is easy to pinpoint the woman’s location. Fingering the dagger in my waistband, I draw as much air as possible into my lungs as Ra”Salore and Ulla return to their positions on opposite ends of the room.
As my eyes adjust to the dark space, void of the harrowing light from the moon and stars, I pause. Everything is much larger than the average furniture, and there are paintings of the Zlosian forest.
My heart skips a beat when a stench hits my nose—old blood. I flinch when Ulla touches my elbow.
“Teo,” she whispers in our language. “What’s wrong?”
Another wave of prickling premonition passes over my skin, and I look up, searching for the spy in the shadows.
I take a deep breath and shake her off. “Do you smell that?”
She looks at me, her nose wrinkling. Then she blinks, “Yes. Is the target already dead?”
I shake my head, pulling her toward the room with the closed door and the loud sounds.
Ulla holds up her crystal and shakes her head to confirm there are no enchantments waiting to burn us alive or alert the target.
Strange.
Mrath told us there would be.
Despite the voice in my gut telling me to stop, I put my handle on the knob and twist, opening it up inch by inch and then all at once.
While my friend stays near the door, I step into the room. The sour stench hits me straight in the face, and I gag.
It’s human, and whoever it is is definitely dead. What in the gods’ holy names happened here?
I raise the knife in my hand, holding my breath, and then stop when I see the large woman lying on her back.
A giant woman.
I turn back to the awful smell and see the illumination of a male form. I can make out a little more than the extent of his wounds.
“Who would do this?” Ulla whispers, just low enough for only me to hear. She crosses to the space where he is laid out and gasps.
“Ulla, later. Let’s finish this first,” I say through gritted teeth.
I adjust my grip on my weapon, and creep to the bed.
Moonlight spills over her face, showing off bright red hair that has been smoothed back into a tie. From the shape of her body in the lacy white nightgown to the sound of her snoring, she is the spitting image of Lijasa.
I am once again transported to Zlosa. To that opulent suite at the top of the palace. The curtains are drawn, and I don’t glimpse a single leaf as I retrieve the knife I’d hidden days ago.
The evidence of Lijasa’s passion is scattered around the room from the clothes on the floor to the drained wine glasses on the side table. Gods only know that it would take several glasses to willingly lay with such a woman.
Lijasa is sprawled out. Naked. Drugged.
And I hold a knife over her chest where her stony, wicked heart pumps out its last few beats.
There’s no way in all the dark corners of the earth that she should wake when I draw near, but somehow, as my hand hovers over the bed, Lijasa opens her eyes and looks at me with a wanton lust. Terror scorches through my body, but I only allow her a second before I plunge the dagger into her chest.
She doesn’t have a chance to scream.
The sound of the knife clattering to the ground draws me back to the present and causes the very much alive woman in front of me to stir. Her face turns toward the window, but it becomes clear she isn’t Lijasa.
It’s her sister—Laavi. They are similar, but I know her. She was supposedly executed when she tried to kill her sister on her wedding day.
I don’t have time to reach down and pick up the knife before I hear a soft thump behind me.
Quicker than a cave-in, I twist around to find a dark, black-clad figure stalking toward me, knife in hand and pointed at my breastbone.
I don’t have a chance to move, shaken as I am, and it’s nothing short of a miracle when Ulla stumbles in front of him from a shadowy corner.
The attacker halts in his deadly course, knife a hair”s breadth away from Ulla’s long, blue neck.
“No,” she breathes, fumbling at the space on her hip. Feebly, she holds up a short Enduar blade between them. “No more death.”
“Put that down before you hurt yourself, my dear,” a low, theatrical voice grits out.
Blood roars in my ears.
Mrath sent us here knowing of my past and sent an assassin to kill us before we could return.
And not just any murderer in the night...
“Thorne?” Ulla asks as he stands there, frozen.
He reaches up and pulls back the mask covering his angular features and reveals a tight jaw and bunched shoulders.
Thorne doesn’t respond, and I take the opportunity to scoop up the knife, returning to the woman.
“Forgive me, Ulla,” I say.
“Wait—“
“No, she’s a monster, just like her sister,” I say. “May your gods save you, for I cannot.”
I bring the knife into her chest. Hard—for giants have much stronger bones than humans or elves.
She wheezes her last breath as her eyes flash open, and her arms flail out, one knocking me straight in the stomach.
The sickening crunch of her rib snapping under the force of my full body weight echoes in the room while her spine bows in agony.
Only when she stops moving do I remove the dagger, dripping with the stink of her life essence.
Panting, I look at her unseeing eyes. The only one left in her family is her nephew Rholker, and he’s next. Lijasa’s whole circle was full of slavers and liars. Those who take pleasure in pain.
I turn back to the lifeless body and summon a spell light. A table lined with sharp, clean tools is positioned next to the bloody corpse sitting in a chair.
The poor human was tortured to death.
Hot tears gloss over my eyes, and rage flows through my veins. Turning back to the dead giant in the bed, I see red. She died too fast. Perhaps I should have made her suffer longer.
The Butcher lives once more. Next to the pain I feel over the human, there is no dark corner of my soul that harbors space for mourning another giant pawn in a cruel dynasty, nearly ended.
I hurl the knife at her throat, just for good measure. More viscous liquid leaks onto the nightgown, staining the collar deep crimson. It doesn’t spurt, more proof that her heart has stopped.
My blood pumps through my veins, filled with adrenaline and rage and pain. My voice is ragged as I gasp for breath.
This damned trip. I was free from these tortuous ghosts. Why do they now stand in the room watching me war within my wretched mind?
It isn’t until I hear Ulla’s gasping that I turn back around. Her chest heaves as she looks at the dead giant. I drag my hand over my face, smearing a bit of half-flaking blood from my face.
Her hand reaches up to cover her mouth, and I see it tremble.
Thorne covers it with his own steady palm.
“Ulla,” I say, reaching out to rest my hand on her shoulder.
“I said no more death,” she chokes out. We stand there, enemy and friend, comforting the healer. She is no stranger to death, but this was… different.
Seconds later, Ra”Salore creeps in, only to stop abruptly.
“What the hell is he doing here?” he demands when he sees Thorne. Then he makes a gagging noise and covers his nose when he sees the other deceased figure.
Thorne rips off the entirety of his mask and his silver hair spills out in short, strangely well-styled curls. His eyes are practically burning, and I get the sense that he’s not a man easily restrained.
Though, he was by Ulla.
Ulla, who cries over the vicious murder of an evil woman. A bead of shame blossoms in my throat as Ra”Salore reaches over and draws her into his arms, away from Thorne and me. She folds into his arms and Thorne tilts his head to the side.
“Has she never seen a dead thing before?” he asks, completely ignoring the fact that he just tried to kill us.
I frown, not wanting to anger him if he has a tie to Mrath. I feel raw, exposed, but those emotions can be felt later. When I don’t have so many foreign eyes on me.
“Millions of our people died in the Great War. She’s a healer, she’s seen death often.”
He looks at me with a sour expression. “Then why does she weep over that damnable creature?”
“I’ve… never seen someone killed before. It was shocking,” she hiccups. Then, as if she had forgotten her terror at the death moments before, she meets my eye. “Are you all right?”
No.
I nod. “I’ve done what needed to be done.”
Thorne’s expression softens. “Well then. Enough talking, let’s go back to Mrath before you drown us all in your misplaced tears.”
Her cheeks glisten, and I look at Ulla with nothing but respect. She stood in the way of the blade meant for my flesh in my weakness and was soft enough to weep for my soul, as I have seen her do for any of her friends.
Did our people appreciate her enough?
I turn away from them, break the chains holding the man to his death seat, and hold him in my arms.
Mrath let this happen.
The suffering sings in the air of this bedchamber. I care not if the filth left over from his human vessel gets on my clothes. Let the world know that this treatment of my wife’s people ends today.
Thorne says nothing as we move down the house. He disables every ward, and we exit through the front door, which slams behind me.
My chest is rising and falling as my blood boils. The power I keep a tight hold on stirs in my veins, overheating my flesh and calling to the channels of molten heat deep below.
When Niht spots us, he looks utterly confused as to where Thorne came from, and why Ulla is crying. Thankfully, after one shake of my head, he is silent.
“Ra”Salore!” I bellow. “Dig a hole.”
The stone bender obeys immediately.
He kneels down, legs crossed beneath him, eyes closed and hands on his knees. The ground before us lifts and starts to rearrange itself. I listen to the sound of the moving dirt.
When the grave is ready, I kneel down.
Ulla starts to sing, her voice laced with grief.
I close the man’s eyes, and say, “Far away, there is a place where there is no slavery or death. Go now, and tell the gods of what a wretched thing it is to live.”
Stepping back, I raise my hands, feeling the dirt thread through my fingers as I weave him a shroud of earth and stone. I only wish to protect his body from further defilement.
The pounding under my skin doesn’t subside. So I call on more power, reaching deeper and deeper to places that the forest doesn’t know of, in the molten core of the earth. I sit with the angry heat for a moment, and then with a tortured growl, I pull it all up. The house behind us is engulfed in lava within seconds.
The Enduares do not flinch or try to leave. They watch as that awful house is reduced to a shower of sparks and ash.
When it is finished, I weep for the man dead in the ground and the woman tugged around on a leash. For the children murdered before they had a chance to grow up and for fathers who ask their sons to sacrifice more than they should.
The world has fallen—so I will burn it to the ground and remake it.
When I finally bring myself to stand, Thorne looks at me with burning approval and guides us back to the entrance of the enclave.
The air is heavy when we reach the wooden door with a great, beautiful face and green eyes.
She speaks in old elvish, and Thorne bows before her.
“Oscailte?1.”
“Bím i gcónaí ar fáil duitse?2,” the door responds in a low, lilting accent.
With the groan of heavy wood, the door starts to open slowly, revealing the way into the enclave.
Thorne continues to watch Ulla with a strangely intense gaze. His confusion is written on his face. I’m not the only one who notices.
Niht steps in front of her, blocking Thorne’s view with one of the damned birds who has nestled into his hair.
This time, we are shown far more access to the entrance of the place than before. I take time to study my surroundings, from the rows of rooms with wooden doors to the hallways made of interlocking evergreen branches. It’s impressive how everything works similarly to our system of tunnels in Enduvida. It succeeds in pulling my thoughts away from the exhaustion of murdering in cold blood.
Emptiness swirls through my mortal vessel, carrying me forward until we reach a place where there is a perfect view of the first streaks of dawn.
As I look up at the stars, celestial rocks in the sky, I think of my earthly star and whisper another prayer for my love. A woman now chained by the progeny of my own abuser.
I recognize the arching dome of trees above us making up the meeting hall’s roof.
As we enter, everyone is still continuing their party, though the night has faded into loud lyre music and the laughter that comes from drunken dancing.
They ignore us. In fact, even Mrath seems unphased by our return despite her having sent one of her assassins to kill us.
The most dramatic reaction we get from the leader of this sisterhood is a frown when her gaze lands on Thorne. Without another word to us, he walks up the steps and sits on her thorny arm rest.
As soon as he draws near enough, she reaches over and strokes his arm.
“Well, pet? I’m assuming they passed my little test from the fact that they are here and not bleeding out on the floor of Lady Laavi’s home,” she drawls.
Thorne makes no expression, but his eyes trail to Ulla’s bowed head and tear-stained cheeks.
“They did. The king is quite talented with a blade.” Thorne leans back on the throne, playing with a thread on his carefully sewn tunic. “And then he buried the house in lava.”
A pang of worry resounds in my chest. My father used that power for incredible evil, and I don’t think that the would-be Elf Queen will look kindly on me just wielding it in her backyard.
But then, Mrath’s eyes glitter and a slow smile spreads across her lips. “So you can still use the volcano.”
“I don’t use it unless it’s necessary,” I say.
She grins. “You’ve offered to help me get the artifact back, take down my brother, andyou can wield the volcano? This is delicious.”
“Let’s hope it’s an appetizing enough offer for you to finally assist us,” I say firmly. Her ambition is dangerous.
She laughs, and the sound twinkles in the air around us. All the severe lines of her cold features light up. “Tell me, Enduar King, how did it feel to kill the sister of the woman you assassinated during the war?”
I glower in her direction. “You knew about Lijasa?”
She laughs harder.
“That’s hardly a secret! But yes, I have reports detailing how much you suffered during your time in the royal giant court.”
My heart races but I don’t let on anything else. This woman must have had eyes everywhere from her childhood to present day.
“Lijasa was a monster. Most of the giants were when I lived there—they killed on a whim and took advantage of anything with two legs. I feel little remorse.”
Mrath grins and leans forward.
“And a monster she was. Though she did pay us so much gold that it still fills our coffers. Her story is quite juicy, for it seemed that she had wanted to be a queen in place of her sister—I always had a soft spot for that. A bounty was placed on her head, and we kept her safe, giving her a human every now and then to satiate her needs.”
My stomach roils and bile coats my tongue as I remember the slain human. His face was resigned to pain even in death. I pray that every god gives him a better life than the one he was given in this world.
“You chided me for keeping humans, yet you would sacrifice them to appease such an awful female?” I growl.
She shrugs. “The lawless are so because we don’t have the luxury of civilized customs. It was either he died in that house or on the fields.”
But there is one law: Don’t fuck with Mrath.
The woman before me is still a snake… Can I really hope to believe she”ll be loyal to me?
“How long have you been leading this enclave? I only knew of your father, the old king.”
She smiles, not needing to sing lullabies to her conscious. She knows what she is, and she’s thriving.
“I will give you information about anyone but myself.” She leans back, her hand still on Thorne’s knee. He doesn’t freeze, but he makes no move to return the affection.
“Very well,” I grit out. “At least tell me if you accept our deal.”
After a few moments, she claps her hands and gathers as much attention as possible.
“Sisters! It seems we have a new ally. Everyone raise a glass for the trolls!” she calls out, laughing.
The drunken stupor follows suit, and something akin to relief softens my shoulders. Allies were allies, even if it was feeling less and less like this would be a permanent solution.
As if reading my thoughts, Mrath extends a finger and bids me draw closer.
I do, feeling nausea grow with each step.
“I am a woman of my word. You and a team will go after your bride first,” she says.
Tension that’s been knotted tight in my chest for weeks starts to unravel.
“We will need several hundred to get her from Zlosa and?—”
She cuts me off with a tsking sound. “Never forget that I know far more than you. Rholker is preparing to hold himself a coronation.”
I blink. “And you wish to kill him during his coronation…?”
She shakes her head. “I think we should take your pretty mate home first. He’s quite obsessed, and I think it will weaken him to have her taken again. Then, we’ll give him a few weeks of him wallowing in loneliness to make a fool of himself in front of the giant court...”
“And then we relieve his body of the burden from his big head.”
She smiles and nods. “I like the way you think.”
I take another step closer. “Just how many of your assassins will you send with me?”
She taps a pointed fingernail to her lips. “Two dozen.”
“Twenty four women? That’s not?—”
“It will be enough because I say it. Do you understand?” she all but growls.
I glare back at her, flexing my jaw. “Of course.”
“Of course,” she mocks gently. Then she traces her finger over my cheek and across my lips. “Never forget that I am your only hope.”
The movement shocks me, it takes a second for the seal to set in.
Bound by magic.
With the ritual complete, she waves me away and relaxes on her throne. “So, dear king, please elucidate the facts for me—exactly what do you know of the Cumhacht na Cruinne?” she asks suddenly.
I swallow, thinking back on Liana’s words. Before I’d left, the wise woman had explained the three orbs of power given to the king, the heir to the throne, and his firstborn daughter. The one with the most power would be declared sovereign.
Mrath looks over at Thorne, who nods. She winks at me.
“He can smell lies. Good thing you chose to be honest without forcing me to castigate your friends.”
“I know that it’s the greatest portion of gods-given power your people possess. Typically, it was meant for the king while the lesser potions of magic were given to the two royal children,” I say, repeating what Liana had told me.
Then she leans back on her throne of thorns. “Well well, you are studious. Do you also know that was what your father stole from us during the Great War?”
I nod.
She smiles, pleased. “The court of the elves is a game of power—the one with the most wins. Arion wants the orb returned to him to solidify his rule. As the firstborn son, he has the greatest portion of power from my father. We will assist you with the giants, and you will bring me that artifact, which we will use to establish me as the new Queen of the Elves.”
I take a deep breath, still deeply mistrustful of the woman.
She laughs, exhilarated.
“Can you imagine?” she says to Thorne who looks down at her dutifully.
“Yes, Mrath,” he says, voice flat.
“Perhaps it wasn’t such a shame that you showed up on my doorstep tonight. You’ve been most diverting. Go, rest. You will leave in the morning.”
I look around the room, unimpressed with the revelry. “May we go back to our camp?”
She rolls her eyes, clearly annoyed with my request, but waves me off.
“Whatever you want, just leave me alone now. I intend to be thoroughly mussing my sheets with my gorgeous pet in the next quarter hour.”
She points her finger at one of the dryads, and they move forward, prepared to take us out. Thorne leans over and bites her pointed ear, and she lets out a giggle. She casts him a heated glance before capturing his lips with her mouth.
I turn, tired of the display, and wait for the dryads.
It isn’t until we’ve left the enclave that I take my real first breath.
I look around the camp and sigh. Then I fish out one of the stones that Liana gave me. Its black sheen gleams in the light.
Raising it to my lips, I say, “We’ve secured help. Tomorrow we ride to Zlosa.”
I watch the color shift from black, to red, and then yellow and gray. The message must have been sent because the stone turns dull and lifeless.
I drop it to the ground and walk to my tent.
There are only a few more hours until the sun comes up, so I plop down a pillow and lay my head upon it—entirely content to let the emptiness consume me.