The storm king, p.4
The Storm King, page 4
part #3 of The Lost God Series
“If we need more supplies brought to town I can have an additional grain shipment within the week,” said Vaughn Salvatore. The wealthy grain merchant had been notably tight with his supply in the past. Perhaps Xander’s bad mood was more compelling than Evan expected. “Perhaps Lady Brett could go arrange for it.”
Sylvie smiled pleasantly at the suggestion, but Evan ground his teeth. The men of the council were always trying to assign her administrative tasks that would normally be handled by servants. It was condescending.
“Nonsense, Salvatore. We need Lady Brett here at the meeting. She already does so much for us. I’m certain she could run the kingdom if we all wanted to take a week off,” William Arvato said.
Sylvie preened at the compliment. “That’s a very generous sentiment, but I think we all know I could not do what all of you do.”
Xander arched a brow at the exchange and Evan scowled. William Arvato had recently taken over his late father’s textile business and his seat on Xander’s council. William could be counted on to support Xander’s decisions so long as they were aligned with his interests, and Evan was grateful that he was so pragmatic. He was less appreciative of how much William flirted with Sylvie. Unfortunately, Evan admitting that would mean showing the council his weak spot, and it would undermine Sylvie and her hard work. If the council knew she was involved with Evan they would take her even less seriously than they did now.
Corin Archer cleared his throat, eyeing Cal and Sylvie. Like many of the council members, he resented that Xander had added the two ambassadors from Olney to the council and, while he didn’t say so publicly like Spellman and Bidell, his discomfort was clear.
“Can we move things along? I have a fleet returning this afternoon and I’d like to be there on time,” Corin said.
The man never missed an opportunity to remind the council how busy he was or how much they relied on his shipping fleet and well-established routes for interkingdom trade. Evan couldn’t tell if those reminders were driven by pride or a desire to impress the older members of the council, since Corin himself was only a few years older than Xander and Evan.
“By all means, let’s proceed,” Xander said.
They continued with the tense session as Evan and Xander reported their experience from the front lines.
When the meeting was finally over, the council cleared out, leaving Xander, Sylvie, Cal, and Evan in tense silence. Evan’s head ached from exhaustion and dehydration.
“They’re getting bolder,” Cal said, rubbing the back of his neck. “They balked when I asked if they were going to wait.”
“You’re forgetting they also suggested you and I could skip this meeting,” Sylvie said, grinning at Cal.
Cal shook his head. “They did.”
Sylvie’s guardian was remarkably even-tempered and, although the council did not like a foreign influence among them, the hunters of the Argarian army had taken him in with excitement. He’d become Evan’s eyes and ears among them since Evan had risen too high to effectively blend in. When Evan worked under King Damian, there was enough distance between him and the king to convince the hunters of the army that Evan was one of them. But now, as Xander’s proxy and best friend, the power dynamic had shifted such that he could not be seen as anything but a leader, and no one wanted to be honest with their boss.
“It’s not enough to save the world,” Xander said softly. “You also have to be ready to rule it.”
“You planning on doing that anytime soon, Your Grace?” Sylvie asked. Her blue eyes narrowed on Xander.
Cal sucked in a breath, looking to Evan to resolve the tension as he had so many times before. But Evan didn’t want to. He wanted to know how Xander would explain himself to the woman who had given up her comfortable life in Olney to prove her worth as something more than a bride to be claimed by the most strategically aligned guardian.
Evan was as dazzled by Sylvie’s strategic mind as he was by her beauty, but he’d be damned if he let her know it. If she thought she had him, she’d be bored, and he could not have that. It was less about playing games with her and more about convincing her he was a worthy ally, even when he knew he would never be. She was a lady—a brilliant one, at that—and he was an orphan with no land or status. His only power came from his best friend, who was barely hanging on as king. He could not win her with a distinguished family lineage or massive wealth like all the men who tried to woo her back in Olney. He had to find another way.
Evan waited, expecting Xander to snap at Sylvie, but he just sighed and leaned his head back, looking at the stone ceiling.
“I’m doing my best, Lady Brett.” He finished his whiskey and poured another.
Cal took that as a signal to leave, excusing himself politely and hovering at the door to wait for Sylvie. The two were bonded, which meant that they often came as a pair, and although Cal was aware of Evan’s relationship with Sylvie, he rarely let her out of his sight unless she was safe with Evan. The three of them had agreed that was how it had to be while tension in the kingdom was still so high and some saw Cal and Sylvie as outsiders trying to destroy Argaria from within the castle walls.
Sylvie stood abruptly to follow Cal but paused at the other end of the table. She slammed her hands down on the mahogany wood and squared her shoulders to face Xander.
Desire pulsed through Evan’s blood. He liked to see her fire, especially when it wasn’t directed at him.
“It’s a good thing I don’t tell Cece anything about you, even when she asks,” Sylvie huffed. “She’d be so disappointed to see the state you’re in. She spent all her magic saving you and you know what it cost her. You dishonor the faith she had in you with your blatant disregard for your responsibility.”
Xander flinched at the words. They were cold, efficient, and lethal—a different kind of weapon—meant to be a harsh dose of reality and one that only Sylvie could deliver thanks to her regular correspondence with Cecilia.
“Get it together, Xander!” Sylvie turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, the swish of her dress fading down the hallway.
“She’s just stressed,” Evan said.
Xander rubbed his hand over his face. “If anyone understands passion from a spirited witch, it’s me. I don’t hold it against Sylvie. She’s right. I just can’t seem to figure out how to move forward.”
Evan crossed his arms. “You could try moving Cece’s clothes out of your room, maybe even blowing off some steam with one of the lovely women I’ve sent to you in the evenings.”
Xander waved a hand. “I’m not interested in whores. I’ve never had to pay for it before. Why would I start now?”
“Because you’re a sad sack of shit and any woman who spends time with you should be compensated for such poor company,” Evan said.
Xander tilted his head back and laughed. “Fair enough. Still, I’m not sure I have an interest in that type of company. As for Cece’s things, I just need a little more time.”
Evan knew it was a lie, but he let Xander have it for now. It was good enough just to hear him laugh.
“I should—” Evan gestured after Sylvie. Xander nodded in dismissal, and Evan rushed back to his room.
When he pushed through the door to his bedroom, Sylvie was already pacing the floor, having let herself in through the secret passage that connected to her bedroom. It was convenient, though their secret was likely not as well-kept as either of them pretended. Still, Sylvie preferred to hold to the illusion of propriety.
“You need to stop coddling him,” Sylvie said, her hair loose and spilling down her back like a golden waterfall. “You’re constantly making excuses for him. I know he’s lost the most. I get it, I really do, but it’s hard for me to muster sympathy for a man who’s had wealth, power, and influence his whole life when I’ve had to fight so hard for my own.”
Evan stared at her. She was smart and so cutting. One moment she was managing a room of men, truly making them believe they were smarter than her while pushing them toward exactly what she wanted, and the next she was suggesting better trade routes and more favorable terms with neighboring kingdoms. The woman was born to be a queen. Too bad he wanted her to himself. He couldn’t fight off a smile.
“What?” Sylvie gave him a baffled look, which immediately shifted to one of scolding. “No. Don’t give me that look.”
“What look?” Evan asked, prowling toward her.
“The look that says that you’re about to kiss me until I forget how mad I am.”
That was exactly what he wanted to do.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She braced a hand on his chest. “I need my anger right now and you need to hear it, Evan. I have sympathy for him. Xander is my friend, but he cannot fall apart right now. If I’m impatient with him, imagine how everyone else feels. I’m the one most likely to cut him a break. There are no breaks left. He’s on his last limb with the council, and we need an actual plan.”
Evan sighed. “I know. I promise I will fix it. I know he needs to do better. I know his best doesn’t feel like enough, but that’s why we are here, right? We help balance him out. Still, I have a few ideas. I will fix this. There are five eligible princesses in the neighboring kingdoms, several that have already sent correspondence. He needs an alliance and he could certainly do with some company. I just need to find the right moment to spring this idea on him.”
Sylvie’s shoulders relaxed, appeased by the idea of Xander married off. “Good luck with that. He won’t even choose an artist for his royal portrait.”
“He’ll do it. I can convince him,” Evan said.
The skepticism on her face wavered. With gentle fingers Evan tilted her chin so she met his eyes.
“Now can I kiss you until you forget how mad you are? Perhaps also until I forget how frustrated I am? Maybe even until we are both so exhausted we can get a good night’s sleep?”
Sylvie grinned in spite of herself and Evan felt triumphant. Each smile was a victory stacked in his favor. When it came to Sylvie Brett, he’d take what he could get.
3
XANDER
Xander was lost in a flood of memories as he stalked through the halls of Castle Savero, fresh off a battle with yet another of Vincent’s battalions. He expected to feel more frustrated, but the persistent grief that dogged him had numbed his extremes.
Five months as king and all he had to show for it was a constantly shifting border, a council full of opportunists, and a relentless depression that made even Argaria’s warmest month seem as drab as late winter.
He walked down a long corridor. Candlelight flickered, casting shadows that made it feel like the walls were closing in. Portraits of past Savero kings glared down on him. It was silly to feel their judgment. They were just paintings. Still, they were reminders that the Saveros had ruled over Argaria since the kingdom split from Olney. His ancestors had kept the kingdom together, and now he was failing to do the same. He paused in front of the portrait of his father.
The painted rendition of Damian Savero stared down at Xander, a battle-worn scowl on his face. Xander tried to recognize something of his father in himself, but Davide had always been more like him—brutally strategic with sharper features—while Xander favored his mother—warm and kind with more humor in his face. He only risked this kind of staring late at night when there were few servants and courtiers to gossip about why the young king might stare so long at a portrait of his father.
He’d spent just as long looking at Arthur Randal, the famous Argarian hunter and the queen’s longtime consort. There were so many questions that he wished he could ask his mother. Despite that desire for the truth, he had not yet summoned the courage to look in the truth mirror Grimon had brought him. It sat tucked away in his bedside table, its magical hum a constant taunt.
An ache formed behind Xander’s sternum as he looked at the empty space next to his father’s portrait where Davide’s nameplate hung with nothing above it. His brother had been king for too short a time to be painted. Xander had hired a memory witch artist to pull the memory of his brother so that eventually Davide would be as perfectly preserved in paint as he was in Xander’s mind. He deserved to be remembered along with the rest of the Savero kings.
However flawed he might have been, Davide saved Xander when it mattered, and he’d been under the influence of the same cruel god.
Now an entire family tree had been hacked down to a single branch. Xander was the last Savero—the entirety of his family’s legacy. Unless, of course, he counted the rogue branch—Vincent, his only living relative, who wanted him dead.
He looked at the empty space next to Davide’s nameplate. Evan had been pestering Xander for months to have his own portrait done, but having his likeness on the wall next to his brother and father would offer the opportunity for his detractors to point out the subtle differences in their features and use it as some kind of proof that the rumors were true.
Xander swallowed around the grief and loneliness and continued down the hall. He pushed open the heavy door of his bedroom and was about to drop his armor when movement caught his eye.
A beautiful, scantily clad blonde woman was poking through the scraps of paper on his desk. She didn’t seem to notice his entry, but he could recognize her by the faint rose and jasmine perfume she left on the air.
“Looking for something, Mika?” he asked.
She froze momentarily before tossing her shiny hair over her shoulder and turning to smile at him. “Your Majesty,” she said with a curtsey.
Xander rolled his eyes. “I’ve told you before to just call me Xander when we’re alone. I can’t stand the ceremony.”
Of course Evan would send Mika up after a fight. Evan was still trying to treat him like the old Xander, and the old Xander loved a good fuck after a good fight.
The problem was, this wasn’t a good fight—it was a painful, drawn-out war with an invisible enemy who had access to seemingly endless funds—and he wasn’t the old Xander. He was a heartsick mess disguised as a king.
Evan might not have had any real magic, but he still tried to summon the old version of his friend—as if appealing to a version of Xander that no longer existed would draw forth the same confidence and attitude.
Mika stared at him, her brow scrunched with faux worry. When no reprimand came, she continued sifting through the papers. A scrap floated off the edge and fluttered to land at Xander’s feet.
He looked down at the sketch of eyes. On paper, they were black and white—crude in charcoal—but in his mind, they were the same bright blue as the Adiran Sea on a clear day. He didn’t know why he couldn’t stop drawing Cece. It didn’t help the loneliness, and it only succeeded in littering his desk with pieces of his ex-wife like torturous snowflakes.
Xander washed his hands, hair, and face in a fresh basin of water.
He pulled off his bloodied tunic and turned to meet Mika’s dark eyes. Her gaze raked over his bare chest appreciatively.
“There are a lot of half-written missives here,” she said, forcing a casualness to her voice.
“Leave it,” he said curtly, knowing she wouldn’t let it go so easily.
She didn’t. She did not fear him. Instead, she licked her lips and began to read. “‘My love, I wish I could take away everything that hurts you. It breaks my heart each time I receive one of these tear-stained letters. You, of all people, don’t deserve to hurt any more than you already have. I’m sorry that I dragged you into this mess. There aren’t words for—’”
“Enough,” Xander said, snatching the half-written letter from her hands.
“Why are there so many unfinished? Why not send them?” Mika asked.
“Because there aren’t words big enough. Because every time, my words feel too trite to contain what Cece was to me—what she is to me. Because each time I start, it reminds me where my heart really is, and that’s not with this kingdom…where it should be.”
The immensity of his loss could not be summed up in a letter. Even if it could, he would not burden Cece with his pain. If she knew, she’d ride across the two kingdoms and he would have to let her go all over again.
That’s why he ended up sketching her—her eyes, her lips, her smile, the curve of her hips while she napped beside him. Now it seemed ridiculous. He should burn it all. Better not to have his pain on display to anyone else.
But when he looked up, Mika’s gaze bore curiosity, not judgment.
Xander tossed the unfinished letter into the fire, then pulled on clean clothes. He grabbed a glass and the decanter of whiskey, then sat down in his chair to watch his words burn. Mika perched on the arm of the chair opposite him.
“Do you want me to take off my robe?” she purred.
Xander almost laughed at the question. The robe was lace and completely transparent. It did nothing to block the view of her elaborate lace slip and her smooth, fair skin. She ran her fingers over her collarbone enticingly.
“I’ve told you before, no matter what Evan has suggested, I have no desire to sleep with you. You’re a beautiful woman. Please don’t take offense. I am just hopelessly in love with someone else.”
She gave him a wolfish smile. “I could make you forget.”
He laughed bitterly. “Spoken like someone who has never had the real thing. I have half a mind to let you try.”
Her eyes softened the slightest bit. Mika had a good poker face, but what he respected most about her was her honesty and intelligence. When Evan started sending him women, Xander chose Mika for her ability to converse—and for the fact that she looked nothing like the brunette goddess who haunted his dreams.
“Fine, then why do you ask me to come here every night?” Mika asked.
“I don’t. Evan does because he thinks it will help. I don’t mind your company because I’m lonely and I miss—”
Mika’s eyes brightened with recognition. “You miss talking to her.”
Xander ran a hand through his hair. “She was…is brilliant. Funny and smart and so easy to talk to. I just miss having an ally—someone that I trust—who can give me a perspective that’s different from my own.”
