Chapter 31
SAPHIRA
The light felt good on my back as I walked the garden, strolling back from my training with Chase.
My cousin had been more than a little disturbed by the effects of Kaeleron’s nightmare.
To set his mind at ease, I hadn’t corrected him when he had assumed it had been an earthquake.
Morden had given me a look that had called me on the lie, and I had shot a warning look right back at him.
The pack needed time to settle in and learning that the king who ruled this court was powerful enough to make the ground shake violently—or worse—wouldn’t help them.
They deserved rest and recuperation after what they had been through, and I would do my damnedest to ensure Kaeleron’s mood or emotions didn’t get the better of him again in the near future.
I followed the mossy steps down from the small, raised path that ran beneath the beautiful white wooden arches near the woods, and drifted towards the lake side of the enormous formal garden, enjoying the arbours and pergolas that were heavy with crimson and lilac blooms, and the view across the crystalline water of the lake and misty falls to the black mountain that sharply cut down to the bay below and that sliver of sea beyond it.
A galleon rode the gentle waves, flying a flag I didn’t recognise.
Maybe I needed to ask Kaeleron to school me on the flags and banners of the courts too.
The crimson flowers cascading from the round, columned structure in the middle of the garden brushed my hair as I ducked beneath them, heading through it to the path to my right, heading back towards the fountain.
I turned left at the elegant pale marble fountain, gaze skimming the turbulent water before it lifted to the path I was on—one that would take me back to the castle.
My steps slowed as I spotted Vyr and Riordan there.
Neither the beautiful onyx-haired fae nor the blond vampire looked happy, and tension crackled between them as they discussed something in low voices.
The nobles in the garden kept their distance, and even the gardeners were avoiding the area around them, their focus on their work and not the princess of their court as she looked ready to bite Riordan’s head off over something.
Fangs flashed between Riordan’s lips as he spoke back to her.
I didn’t want to get involved, but I did want to visit Neve and to do that I needed to get past them and it felt rude to give them a wide berth when Vyr glanced at me, her silver eyes darkened by the ashy black that surrounded them, a sign of her other side coming to the fore.
I scurried towards them and as I passed them, I muttered a swift, “Hello.”
Riordan grunted, “Hello.”
Vyr scowled at him when a soldier caught his attention, lingering hesitantly near the castle and waving at him, as if he feared getting too close.
I couldn’t blame him.
Jenavyr looked ready to level the Shadow Court as her gaze tracked Riordan as he made a hasty exit.
I grimaced as she caught my arm, stopping me from doing the same.
“Good morning, Saphi.” She was all smiles and brightness as she pulled me to face her, as if her argument with Riordan had never happened. “We shall need to visit the seamstress soon.”
She pulled a square of black card from out of the air and waggled it at me, the gold lettering on it flashing in the light.
“There is to be a ball at Ereborne.” Some of the false brightness in her voice and expression gave way to shadows as she frowned down at the invitation. “I am sure the high king is up to something. By the Great Mother, I do not want to dance all night. It is exhausting.”
And it wasn’t her.
She didn’t want to be pushed onto every suitor who came her way, expected to dance with them and be pleasant and docile and everything these fae males believed a female should be.
That was what she wanted to say, but feared voicing her true feelings within earshot of so many lords and ladies, and castle staff.
I could understand that.
“Can’t you skip it?” I took the card from her, arching an eyebrow when the script didn’t magically change so I could read it.
The ancient language. It stood to reason that a high king would use it rather than the common fae tongue, distinguishing himself and elevating himself above those he ruled over.
“No.” Her look soured as she snatched the card back and I was surprised she didn’t tear it into a thousand tiny pieces and scatter it like confetti on the wind.
She looked as if she wanted to. She sighed, some of the fight leaving her voice.
“All the invited must attend, and that… that includes my brother.”
Something about the way she hesitated jangled distant bells in my mind, making me stare at the invitation a little harder as I recalled how she had argued with Kaeleron over the fact he had gone to Ereborne dressed for war, wearing his armour, and something about duty.
Kaeleron had said he had done his, and their support was assured. What support?
“The high king demands obedience from all. None may refuse him. Although many of us, my brother included, wish that they could. Some things he asks of us are hard to bear.” She sighed again, a long weary one.
I decided I didn’t like the sound of this ruler who believed all his subjects should obey him without question.
It sounded more like a tyrant to me.
“Keep me company at the seamstress.” She squeezed my arm, her smile fragile. “I despise being prodded and poked with pins and squeezed into dresses. It would be nice to have an ally there.”
I nodded. “Of course. But if you hate it so much, could you not speak with your brother? Surely he could make some kind of excuse for you that the high king would accept?”
She scoffed, the brittle sound telling me exactly what she thought of that suggestion or perhaps how well she believed it would go. “I am honestly baffled at times how you can be so close to him but so blind to the truths of him.”
She smiled, clearly meaning it in jest, but I couldn’t smile back at her, not after what Kaeleron had told me last night. He was keeping secrets from her—hiding the truth from her—and I was sure she was closer to him than anyone, even me.
“What is wrong?” She moved a step closer as her smile fell. “Do not tell me he has been intolerable again? I truly thought he was getting better. The two of you have been so very close recently, and it has been good to see him happy again.”
Was he happy?
Did I make him happy?
He made me happy.
“Not at all. He’s just… I woke him from a nightmare last night.”
She didn’t look surprised to hear that.
“You know about them.” It wasn’t a question.
She nodded. “I do. He tries to pretend they do not happen, but it is rather impossible when he rattles the castle whenever he has a bad one.”
“Do you know what he dreams about?” I held my breath as I waited for her to answer that.
She shook her head and frowned, a resigned edge to her gaze as she held mine.
“I admit I do not. It is hard to know when he has been through so much. The wars. So many wars. So many battles he kept me from, where he would return bloodied and beaten and looking so tired I feared he might simply lie down and give up.”
My blood chilled at the thought he might.
I wouldn’t let it happen.
“And how were you there to rouse my brother from his nightmare?” Jenavyr waggled her eyebrows, her smile wicked and teasing.
I didn’t blush.
“I couldn’t sleep and he was trying to tear the castle apart so I figured he and the castle staff wouldn’t care if I woke him up and stopped him.
If they talk, they talk. I don’t care.” I shrugged.
“I only cared about getting him to stop going through whatever he was going through to make him so volatile.”
“It was good of you,” she said and then added, “and the castle staff are already very aware of your relationship. If they had not been before the other night, they were afterwards.”
My cheeks flamed.
I had thought magic or his shadows would stop everyone from hearing that moment in the dining room so I hadn’t held back.
“Bastard,” I muttered, sure he had done it on purpose.
I was going to give him a piece of my mind when I saw him again.
And I was going to ask him what he had said to me after wishing me good night with that soft kiss on my forehead that had warmed me to my marrow, pulling me up from sleep enough that I heard him before I fell back into a deep sleep.
Although I doubted he would be honest about whatever he had said while he had thought I was sleeping and unaware of him.
I looked at Jenavyr.
But she might know.
“What?” She frowned at me.
“Nothing.” I waved my hand.
She gave me a pointed look in return, one that demanded I say what I had wanted to say.
I gathered my courage and said, “What does neer ill eth kai ethena mean?”
She went terribly still.
“Does it mean little wolf or my little wolf in the ancient fae tongue?” Because he was rather fond of calling me that. “If it means little lamb, I’m going to kill him.”
“You are certain he said nyr ill’aeth ky’aethena?” Her silver eyes darted between mine as concern clouded them and when I nodded, it disappeared beneath a too-bright smile and a little shrug that set me on edge.
“I think so. I was half asleep, but it sort of rang in my mind as I drifted off and it was there when I woke this morning. Does it mean my little wolf?” I studied her. Hard. Trying to catch whether she was lying to me or not.
“Something like that. It is close to that.” Vyr forced another smile that didn’t quite banish the concern, or gleam of anger from her eyes.
What had he said to me that it had rattled his sister and had her looking over her shoulder in both directions, as if she was trying to find him.
Riordan had the misfortune of strolling back over to us just as she looked back at me.
“Is that an invite?” He jerked his chin towards the black card she held in a death grip.