Oracle of ruin, p.20
Oracle of Ruin, page 20
“Do you always have to be such a dick?” I lash out. It is the only defense I can conjure. Pinning the blame on something else entirely, something unrelated to my sins.
But per usual, Blaine is not having any of it. “Did you really think he would let you go? Lucius would only lead Krycolis through marriage, so with both of you gone, there would be no heir. No one to take over. Enemies would get wind of this and invade; the rebels would have invaded, and I’ve met their leader. He would have been ruthless, the type to kill anyone in his way. Do you know how many people, innocents, would have died by his sword? What about other enemies? Or by the king as he sacked homes and tortured civilians to find out where you went? And if Tanya had lived, then he would’ve known to go after her first. Then when she didn’t crack, Torin, and then me. None of us would have given you up, but our blood would be on your hands. Now tell me why you are fit to be queen?”
The rejection stings like nothing else. All my life, I have been raised and groomed to be queen. I’ve memorized every line and verse of law in the kingdom, now able to recite them upon command. I’ve had my wrists whipped if I held my cutlery at the wrong angle, or if my spine was not straight enough. I’ve been preened and polished until I bled, all to prepare for the weight of the crown.
“My whole life, I was raised for this.”
“Your whole life, you were raised to be a figurehead. An image. Up until this year, you thought the cursed were literal monsters. You so easily forgot that they were your people too.”
Tears of embarrassment prick at the corners of my eyes, but Blaine continues, his voice unwavering.
“I know you were kept in the dark on purpose. I know it is not all your fault, but by the Laei, at least take accountability for what was. You have always been so headstrong about everything and nothing. I never understood how you could sit silent as they lied to you.”
My mouth clamps shut, and even when I try to open it, no words utter from between my lips, just a dry, croaking noise.
Blaine’s eyes are dark and sorrowful and his hand twitches as if longing to reach for mine. Instead, his shoulders go rigid and he rises. “The rebels are cresting the hill. They’ll be here soon. I just thought I’d let you know.”
He closes the door on his way out. Gently, so gently. Like he was never here.
A dry scream sticks to the back of my throat. Not because he was wrong—Blaine is hardly ever wrong, especially when it concerns me. No, he’s so right about everything that my heart burns with rage and sorrow.
Slowly, I smooth my dress. Darkness coils in my stomach, but I shove it down. The rebels are nearly here and if there is anyone I cannot afford to show weakness in front of, it would be them.
My fingers fly to the dagger at my hip, and I press the pads of my fingertips against the iron thorns. They are blunt edges, but the dull bite calms my senses just enough that I can clear the mist from my eyes and open my door.
Later. Everything that Blaine just said can be dealt with later.
Rowan’s hand finds my elbow, the mercenary appearing at my side as if from thin air. I smile brightly at him, vanquishing any last trace of my sorrow or contempt. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything, just walks beside me in silence until we round the corner that will take us back to the lobby of the inn where the others wait.
“So,” I drawl, my feet suddenly dragging. “Any idea how long this meeting will take?”
His lips lift into a smirk. “Why? Do you have somewhere more important to be?”
“Well, I was in the middle of this book.”
“A book?”
“Mhm, one of those filthy ones Kya likes.” I near laugh at his darting glance. “I think I should like a whole library of them once this war is over.”
Rowan pauses, glancing over his shoulder before pulling me down a side hall. His arm braces on the wall behind me, his lips dangerously close to my throat. “When we retake our kingdom, I will build you the largest library this world has ever seen, and I will take you against every bookshelf. Tell me everything that goes on in those dirty little books of yours and I will make it happen once you’re on your throne.”
My knees tremble as my breath hitches in my throat. I don’t know where I find the strength to whisper, “Our.”
“What, love?”
“I preferred it when you said our kingdom. Our throne.”
My tongue feels heavy in my mouth, the words lazily being dragged from my hazy subconscious. Everything is Rowan. He caresses my senses, completely enveloping me in him. The scent of citrus and pine floods the room in a thick wave, and his emerald gaze pierces through what little bit of my sense of self that I have left.
His knuckles graze my side as he trails them from my hip up to my ribs, mapping the expanse of my torso. His warm breath kisses my skin and I am not ashamed to admit that my gaze has now settled on his lips.
His voice is low and heady when he chuckles. “I’ll have you on our throne, as well, if that’s what you want, sunshine.”
Desire scatters across my flesh in the form of goosebumps and my back involuntarily arches off the wall. My chest scrapes against his as I breathe and his fingers raise to hook under my chin.
“What happened to your boldness? Were you all talk with that wicked tongue of yours?”
I feel the sudden urge to stretch up on my toes and press my lips against his, to show him just how wicked this tongue is, but my feet remain rooted to the worn wooden floorboards. He smirks knowingly, already basking in the victory that comes from my breathlessness. His arm wraps around my midsection in the gap between my spine and the bookshelf, his fingers splayed across my waist. With one deft motion, he hauls my form against his and crashes his lips down onto mine.
He is shadow and light. Sin and good. Pure bliss and eternal torment. Each time his lips close over mine, I feel as if I might die, and yet when he pulls away, I find myself leaning forward on my toes in search of him again. His mouth is warm, and he chuckles against my lips before lacing his fingers through my hair at the base of my neck. He pulls my face to his, leaving me no choice but to stay enveloped in him as he claims more of me. My body. My heart. My very essence.
I don’t need to be the sun in his life. I don’t need to shine like Mavis shined to him. I just need to be the stars that reside in his darkness. Gods, just grant me that much.
Feeling emboldened, I step closer, hooking one leg behind his knee and pressing into his hips. He groans against my mouth and I repeat the motion, feeling heat settle low in my core. His teeth scrape across my lower lip and I gasp, one of his hands trailing up past my ribs. His thumb traces circles across my flesh. Gods, this is better than reading it in a book, this is…
“You’re seriously making me reconsider going to this meeting.” He grins against my skin. His lips move to trail up my jaw before he playfully nips at my ear.
“We could skip?” I offer helplessly as his ministrations leave me breathless.
“And what happened to that good girl act?”
“Fuck the meeting.”
Rowan pauses, his chuckle a low rumble in his chest that vibrates through my palm. I fight the urge to whine when he steps back, pressing one last slow kiss to my swollen lips before smiling. His hand reaches out and smooths my hair where he mused it and brushes my bangs from my eyes. “We have to go. I’ve got to make sure this world is safe for you first, then I’m all yours.”
My lips involuntarily form a pout. “You mean when we make sure the world is safe.”
Rowan’s breath hitches and his emerald gaze traces my entire body. His face softens and something like peace washes over his features. His touch becomes reverential, worshipping almost.
“What?” I breathe.
“Just making sure you’re real,” he whispers, pressing a slow kiss to my forehead. “You’re perfect. Fucking perfect, sunshine.”
I blush red to the tips of my ears, the back of my neck warming with humble embarrassment. I’ve been called many things in my life, some things more savory than others, but never have I been spoken of with such whimsical awe, such adoration.
Silently, I interlace our fingers and allow him to lead me towards the dining hall.
Kya told me on the way back that they’ve been holding all meetings in this room, the once ornate dining table now converted into a war table. The door squeaks as we enter, announcing our entrance to all the patrons inside.
Kya’s descriptions haven’t done the chaos in the room any justice at all. Maps have been pinned to the wall with carving knives, certain portions slashed through and marked up with charcoal and an assortment of colors of ink. They overlap, creating a grand depiction of the entire continent, an ocean of parchment, charcoal, violence, and blood splatter. The few chairs that are in the room are occupied, drawn into a circle around the war table.
I take a moment to register the unfamiliar faces. The Nightwalkers clump together, Amír residing in the center, seated between Kya and Torin. Torin bridges the gap between mercenaries and rebels, the sight more jarring than I expected it to be. A woman sits to his right, the majority of her face obscured by her hood, but not enough so that I can’t tell she used to be pretty. Her eyes are dull and red and her cheekbones sunken, but her face is kind. Her brows are soft even as they pinch together, and I gasp when I recognize her.
Ruby lowers her hood, her gaze finding mine immediately. Her jaw clicks as she bites her cheek, those pretty eyes filling with tears almost immediately. I find myself biting my lip, pain slicing through my heart. Torin dips his chin when he notices our interaction and his hand reaches out to squeeze hers. She offers a small and appreciative smile before squeezing back and turning her face to the map resting on the table.
Another hand descends from behind the woman’s head and points to a specific part. My lips peel back in a wide grin and before I can stop myself, my feet are pounding against the floor and I’m throwing my hands out towards the young knight.
“You’re okay,” I breathe into Seb’s shoulder, cradling his head against my neck with a small laugh.
The last time I saw the young man, he was facing down a crumbling castle and Kijova with nothing but a sword after Tanja’s death. The few times before that had been when he escorted me somewhere within the palace, our first meeting, of course, being when I jumped out of the palace window during his first week.
While his fiery red hair and freckles have remained the same, not much else has. New scars lace his pale skin, some still fresh enough to be red and fleshy. He’s grown slightly taller, and while he is still young in age, he has the haunted look of a seasoned soldier. Blaine wore the same tense expressions when he returned from war, his face gaunt and his motions jittery as if anticipating the next attack.
Seb’s muscles still to stone for a moment before he softens and allows his arms to tentatively wrap around my form as well. He holds me tightly enough that my feet lift from the floor and he grins. “So are you, Mei Reinhavich.”
“Please, the world is ending. You don’t need to use formalities anymore,” I offer while I release him from my tight embrace. “Just Vera will do.”
“At least let me call you Verosa instead. Vera might be too shocking right now.” He blushes. “I’m still used to only seeing you in a crown or royal portraits.”
“Fair enough, but you better call me Vera at least once before this war is over.”
“I think I will manage.”
Rowan clears his throat behind me, his hand snaking around my waist and pulling my back into his chest. A smirk fights its way to my lips at his blatant jealousy, but Seb only extends his hand.
“It is an honor to meet you, Noiteron.”
I jab Rowan’s side with my shoulder. “Just Rowan for him too.”
“Noiteron is fine,” Rowan responds coolly.
“Are you ready to start this meeting or are we going to dawdle around your pride all day?” Amír calls from her spot at the table. “We know your dick is bigger, Rowan, so just sit down.”
A few spare laughs break the only slightly awkward tension before we settle around the table again. Some of the rebels eye me with disdain, the rest opting not to look my way at all as we sit.
Rowan smirks. “At least we all know it now.”
I drive my elbow into the soft spot between his ribs and he chuckles, the sound and his breath scattering across the outer shell of my ear. I shove him back towards his chair, purposely sitting beside Kya instead of the seat next to his. He rises and follows me to my chair anyway, opting to stand protectively behind me and glower at any of the rebels who eye me for a second too long.
“Territorial bastard,” I murmur under my breath.
Kya giggles while Rowan pinches my shoulder warningly.
An imposing man who sits across from us clears his throat, and my eyes narrow in on him. Truth be told, he was the first one my gaze went to when we entered the room. He wears all white, the material surprisingly comprised entirely of leather and fur. His gray beard matches the textiles, his pale blue eyes complimenting his appearance as a whole. He’s burly, not unsimilar to the way Finneas is. However, while Finneas obviously could kill a man with his bare hands, he doesn’t appear to be the type who would. This man is every cut and jagged edge of a killer, and the thin white scar across his throat shows all he is no stranger to the face of death either.
His gnarled hands rest folded atop the table, occasionally tapping the worn wood. His piercing stare sends a chill through the air that caresses my spine and licks at the nape of my neck. I force myself to hold his gaze. Slowly, his lips twist back in a wicked smile.
Amír’s voice cuts through the tension. “—Verosa back, we can proceed with the next phase of our plan.”
Everyone’s attention remains rapt, hanging on her every word while the gray man and I continue our stare-down. How long has she been speaking?
Rowan squeezes my shoulders and Kya leans in.
“She’s asking if you’d know any potential Kijova weaknesses to exploit,” the assassin whispers.
“Which you’d know if you had been paying attention, princess.” Amír sneers, leaning back in her chair. “But seeing as you’re the only one who can kill them and save us from certain doom, I suppose I’ll give you a pass.”
Gods, she’s a bitch.
“Thank you for your kindness,” I purr.
The gunslinger mockingly salutes, her spare fingers fiddling with a loose thread in the stitching of her leather holster.
The gray man narrows his eyes on the motion before his attention snaps back to me, as if daring me to notice that our minds wander the same paths. He sits close yet ahead of the rebels, obviously their leader, and even more obviously the man who has ordered multiple assassination attempts upon my life.
My gaze trails to the knife at his hip, its dark black steel iridescent in the dim inn lighting. He smirks as if noticing where my mind is going.
A cursed blade—one of the only things that can kill me as a blessed. An object that allows the cursed to murder a blessed without any repercussions like the ones that come with dark magic.
“How did they forge your blade?”
The gray man laughs, a low, gritty sound of steel on gravel. “I’m not in the business of dealing out illegal secrets for free, girl.”
I ignore the slight, even as Rowan’s fists tighten and one of his hands reaches for his sword. Kya’s face goes white with barely restrained rage while mine remains impassive.
“I’m not asking for names or places, just the process.”
“Answer her, Roiden.” Rowan’s voice is a low growl, barely audible save for the three of us.
The gray man, Roiden, sighs for show before brandishing the blade. Torin and Blaine shift closer to where I sit and I force my body to still.
Roiden grins knowingly, then raises a brow with feigned innocence. “A dark mage blesses the blade as the iron cools. There’s a specific incantation and the iron is mined from a particular mine within these mountains. I don’t see how this information is helpful. We have cursed blades and they do nothing, just like everything but your magic.”
“Exactly.”
Amír’s eyes widen as she tracks where my mind is heading. “You don’t think…”
“The moon needs the sun to shine, just as the Laei designed it.” I spell it out slowly and plainly, hoping wickedly that his struggling brain won’t catch up. “If there are cursed weapons, there must be blessed weapons, as well, or a way to make them. We have a pureblood mage, that must be more than enough.”
“So if we can find what incantation we need and obtain that iron, we can maybe stand a chance in this war.” Rowan finishes my thought before turning to me with a proud smile. “Good job, sunshine.”
Murmurs rise through the room, some questioning, while the others cheer early. The day stretches her rays of light through the window, warming our skin slightly even in the dead of winter. For the first time in nearly six months, hope flickers and jumps amongst us.
“As much as I admire your tenacity and childish naivety, there is no such thing. And if there were, what makes you think we’d have access to anything like this?”
Hope flickers out and I finally stand, towering over Roiden from my end of the table. Snakes like him were all too common in counsel meetings at the palace, but those snakes die off when you crush their heads. Roiden seems to grow a second one.
“You, of course, wouldn’t. I don’t doubt that you’ve never been given access to anything fine or confidential, but I have.” I turn to Seb, Blaine, and Torin now. “Irene’s study. The night I broke in, I saw she had books open by that hand and was catching the blood. Knowing the queen, she must have found some way to weaponize a pureblood or she wouldn’t have bothered.”
“Couldn’t she have just sold the blood for profit?”
“Come now, Roiden, do try your best to not display where you are lacking,” I sigh drolly. “Why would a queen need more wealth when she already had the king by his crown jewels? Irene was never interested in wealth anyway, only ever power. If she found some all-mighty power that she could weaponize for her own gain, she would’ve written it down somewhere. My guess is there’s instructions somewhere in her study.”
