Of course, there was still a chance Taghi had made it up to sneak his way to his sister, but wherever Brax had looked in the main tent, Gandrett remained gone. So did the chancellor.
To Hel’s realm with what his father thought, his mother, his brother—or the girls who had been seeking his attention the second he’d left the dance floor, some of whom he would have taken up on their offer a couple of months ago … maybe even a day ago when he had believed Gandrett would never return to Ackwood, that her devotion to the goddess was pure and real and chosen. But considering the way she had acted since she had returned from those weeks spent the-gods-knew-where, he knew she wasn’t the same warrior who had left these halls. No, there was something seriously different about her, and it wasn’t just the fact that she had downed three glasses of sparkling wine. She had closed her eyes in his embrace even if it had been just harmless dancing. She had trusted him. Hadn’t fingered for her weapons or reminded him that he should take back the Brenheran heirloom he had gifted her as a reminder that he existed.
The chancellor was just a man after all, and Gandrett in that gods-damned dress—Brax swallowed—the chancellor had to be blind not to be drawn by that. And what if the chancellor didn’t care who she was? What she was? What if he took advantage of her state of lowered inhibitions? There would be no coming back from that. Not for someone sworn to the Order of Vala.
His mind filled with the worst of scenarios as he stalked up to the tent Taghi had pointed at.
The tent was only a couple of steps ahead, and Brax felt his hand start shaking as he reached for the curtain of gossamer that blocked what was going on inside from the rest of the world.
Damn the chancellor. And damn the consequences, too, if he interrupted something.
The flaps of the tent flew open on a phantom wind as Brax reached out with his hands to tear them aside and revealed—
Nothing. They revealed nothing but a burgundy velvet divan and a lazily flickering torch, a bucket of ice, and an untouched bottle of sparkling wine.
Brax stepped inside, inspecting the divan, the grassy ground for he didn’t know what. A sign. Any sign that Taghi Saza Brina hadn’t made a fool of him. Nothing. There was no sign of Gandrett or the chancellor. The ire ebbed, embarrassment threatening to settle with sure weight instead, making him hide his shaking hands in his pockets as he turned on the spot and was about to leave when the summer night breeze flushed the sound of retching through the tent.
The ire flared once more.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Gandrett was half sure she would never again be able to look the Fae male beside her in the eye as she returned her dinner to the greenery along the palace walls.
“Gods, I hope this isn’t one of Lady Crystal’s favorite flowerbeds.” Nehelon’s amused comments filled the silence between her retching.
“Why don’t you just disappear like you normally do?” she bit at him when she was sure everything but the appetizers had left her stomach for good.
“And miss this?”
She wanted to slap his face for the chuckle that carried in his low tone. And she would have—hadn’t it been for the swaying world that just wouldn’t stop moving, no matter how hard she held onto the grass.
“Three glasses of sparkling wine, soldier, and you’re on the ground. Had I known, I would have laced your breakfast before training.”
Gandrett wanted to give him a vulgar gesture, but the appetizers claimed her attention as they crawled up her throat and onto the grass.
“Can’t you just heal me or something?” she demanded in a voice that lacked coherence.
Nehelon chuckled again, the words he had spoken to her moments before apparently as far from his mind as the spring of the Penesor. “No.” He crouched down beside her, his face irritatingly close to hers as he eyed from the side how she wiped her mouth. “And even if I could…” He stopped as Gandrett shot him a look that meant to rip out his tongue.
What had happened? One moment, he had taunted her, attempted to seduce her. The next, he had all but shoved her off his lap. Gandrett shook her head as he just frowned back at her.
She should know better than to seek for good reason behind the Fae male’s behavior. First, he was Fae; second, he was Nehelon. Either of the two should have been enough to not be surprised when he patted her shoulder and said, “Come, soldier. It’s time for you to go to bed. Training starts at dawn tomorrow.”
Something in his wicked gaze made her dread he wasn’t speaking about summoning a flame or craving the earth—which was exhausting for the mind more than for the body—but the hard-as-shit training that he had ushered her through those first weeks in Ackwood, long before anything at all had ever happened between them… Not that anything had happened tonight—according to Nehelon, at least. Gandrett spat on the ground and grinned, one-hundred percent certain that her breath smelled like the dead, and found some twisted sort of satisfaction in it. “Oh, I can’t wait.”
Brax couldn’t believe his eyes as he found Gandrett kneeling on the grass, emptying her stomach … and the chancellor, crouching beside her with an expression as if he was having the time of his life.
Gandrett’s backs stiffened as he called for her while jogging up to them, unsure of what to make of the scene. The chancellor, however, merely looked up, his expression sour, and remained where he was.
“Oh gods,” Gandrett drawled as she sat back on her knees. “Is there anyone who hasn’t noticed?”
The chancellor, to his surprise, laughed. For a brief moment, Brax wondered if he had ever seen the chancellor laugh.
“Are you okay?” he asked, and when Gandrett just doubled over again, she emitted a noise that Brax could gladly never have known could come out of the elegant girl. “Is she okay?” he asked the chancellor instead.
“That’s what the first encounter with sparkling wine will do to you,” was the reply when the chancellor straightened to his feet.
From the ground, Gandrett’s disgruntled voice sounded, “Go away, Brax.”
Brax gasped, and the chancellor chuckled to himself.
“You both can go to Hel’s realm and let me collect my guts later when I’m sober.”
There was a certain irony to the fact that the Child of Vala was vomiting in the gardens of the place where she had been sent to serve. The chancellor had said it earlier—that her sword was the Prince of Sives’s for as long as he needed her. Now, she was literally spitting on her duty by everything she had done tonight, spitting on the Order. And yet, Brax couldn’t bring himself to care.
“Let me help you get back to your chambers,” he offered, half reaching for her shoulder, but the chancellor held out a hand, gesturing for Brax to leave her be.
“Let me deal with her,” he said in a knowing tone. “I was on my way in anyway, and now that I have a report for the Meister to write, the party is most definitely over for me.” He gave Brax a look that was a clear dismissal. “But not for you. Go, enjoy the night while you can.” He crouched down beside Gandrett again, grabbing her elbow with one hand and pulling her to her feet, apparently confident, from the absence of her retching, that it was over. “As a soldier in this house, she is my responsibility anyway.”
Addie was about halfway up the stairs when footsteps echoed behind her. She slowed in response, her feet becoming near-silent on the cool stone. She was used to turning invisible—at least had been. And it had been far easier with the rags as a dress, with the lack of a voice in the court where she had served. No one had heeded her a look, and no one had asked her opinion.
Since she had arrived in Ackwood—where no one but Joshua, Gandrett, and the chancellor knew who she was, what role she had served in Eedwood, and what Linniue had chosen as her fate—people had looked at her, noticed her, seen her. It was enough to drive her from the party early. Especially when Joshua Brenheran-Denderlain had made the effort to sit with her in front of everyone—his whole household, the heirs and officials of other courts; whether they were f
riend or foe, he himself, apparently, wasn’t very clear.
The footsteps stopped and hurried another direction, somewhere in the hallway below the stairs.
Addie loosed a breath of relief.
Joshua had reassured her she’d be safe walking up all by herself. There were guards positioned all the way from the main tent to the main gate and then in regular spacing throughout the palace.
It didn’t make Addie feel any safer though when the scar in her shoulder began singing in icy pain as she reached the top of the stairs and turned the corner at a controlled pace that she could only keep up because she knew it wouldn’t attract attention. She rubbed her shoulder with her fingers and was only halfway down the hallway to her room—hers and Armand’s—when the latter’s voice called her from the other end of the hallway, right by their door.
Her heart almost stopped as he jogged toward her, concern on his features, but her scar silenced. She dropped her hand.
“Joshua said you left—” Armand said, crossing the hallway to where she stood, unsure if she should be relieved to see him or worried. Also, Addie wasn’t sure if now was a good time to bring up the occasional pain in her shoulder.
“I thought I’d make sure you got to the room safely,” he said when Addie stood, still frozen as she had so many times when she had still been a slave.
“You didn’t need to come all the way from the party just for that,” she told him with what she hoped was more composure than what she felt when her heart started flying at the thought that he had—come to check in on her. That he cared enough to want to check.
“Of course I did,” was all he said and took those final two steps toward her, offering his arm. “I would have never made it in time to beat you to the door had Joshua not shown me a shortcut earlier this afternoon.”
Ah … yes, Joshua. Addie wondered if there was anything about Joshua Brenheran-Denderlain that Armand didn’t admire. And much to her dismay, she had to agree. He was almost too perfect, too kind, too noble, too—
A shadow floated through Addie’s peripheral vision, stopping her thoughts dead. She couldn’t be scared. Not now. Not after all the horrors she had endured … and survived. Or maybe she was afraid especially because of that. Because of what she had survived.
The shadow was gone so fast she didn’t even turn her head. A cloud covering the moon outside, an owl drifting past the windows, the flickering of a torch… Addie had found ways to deal with the panic that sometimes struck, and when she looped her arm around Armand’s, her features had turned into the answering smile the young lord and future chancellor of Sives deserved.
She let him guide her to the room, and once inside, her eyes fell on the broad bed, leaving the fear of the shadow replaced by a different type of unease.
“I already said you could have the bed,” Armand commented with the warmth that had filled his face ever since they had arrived and spoken with Joshua again. Hope—there was so much hope in the young lord despite everything that had happened to him. The loss of his mother, the role of his father in her death, his aunt’s deceit…
For some reason, Addie wasn’t sure that hope was something she could share. Not with the Shygon worshipper who had threatened her on their way to Ackwood. The god of dragons doesn’t forget. She had successfully pushed aside the words that had echoed through her mind during their journey. But with the phantom pain in her shoulder that seemed to be returning, Addie could no longer suppress it.
“Are you returning to the party?” She faced Armand and found his hazel eyes studying her with concern.
“Not if you need me here,” he said without turning away.
“Why would I need you here?” Addie knew that in broad daylight, she may have blushed. Not because he was asking that question mere steps away from the one bed in their shared room but from embarrassment that someone would consider she needed anyone. She had been so dependent on her own company, on herself, that sometimes it was hard to accept Armand wanted to help.
So Addie held her chin high as she dug deep into her soul and brought up the right words.
Addie’s eyes were the color of the Eedpenesor after the ice of the winter had melted, Armand had noticed earlier today, long before the sun had set. Now, in the low light of the moon-lit night, they were pale and weary. He wasn’t sure if he had imagined the flash of fear a moment earlier, but when she turned to ask if he was going back to the party, his chest ached to stay.
“Not if you need me here,” Armand responded so fast that he couldn’t think the words through. But did he really need to think them through? He had spent weeks with her, cleaning up the mess his aunt had left behind in his court, and she had gone through it with more dignity than most rulers he knew. Most definitely not his father.
“Why would I need you here?” Her words were defensive. Not at all what shone in her eyes. She needed him.
She eyed him with that clarity he had rarely seen on other people. Not even on Gandrett, who always seemed to be playing some game. Even tonight, she had come to the party as Brax’s guest and not spy or a soldier on duty the way she had been when she had snaked her way into his castle—
Beautiful, wicked Gandrett. And yet, his heart, however much it had been ensnared by the woman she had pretended to be, was no longer enchanted by her. At least, not the way it had been back then. There were other things that connected them. A secret or two—her magic, the Dragon Water, the knowledge of what had really happened that night under Eedwood Castle… And Armand was glad that Joshua had her here at Ackwood.
“I think something is wrong, Armand,” Addie said out of the blue, “and I know it’s Nyssa’s night, and you’d much rather be out there in the gardens, dancing and celebrating.” She eyed him in a way that made him wonder if that was how he came across—that he was here just out of a sense of duty.
Armand stalked to the small table by the window front and took a seat, demonstrating in actions rather than words that he was exactly where he wanted to be. “What worries you, Addie?” He folded his hands in his lap as he turned his gaze on her, ignoring the low hum of night that broke in through the cracked-open windows.
The young woman turned to the side, her profile showing off her slender figure and full breasts that had manifested only since she had gained back that weight his aunt had starved her of, and she crossed the room to the fireplace where she lit a candle on the mantel, making her features come alive in the orange light. Armand felt his throat bob—not at the view but at the thought of how much hardship his family had caused her and how she could even look at him as if he were different from them.
She stood for a while, watching the candle flicker in the draft, one hand braced on the mantel, the other absently rubbing her shoulder.
Armand knew what lay beneath the dress where her fingers moved in lines as if tracing the pattern that had been carved into her. He hadn’t seen the scar since those first days where it had healed by the power of Dragon Water and the long nights he and Deelah had sat by her side, taking turns, just in case she woke disoriented.
Addie gasped and flinched, dropping her hand as if its touch had just singed her shoulder.
“Is the scar bothering you?” he asked, reading the answer on her face as she turned toward him, a hint of fear lingering on her features.
She nodded. “Since this morning,” she said so low that Armand had to strain his ears to be sure she had spoken.
Addie joined him at the table, the weariness heavier on her features now that the moonlight touched her pale skin.
“It was so bad this morning that it took me a full hour to be able to think straight.” Her voice was haunted as if the thought alone was enough to drive her into panic. “And, thank the gods, no one came to the room while I was indisposed.” Armand knew by the way she shook her head that if anyone had found her then, she would have had trouble explaining what was going on. Seeing a healer for it was out of the question. And Deelah—the only one they trusted with her injury—was a week’s
ride back in Eedwood.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Armand wasn’t sure if asking her to let him see the scar would be something that would offend her, but he felt the urge to assess for himself whether there was anything unusual about the way it looked—besides its shape. However, he couldn’t help sitting up, eyes following her fingers as they slid over her shoulder to the wound lines once more.
Addie cringed away even with a table between them, pressing into the backrest of her chair.
Gods—what else had been done to that girl if she flinched from his gaze like that?
Armand lifted his hands and slowly placed them on the table, watching Addie’s eyes go wider and wider, silver lining them under thick, black lashes. Then, she went utterly still. So still Armand could no longer tell if she was breathing.
One moment, she was telling Armand that something was very wrong with her scar, that it was hurting, had been hurting, and painfully so, this morning. The next moment, Addie was back in the temple of Shygon, Linniue dragging her toward the altar, the knife that had cut into her flesh clutched in the lady’s barbaric hands. The pain—unbearable. And the chant in her mind. That same language that the world should have forgotten when the last dragons vanished. She heard it, loud and clear in her head, thrumming against her skull like the steadily rising tide, swelling, swelling until her bones threatened to break under the power of the words. Words that had no meaning other than a summons, a lure, a call for her to drift away from that other voice speaking her name again and again. Close, so close, she was no longer sure if it was in her head as well.
“Addie!” His shout echoed through the chamber for a long second—or an eternity. And she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, pinned by that invisible force, taunted to come search for it, to come if she dared. If she was wondering what had been throbbing in her shoulder, under her scars. In that symbol.
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