Philippe moved to stand over Veronique. “If she’s close to breaking, you’re the one who made her that way.”
Veronique’s lower lip wobbled. “I was trapped in a dungeon, Phi. Amelia was kept captive for years by the Vicomte. If I’ve been pushing her, it was only so we’d have some security in our lives.”
“Will someone please talk to me?” My voice was rising with anger, which as a Necromancer, I really shouldn’t allow. That said, I wasn’t sure I cared anymore.
Philippe stepped toward the door. “We will find Amelia immediately.” He paused and turned to face me. “Where was I? Right. You look lovely. Now go down the stairs and through your first door on the right. There’s a large meeting hall. You can’t miss it. I need to preserve my sister’s sanity now. Ta.”
I stepped into his path, blocking him. “Philippe, what does it mean, engaged versus betrothed?”
Philippe sighed. “Vee here is right. I didn’t explain the difference, and that was a lie of omission on my part. But I only did it so you’d fall in love with me.”
My exasperation transformed into an intense desire to get them gone. “You know what?” I stepped aside. “You both can leave. Now.”
Veronique glowered. “Welcome to my world, Elea. This man is a foul villain.”
Philippe’s gaze lit up with a combination of anger and something else. “And you’re a brainwashing harpy.”
With that, the two of them sped down the hallway and out of sight. All of a sudden my dress—or the lack of it—didn’t bother me so much anymore. My mind felt foggy as I left my chamber. Every step toward the ceremony felt like I was moving closer to some kind of nightmare.
Betrothed versus engaged? What was I about to discover, exactly?
My head turned foggy with dread. What kind of difference could there possibly be? As I rounded on the first door on the right, I came to a solemn conclusion.
Whatever the difference was, I felt certain that I wouldn’t like it.
Chapter Thirteen
I waited at the entrance of large meeting hall. The engagement ceremony would take place here. For some reason, I couldn’t force my legs to walk more than a step or two inside. Instead, I merely admired the view.
The walls were covered in tapestries of scenes from Caster history. In one spot, a past Genesis Rex rode into battle on a massive black bear. Nearby, a circle of Seers lifted their arms to receive visions. Farther off, a Caster hunter prayed over the body of a slain deer. The room itself was packed. Casters were everywhere—men, women, and children alike. The chatter of many voices filled the air.
All of a sudden, Jicho stepped out from the crowd. He was still wearing his long red robes, and I envied him that. “Greetings, Elea.”
“Hello, Jicho.”
“I have bad news.” His round face drooped into a frown. “You have to call me Jax now. Mother says I can’t use my traditional Caster name anymore. That’s reserved for special people.”
An order from Rowan’s mother? That wasn’t high on my list of things to follow. “How about I still call you Jicho?”
He instantly brightened. “Yes, please do.”
“May I ask you a question?” On reflex, I pulled on my wrap skirt as if hoping some additional folds of materials would appear out of nowhere.
“Whatever you wish.”
“Are there any Caster leathers around that I can change into? I feel rather awkward.”
Jicho stared at me as if I were insane. “But you’re the ruler of your people, right?”
“Yes.” As far as you know.
“So, that’s what rulers wear to an engagement ceremony. Mother can be evil, but she’s a stickler for ceremony.”
“Ah.” My heart sank. I was truly hoping I could change outfits. Still, I could put this time with Jicho to good use. “I need you to tell me something. What’s the difference between an engage—”
At that moment, the ear-splitting peals of drums boomed through the chamber. I almost jumped, but the crowd didn’t seem upset at all. Instead, they settled down to sit on the stone floor. Evidently, the ceremony was about to begin. I leaned in closer to Jicho. “As I was saying, I really need to know about the difference betw—”
“Shh.” Jicho pointed to the far wall, and I followed his gesture. I hadn’t noticed this before, but there was a stage on the opposite side of the room. It held four thrones. The largest one was huge, made of gold, and set far apart from the others. The remaining three were progressively smaller in size and made from silver, bronze, and pewter. The meaning seemed clear to me.
Four thrones for four brothers: Storm, Rowan, Kade, and Jicho.
At the back of the stage, there stood dozens of Casters pounding out ever-faster rhythms on log drums. The beat reverberated through my chest.
Then, the drums stopped, and Rowan stepped onto the stage.
My breath caught at the sight of him. Mostly because he was wearing nothing but a leather kilt, lace-up sandals, and a golden crown. Sure, he was also wearing a long red cloak, but it was clasped at his throat and tossed over his shoulders, so it didn’t hide his bare chest or thighs. Not that I was staring.
Fine. I was looking a little bit.
Perhaps it was more like a lot.
That said, who cared if I gawped at Rowan? I could be conflicted about him and still appreciate his beauty. If the spirit attack from Shujaa affected him, he certainly didn’t show it.
Rowan stepped to the center of the stage and raised his right fist. The movement highlighted a red ribbon that was tied around his wrist. I’d seen that before—at the engagement ceremony between Rowan and Amelia. At the time, a red ribbon had been around Rowan and Amelia’s hands. And now, he was wearing it.
That doesn’t seem to be a good sign.
“My people,” announced Rowan. “Tonight, we review our engagements. This sacred ceremony preserves our oral traditions and laws. By honoring it, we hold to the true Caster way.” He scanned the crowd. Immediately, his gaze locked with mine. I could almost picture the arcs of emotion moving between us. My pulse sped.
Rowan lowered his arm to gesture toward me. “We have with us a special guest: Elea of Braddock, the Tsarina of the Necromancers. She is welcome to sit on the golden throne of my own brother Storm, the chair that has sat empty for so long.”
All eyes turned to me. I supposed I should say something, but I was still trying to think through the implications of Rowan’s speech. Storm’s golden chair had sat empty? Why was that, exactly? Rowan was King; he should sit there. Unless they were still holding that throne for his brother Storm? My heart sank a little at the thought. Rowan had said that Storm ran away. How sad to be saving his throne for so many years.
There wasn’t any more time to analyze. Jicho grabbed my hand and began dragging me through the crowd. Before I knew it, I was walking up a short flight of stairs and onto the stage. My mind became a blank as I strode toward Rowan. Curse the gods, the man was smirking.
How I hated him.
Definitely.
Possibly.
Honestly, I had no idea what to think anymore.
Jicho bowed low at the waist before his brother. “Genesis Rex, I present to you the Tsarina Elea of Braddock.”
A dimple appeared on one side of Rowan’s crooked grin. It really wasn’t fair that a man like Rowan got both dimples and a beautiful body. It meant the gods shortchanged someone else miserably. “Greetings, Tsarina.”
There was definitely some kind of formal statement I should make now, but for the life of me, all I could think about was his silly dimple. “Hello.”
Rowan gestured toward the golden throne. “Would you like to have a seat?”
My eyes bulged with alarm. “I’ll stand.” On reflex, I yanked at the edges of my skirt again. What kind of people placed their royalty in kilts and sarongs without underwear and then made them sit on high thrones so everything was visible at eye level? This was thoughtless at best.
“I understand.” Rowan gave me th
e barest of winks, which meant he really did get why I was uncomfortable. I maybe loved him a little for that.
Or liked him a lot.
Or disliked him less.
Really, I had no idea what I felt.
“Thank you,” I managed to say.
“You’re most welcome. I always like to stand for these ceremonies myself.”
“Well, I’m sitting down,” announced Jicho. He stomped across the stage and plunked down into the smallest throne. Did I mention that I envied him his long robes? I did.
Rowan turned to face the audience. “Will the Hadithi declare today’s engagements?”
For the first time, I noticed how the men and women near the stage wore green robes. They weren’t Seers—those robes were black—but they certainly must be here to do something official. One gray-haired man stood, straightened his robes, and began a long speech in his reedy voice. He was using the ancient language of Nyumbani, so I couldn’t understand too much. I did catch a bunch of names and dates, however. I guessed this man was some kind of record-keeper, which made sense since Rowan talked about their oral culture. Necromancers wrote everything down.
Eventually, the elder man sat down once more. After that, a young couple rose from the back of the chamber and stepped forward. She was a tall warrior woman with long auburn hair. The man was short and squat with a shaved head.
Once they reached the stage, the pair stopped. For the first time, I noticed how there weren’t any guards around. I didn’t like it. This close up, I could see the lines of fatigue around Rowan’s eyes. He might require extra help in case of trouble. And I really needed to find out what was ailing him.
Rowan focused on the man first. “What is your engagement about, Caster Felix?”
Felix lifted his right arm, and a red scrap of fabric was tied about his wrist. “I was engaged to give sixty cows to the family of Darkfire by this past harvest.”
My world stopped. He was engaged…To give cows?
I pulled on my earlobe. Perhaps I’d heard him wrong. It had been a long day, and I was in a strange place. I wouldn’t be the first person to mishear something in such a situation.
Rowan gestured toward the woman. “Caster Ember, has this man made good on his promise?”
Ember glared at Felix. “No, the fool hasn’t delivered a single cow.”
My skin prickled over in awareness. I wasn’t hearing things. Engagements seemed to be something very different in Caster culture. My mind reeled with the implications. Rowan had said his engagement to Amelia was for something called the Sword of Theodora. Had Amelia promised that in exchange for his protection? If that was the case, how could Amelia have gotten so confused that they were due to be married?
“I see,” said Rowan. “Hadithi, and what was the agreement if the engagement had failed?”
The elder man rose again. “She may take him as a slave for four years or as her husband for a lifetime.”
Felix pulled on the neckline of his leathers. “I am an important man in my clan. I can’t be taken away. Ember must agree to wed me.”
Ember scanned Felix from head to toe. “I’ll take four years of your labor, and your family will thank me for taking your lazy carcass of their hands.”
“My King,” pleaded Felix. “This isn’t fair.”
Rowan’s gaze swept across the room. “Are any of your family members here to plead on your behalf?”
All the blood seemed to drain from Felix’s face. “No.”
Ember folded her arms over her chest. “I’ll take my slave now.”
“So mote it be,” said Rowan.
The Hadithi walked up to Felix and untied the scrap of fabric from the man’s wrist. “Caster Felix, you may return to this chamber in four years. If your service has been completed, you may take back this symbol of your engagement.” Turning to Ember, he tied the fabric onto her wrist instead. A small cloud of red mist engulfed Ember’s hand. For a moment, the fabric’s threads glowed red with power. After that, the mist and brightness both disappeared. The spell was cast.
Thus began a long litany of people coming forward. Sometimes one or two Casters, sometimes many more. They discussed the terms of their engagements and the status. I had lots of time to contemplate Rowan’s engagement for the Sword of Theodora. As much as I hated to admit it, it was a wise move to secure that weapon. The Sword of Theodora could kill anything.
Including Viktor.
And of course, Shujaa.
The more I thought about it, the more confused I became. So many questions still remained. If this were merely a kind of trade, then why did Amelia insist they were truly betrothed?
As if drawn by my thoughts, Amelia swept into the room. All the air seemed to get sucked out of the chamber.
One thing I had to give Amelia—her eyes may have had the glazed look of someone dancing on the edge of sanity, but her clothing was flawless. She’d donned one of her puffy pink dresses that was trimmed with every kind of lace and flounce. Despite the jungle heat, her hair hung in perfect red ringlets to her shoulders. Her skin had no sheen of sweat. Her gaze locked on Rowan and me as she raised her voice. “What are the two of you doing here? And why are you both half naked?”
Worry pressed in around me, the feeling as tight as a vise. No question about it. This couldn’t end well.
Chapter Fourteen
Amelia stood at the back of the chamber, looking doll-like in her perfection…As long as you didn’t focus on the crazed twitching around her eyes.
But besides that, perfect. I hadn’t seen her in months, but it felt far longer than that. My heart ached to reconnect with my old friend. It seemed I was alone in my fascination, however.
While I was riveted to the sight of Amelia, the Caster audience barely glanced in her direction. Once she stepped into the room, most of the crowd began chattering amongst themselves. It was like Amelia was a familiar-yet-crazy aunt who interrupted things from time to time. She wasn’t a threat. In fact, she wasn’t even a subject of mild interest.
They certainly didn’t treat her as a Queen. That seemed to support the theory that Amelia and Rowan weren’t really betrothed, at least from the people’s point of view.
Amelia, however, seemed to have a very different opinion. “You!” She pointed to Rowan. “You lied to me.” Even from across the room, I could see the muscles twitching in her neck. She really did look a few seconds away from a total snap with reality. Where were Philippe, Veronique, and Kade? Weren’t they all rushing around in order to stop this very incident from happening?
The gleam of a key shone from Amelia’s hand. That explained things. Amelia was a genius when it came to anything mechanical. I’d no doubt that she figured out some clever way to lock everyone up. Back home, she’d built a door of gears to protect her inventions in the basement. After two months of living around here, I could only imagine what she’d been up to.
Amelia’s face flushed with rage. “This is a ceremony of engagement, isn’t it?” She stomped her foot. “That’s why I’m here. Rowan was supposed to make good on our engagement.”
The old balding Hadithi rose to stand once more. “I recall this engagement. Genesis Rex promised to ensure your safety. In exchange, you were supposed to provide the Sword of Theodora.” His reedy voice deepened. “That weapon was due to be delivered two months ago.”
At those words, the room fell silent. All eyes locked on Amelia. It seemed Amelia herself wasn’t interesting to them, but the Sword of Theodora was a different matter. I was riveted as well, but for a different reason.
This is the moment. Would Amelia say that their engagement was only for the sword? Or would she insist on marriage again? It didn’t matter what Rowan’s people thought if he’d gone ahead and lied to Amelia.
“Let me explain something to you all,” said Amelia. Her voice was steady and strong. “Our engagement was—”
All of a sudden, another figure stomped into the room. Shujaa. Like last night, he wore armor and a matching helm tha
t gleamed with a purple hue. The way he confidently marched across the room, you wouldn’t think he’d used evil magick from Viktor to transform some helpless girl the night before.
For a monster, he was certainly perfect looking.
Shujaa’s deep voice echoed through the room. “Greetings. I have come to claim my engagement.”
The crowd, which had been silent before, now broke into applause. Everyone started speaking at once.
“It’s Shujaa at last,” called one man.
“Save us,” cried another.
“Where’s your golden army?” asked a third.
Their voices grew so loud, my head hurt. It didn’t seem possible. Shujaa was here, and it was the same situation as last night. The people not only knew him, but they thought this man was the answer to the prophecy about the golden army. What a mistake.
Rowan raised his arms. “Silence!” It took a few seconds, but the Casters finally fell quiet once more. Rowan’s deep baritone voice boomed through the empty space. “Who comes before this gathering?”
Shujaa bowed slightly at the waist. “Why, none other than your own brother Storm, of course. These days I go by my traditional Caster name, Shujaa.”
My mouth fell open with shock. This can’t be right. Shujaa was Storm? I glanced over to Jicho, who had turned wide-eyed with fear. He got up from his small throne and raced over to hide behind Rowan. Whoever Shujaa claimed to be, Jicho was certainly afraid of him. But could Shujaa actually be Storm? That wasn’t possible, was it?
Across the chamber, Amelia took few wobbling steps toward the exit archway. Shujaa’s appearance seemed to upset her as much as it had Jicho. She disappeared from the room without another word. Plus, I couldn’t help noticing that she was able to leave without actually delivering the Sword of Theodora. Again. I’d be frustrated to have been denied an answer about their engagement—yet again—but I had bigger things to worry about. Namely Shujaa. Or Storm. Whoever he was.
The reedy Hadithi stood. “Prove your identity. Prince Storm was taken from us long ago.”
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