by RJ Metcalf
What in the Void was he doing? Her engagement to Weston had been called off, but she and Zak hadn’t really talked about that, and now––
Zak cleared his throat, chasing her thoughts like a flock of sparrows. He held his hand out in a courtly gesture. “My lady.”
A laugh burst out of her. His shoulders hunched for a moment, as if nervous, though he smiled fully. She accepted his hand, savoring the tingle that rushed across her skin at his touch. “My good sir.”
Zak’s gaze felt like a caress, warm and loving, and she gave him a quick grin, then gestured at the garden. “This is lovely.”
His smile dimpled. “I know.” He turned, leading her past two trees laden with blue trumpet-shaped flowers. His grip on her hand stayed light, yet firm, and Jade studied the sash as she followed. Did that simple strip of fabric mean what she thought it did? Hope fluttered like a baby bird in her chest, uncertain if it could fly yet or not.
“Your sash,” she prompted, her mouth dry. “Is that––”
Zak gently drew her toward a stone bench and pulled her down to sit on it. A flush spread across his face and he swallowed hard, his eyes intent on hers, still holding her hand. “Lord Weston restored noble status to the entire Monomi clan.”
Jade covered her mouth with her free hand, her heart trembling, as if it didn’t remember how to beat properly. “He did? When? Why?”
“Two hours ago.” A gentle breeze brushed dark hair across Zak’s hair across his forehead, and he pushed it back. He sucked in a breath. “As for why …” He knelt in front of her, both knees in the grass. Her mouth opened in a little “o” and her nerves started skittering like a bard’s fingers over a piano’s keys. Zak let go of her hands to unbuckle his ceremonial Monomi dagger. He held it out flat, balanced on both palms. “If you’ll have me wholly, I will stand by your side from now on, as more than just your bodyguard, your friend.” Zak bit his lip briefly, not breaking his gaze into her soul. “Jade, will you marry me?”
Tears dampened her cheeks, and she set her trembling hands over the dagger, her fingertips resting on the heel of his hands, and his fingertips grazing her wrists. This was beyond anything she could’ve imagined wanting. “Yes.”
Fierce elation shone in Zak’s eyes, and he lunged forward as he stood, pulling her into a hug and spinning her around. She laughed aloud, giddy with delight. She clutched onto him, careful to not drop the dagger as she savored the sensation of him holding her. He looked down at her, his smile the widest she’d ever seen. She wiggled her hand free of his hug and touched her fingers against his jaw softly. “Stop grinning and kiss me.”
“As you wish.” He slanted his mouth over hers.
She hadn’t realized that her face was cool from the outside air until the warmth of his lips on hers melted through her. His mouth moved against hers, and she met his passion with her own, delight heating her from the inside out. Where last time they’d truly kissed—back on the divan at Francene’s—had been passionate and fiery, this time it was softer, the warmth and passion of a hearth fire, instead of a blazing bonfire. Comforting and familiar. Yet exciting and new. Zak stroked the sensitive skin at the back of her neck under her hair, adding tinder to the blaze. She gasped and his lips curled against hers.
He leaned his forehead against hers, allowing them a breather. He tilted forward, pecking her lips with a slow kiss. “I love you.”
“And I love you,” Jade replied softly, still holding onto him.
Zak’s arms squeezed around her again. “I suppose we should be responsible and find your mother.” His eyes sparkled. “She’s been pretty impatient for me to propose.”
“What!” Jade laughed. “She knows?” He nodded, a hint of smugness in his expression and she giggled. “I’m guessing Zaborah, too?”
“And Weston, of course.” Zak’s grin eased slightly. “He’s the one who suggested the garden here.”
She gaped. “Really?”
He touched the sash with two fingers. “He’s also the one who decided my family has been through enough, and that we deserved to have our status reinstated.” Zak’s lips quirked. “I’d say it’s his way of giving his blessing.”
It most definitely was. With Zak being noble, it wouldn’t be completely unheard of, or frowned upon for her as a princess to marry him. Weston had just made one of their biggest challenges disappear.
She smoothed her hand over the satiny material, then laid her hand flat against Zak’s chest, relishing in the feeling of his steady heartbeat under her fingers. “We’ll have to thank him later.”
She backed up just enough to reach her belt buckle without elbowing Zak in the gut, and slipped the Monomi sheath and dagger onto her belt, arranging it to rest comfortably at her hip. She ran her knuckles over the smooth hilt and beamed up at Zak. “How’s it look?”
She was engaged to Zak. Her heart could burst from the sheer joy at what she’d deemed impossible just a few short months ago.
Zak’s eyes darkened, and he tilted her face up for another searing kiss. “Perfect.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
Weston
Weston clutched the burning torch in his hand, numb to the core. It was finally the day of his father’s funeral, and he still didn’t know what he felt about his father’s assassination. Was it relief that left him lightheaded, that he’d never have to fear being beaten again, that his mother wouldn’t have to bear the emotional abuse that Everett dished out? Was it cold anger, as he mourned the relationship with his father that never was? Or sickly guilt that he didn’t sorrow over his father’s death? Shouldn’t he feel something—sadness, hurt, pain—that his father had been murdered?
It was impossible to know. And it wasn’t like he had the time to sort through the tangle of emotions that he didn’t even want to sort through. It was enough, having the thoughts run through his mind like a rampant river in every waking moment that wasn’t taken up with war preparations. And then having them simmer there while he lay in bed, trying to sleep.
And now, he stood by his mother, a perfect blend of pain and sorrow aging her, and yet he knew that she felt the same awkward relief that he did. Royalty and delegates encircled them as they stood around the pier that held Lord Everett’s body, all waiting for the ceremony of his passing to end. The young priest of Texx raised his arms to the sky and lowered them until his palms faced Everett’s pier, signaling Weston.
Weston stepped forward, holding the torch aloft, cautious to keep the smoke stream out of his face and eyes. “May the songs of battle and legends of your exploits be told forevermore in the Great Halls of Texx, the Warrior,” he intoned, reciting the lines of his role as firstborn son perfectly. “All will remember High Lord Everett Lechend Windsor.”
He lowered the torch, teasing the kindling with the fire until the straw caught, instantly glowing orange. A burst of heat rolled from the depths of the pier until tongues of flame licked at the wood that held his father’s body aloft. Weston sucked in a quick breath of the smoky air, mentally preparing for the unforgettable odor that would soon follow. He risked a glance from the corner of his eye at Abigail. Antius and Vodan had similar rituals for death, both dealing with sending off their dead into the water. Aerugo couldn’t be more dissimilar. How did this affect her? Was she horrified? Angry? Uncaring?
Abigail’s face glowed a dusky rose in the warmth of the fire, and it almost looked as if there was a slight sheen of tears in her eyes. She closed them and gingerly hugged herself. Emperor Ezran settled his hand on her shoulder, his rounded face impassive as the reflection of flames danced in his pupils.
Behind and to the side of Abigail stood Jade, Zak next her. Jade caught Weston’s eye and she gave him a small, sympathetic smile. He nodded minutely.
The stench of burnt flesh twisted in the air, and Weston’s stomach threatened to rebel. As if on cue, the priest started whirling his hands, twisting the smoke straight into the air and away from the mourners gathered around. The scent lessened, but Weston knew that i
t would stick under his skin, pervading his senses for the rest of the day, until he could bathe and scrub his skin and hair again and again, ridding himself of the hated odor.
At long last, the pyre had burned to the point where those gathered could leave, and Weston loosed a sigh of relief. His cheeks felt too dry from standing so close to the fire, and his heart ached with a cold numbness that left him weary. They still had to find the missing Pamela and Victor, and whether or not Brandon had reached the Hollows yet was unknown. Too much was going on for them to spend such time standing on ceremony.
There was a banquet feast tonight to finish the funeral ceremony, but he had enough time to scrub the bits of ash that had settled on Weston’s clothes. He forced himself to not think of what those ashes consisted. For now, it was time to escape. He slid his hand into his mother’s and squeezed it, winning a small, grateful smile from her. He slipped free and turned away, eager to return to the haven of his room.
Abigail stepped in front of him, blocking his path. She’d exchanged her typical silver-and-green lined robes for solid black, just the hem of her sleeves and neck embroidered with a simple green pattern. And something about her serious expression made him feel almost uncomfortable. She buried her hands in her robes, holding them in front of her, posing like an old sage he’d once seen in one of the many history textbooks that Andre had forced him to read so long ago.
“I owe you an apology.” Her gaze didn’t waver from his. “I remembered you from the last Leader’s Summit, and I assumed you were the same as back then. Your actions and your words have proven otherwise. I—” Her cheeks colored and she shifted her gaze to his shoes before flicking it back up to him. “I was wrong.”
“Thank you.” He didn’t know what to say. What was there to say? That it was about time she’d realized the truth? That he’d been as awful as she remembered, but he’d changed in the last year and a half, so he was glad that the summit was now instead of back then? And why did his chest swell with a hint of humble pride?
Abigail’s eyebrow twitched. “So that’s all you’re going to say to that? ‘Thank you’?”
“Um, yes?” Weston backtracked slightly, surprised by the edge in her voice. “What else should I have said? What did you want me to say?”
Her mouth opened, then closed. She shook her head, hugging her arms tighter than before. “Never mind.” She started to turn away, then paused. “And I am sorry for the loss of your father.”
“Don’t be.” The words escaped him before he could hold them back. She looked at him, puzzlement creasing her brow, and he stumbled over himself, trying to explain. “We weren’t exactly close, my father and I.”
At that she returned to face him fully. “I find that hard to believe,” she admitted, openly curious. “Before, you seemed like an exact miniature of him, and somehow, since then, you’ve changed to the point where I’m actually intrigued by you. You stayed my hand from my right to execute a traitor. In hindsight, I find that I agree with your logic. You put yourself in harm’s way to protect my life. And all you say is that you need to—that you want to—protect me and those here. What changed?”
“I had some sense knocked into me.” Weston flopped his hands against his sides in an awkward shrug. He twisted slightly to glance back at the mound of still-burning wood and barely visible body. Most the nobility had already left. He offered Abigail his arm and nodded toward the path leading back from the royal mausoleum to the palace. “Please, let’s relocate to a more pleasant location,” he begged.
She eyed his bent elbow with a small hint of suspicion before she relented and slipped her hand through, curling her fingers around his arm. He swallowed hard and started down the path.
“What is your plan for the future, with the barrier down, your father gone, refugees at your walls, and armies surely marching this way?” Abigail asked, her attention on the trees lining the dirt-tamped walkway.
Weston sighed and shrugged slightly, mindful to not jostle her still-healing arm. “Unite the nations if at all possible, so we can have the largest army possible, pooling our resources. Winter will likely be settling snow on the mountains soon, if not already, and that may buy us time until spring, if we’re lucky. In the meantime, face the threat in the Hollows and subdue that. Start amassing supplies, food, weapons …” He trailed off. A fork was coming up in the path. They could turn right and go directly to the palace, or left, and he could lead her through the evergreen hedges of Gone But Not Forgotten. He veered to the left, wishing to continue their conversation without the bustle of the palace and all who would want to wish him well with their sympathy today.
“I want to find Victor and any more of his Void Born and put an end to the madness here. And provide order to the refugees. Help them make semi-permanent shelters that can withstand the winter, acquire fresh food and water for them, find a way to help ease some of their suffering.” Weston tilted his head back to the gray blue of the sky. “I just need the resources and someone who’s good at humanitarian relief. I admit I don’t know much about that, though Jade––Princess Adeline––has been starting to try her hand at it.”
She nodded amiably through his musings, her own expression thoughtful. “What kind of weapons does Aerugo have in the works right now? Anything useful for the war effort?”
“Steam-rifles, mostly.” Weston rubbed the back of his neck. “I had an idea recently that I want to run by my master at the workshop, see if she thinks it’d work. We may have something to add to the airships, if she likes it.”
Heavens above the Void, Abigail actually looked impressed. He didn’t want to think of what that did to his ego. Speculation gleamed in her eyes. “I didn’t realize you were an inventor now.”
“I needed a hobby.” He glanced away, almost bashful. Did he want to admit that he picked it up because he wanted to understand Jade better, at the suggestion of Andre? No, Abigail didn’t need to know that. Probably didn’t want to know that, anyway. This kinder side of her was because of his father’s funeral today, nothing more. Knowing that, he didn’t mind trying to press his luck. “Do you have one?”
“A hobby?” She clarified. A small grin crossed her lips. “History is my passion, and I’d love to be a full-fledged sage, if I wasn’t already a princess with responsibilities.”
“Sounds tough,” Weston commented. He lightened his voice to be encouraging. “But I know you would be amazing in that role, if you could have it.”
How was it being royalty in Antius? What responsibilities would she have? He had some idea, from his lessons with Andre, but what was taught wouldn’t cover the little details, the day-to-day things. He wanted to know, but not pry.
They were approaching the end of the path, with nowhere but the palace to return to. Abigail slowed as they neared the double doors that two guards opened for them. Her expression tightened. “Everyone will be at the banquet, correct?”
He blinked at her sudden seriousness. “Theoretically, yes.” Pomp and circumstance were the lifeline for politicians when things went awry, so he expected everyone to be there.
“Good.” She slipped her arm free of his and started toward the direction of her room. “I’ll see you then.”
* * *
Freshly scrubbed from head to toe and dressed in a crisp suit of pure black, Weston strode into the meeting chamber of the Summit, the designated location for the final banquet in his father’s honor. He escorted his mother to her seat, pushing it in as Andre had taught him, a gentlemanly manner that Everett had never taught Weston. His mother gave him a small smile of pride.
Violet lifted her hands in a gesture of acceptance. “Let us dine in my late husband, Lord Everett’s, memory, and may we continue to forge this path of unification as we face the gravest threat of our generation.”
The leaders around the table murmured their agreements and condolences, and Emperor Ezran stood. Abigail shot Weston a look that could only be interpreted as triumph. Ezran rested his knuckles against the table, his cou
ntenance stern. “My daughter has spent the last three hours explaining to me the importance of our united kingdoms, and what benefits could be ours if we were to work together.” Ezran fixed Weston with a speculative stare. “Do you affirm that Aerugo would be willing to share their steam-rifle technology with us, should we join your coalition?”
Weston spread his fingers wide on the tabletop, sucking in a breath. He hadn’t said that specifically to her, but if that was what Antius needed to say yes, then he’d stay in the workshop with Pistoia overtime to see it done. “Yes, we will share all our resources with Antius and all other kingdoms that join us. This is a matter of us all standing together or falling divided. Aerugo will do her part to see that we stand as one.”
Ezran lightly pounded his knuckles into the table and glanced back at Abigail before raising his eyes to Weston. “Then I pledge the support of the Antian military and our resources to the Southern Alliance under your command, Lord Weston.”
Weston barely kept the surprised cough in his throat. Lord Weston? It was one thing when Jade’s father had called him that, as it was more theatrics than actual acknowledgment or respect. But this? His father’s ashes hadn’t even cooled, and now he was being hailed as the new ruler? And by another country, no less? What about his mother? The other nobility in the city, who would be vying for the spot? None of them were qualified to lead an army like this, but this … this was a mantle he was woefully unprepared to take on. He glanced at his mother, and she lifted her chin, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. Weston bowed his head in a show of humility. “You honor me, Sire. Thank you.” He straightened, pulling his shoulders back. “Aerugo accepts your pledge with gratitude, and will use your resources with the utmost of care for the good of all our people.”
Ezran sat and Abigail tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I will leave in the morning for our sovereign nation,” she announced. Weston’s heart sank as she continued. “I will lead the charge to root out any more of our traitors, the former advisor Kaius’s sleeper cells, and I will marshal our forces to send here for your use.” She gave Weston the first full smile he’d seen from her, dazzling him. “We are pleased to work alongside your nation.”