Chapter 42 #2
“Thanks,” is all I say between chattering teeth.
Tenebris brings us into a low cruise to escape the deathly temperatures, and we fall into a strained silence, both fighting the desperate need for warmth.
Jace’s scent cocoons me in a heat I barely allow myself to acknowledge.
His line is drawn, and I’ll be damned if I’m the one that crosses it again.
When I’ve lost feeling in my fingertips, a white stone wall juts into the sky below us, marking the border.
"Let's land before my balls freeze off. We’re far enough past the lurker den they won’t sense us," Isra calls through the dense snowfall. We start our descent, disappearing under the early evening light.
When finally, Tenebris's claws burrow into the soft, marshy ground, a wave of relief crashes over me. I dismount first, putting the much needed distance between Jace and me.
“Gods be good.” Roe shakes the snow from her cloak. “The flight home is not going to be pleasant.”
“Stay hidden, but within ear shot in case anything goes awry. I don’t trust these fuckers to uphold their end of our arrangement.”
Roe nods and wraps her cloak tighter. “Got it.”
Leaving her burrowed under a cloak of dense marshy woods, the three of us trek toward Sea’s border station. My pulse thrums in my throat with each step.
The outpost stands two stories high, marking the only passageway through the half-mile thick mountain-stone wall separating the factions. The mortar is still bleached white and new suggesting either daily upkeep or new repairs. Was there a recent invasion or attack?
“Head down, Nova. Let us handle this,” Isra whispers, squeezing the hand at my side.
“Gladly,” I reply.
We slip through the entrance and immediately my cheeks warm. Dry, crackling heat chases the shiver from my skin as we follow the corridor to the guard post.
Amber light trickles in from a plainly kept room with a single desk.
A guard sits facing us, reviewing trade authorizations no doubt.
My boot trips on a raised edge bisecting the room.
One side of tile flooring is cracked and fractured while the other gleams gold in the sconce light. Odd decor for a border post.
“Crossing sanction.” The guard holds out a palm.
I tuck a loose lock back behind my ear and secure my hood in place.
What I’d gathered from the whispers back at Finnick’s, although Sea hadn’t refused Sovereign refugees after the war, they’re not as welcoming as Storm.
The constant tug of political agendas keep Sea in a state of flux, not dissimilar to the tidal lands they call their home.
Whether I’d be welcomed or refused is lost to uncertainty.
Especially if Ashar has been pressing Sea nobility as much as Jace has.
“Official directives from House Mercora.” Jace places a scroll in his hand. Without an upward glance, the guard unravels our sanction and scans each line of handwritten text.
“One moment, please, King Ashborne.” He rises from his desk and disappears down the corridor. Hushed voices and murmured words slither from the hall. I glance at Jace, but he doesn’t look at me. His eyes are colder than frost and harder than granite.
Standing beside me, isn’t Jace anymore. It’s King Ashborne, and all they write of him. His lips draw into a snarl that has me shifting in my boots.
“Jace Ashborne.” A man appears in the hall, a wide grin spreading over his thin lips. He returns a straight black strand of hair back behind his ear and traipses to the guard’s post, ice blue eyes sparkling in the candlelight.
“I’d say it’s good to see you Eden, but I’d be lying. Mercora sends his eldest son to do his dirty work?” Jace replies, a growl building in his throat.
Fuck, this is House Mercora’s heir? I’ve shivered in the face of nobility before, but Eden’s long, spidery frame and sharp jawline sends a wave of hesitation through me. He’s as slippery as Samkiel and without a doubt just as unpredictable.
There’s something all too familiar about Mercora’s heir. Maybe his pointed nose or thin mouth? I know for certain I’ve never seen this man in my life, yet…memory tinges somewhere just out of touch.
Every hair pricks on high alert as he saunters toward us and places a hand on his guard’s shoulder. “Do you have my circlet?”
“You mean my mother’s circlet, Eden?” Jace growls, retrieving the stashed crown from his pack.
“It was promised to House Mercora,” Eden says.
“Let’s not revisit the past.” Jace’s voice is low and menacing. “I’m sure your father wouldn’t be pleased if you caused a scene.”
“My father’s rarely pleased, or have you forgotten?” Eden picks at a sharpened fingernail. “How’s my little sister, by the way? Still a pathetic little bitch?”
“Keep Roe’s name off your tongue or I’ll slice it out myself.” Isra’s hand hovers over his sheathed blade.
“Oh, call off your guard dog Ashborne, before he starts humping my leg.”
“Let’s just settle our terms and go. As much as I’d love to rip your throat out, this is a brand new shirt,” Jace looses a long drawn sigh and Isra huffs.
I’m stuck on the information so casually exchanged as if it didn’t totally break my brain. Roe is of noble blood? Fuck, it makes sense. Her pendant, the persistent refusal to cross the border…damn.
The little viper herself, slinging snide comments like they’re daggers, is the second heir to the drowned throne.
But does that mean she, too, is a rider?
If I’m not mistaken, all of House Mercora is.
Just like House Ashar and House Raine. She never mentioned a bonded dragon, nor expressed any desire to fly for that matter.
Is that why she left Sea? To escape her fate as a rider?
Or maybe to rid herself of this asshole.
Either seems plausible as Eden wets his lip and inspects the circlet.
“One day the little bitch will have to come home,” Eden snarls. “Your sanction expires in three days’ time.”
Jace tucks his hands into his pockets and slips past him. Isra follows then, shoving a shoulder into Eden’s rib.
The man gnarls his face to hide a forced breath and takes a seat at the front post. Silently, the initial guard leads us down the corridor, past various storage rooms and offices, each pristine and gleaming.
We slip through another door, finding ourselves behind an iron gate, open to the outside air.
“Have a nice visit, King Ashborne,” the guard clips before retrieving the key. None of us offer a thank you in return.