THOR: Sci-Fi Romance (Far Hope Series Book 1)
Page 20
Froda glared at him, and then she walked around him and glared at Leonie. “What exactly have you poisoned my father’s mind with? Tales of gods and delusional prophecies?” Froda flicked her hand toward Leonie and turned back to Gier. “Father, this woman is not well. You cannot listen to her religious tripe for it can’t be true.”
Hot rage surged up Leonie’s chest, her lungs constricting. “It is true, Princess Froda. I would never make up such a story. I only know it has fallen to me to act upon it.”
“Of course not, dear,” Froda said, nose wrinkling with disgust, “but then again, the mad usually don’t intend harm or falsehoods.”
Leonie clenched her hands into fists.
Gier frowned at his daughter. “She is a Young Duchess of Asawiss, Froda. She is deserving of respect.”
Froda gaped at him. “Respect?! Father, she’s a heretic at best.” She turned to her husband, who stood by the door with his hands clasped together in front of him. “Almund, tell him this is so.”
“This is so,” he said, nodding.
Adrik chortled, leaning a little closer to Leonie. “A compelling argument, I can see we find ourselves amongst the intellectuals of this kingdom.”
He smelled of earth. Leonie inhaled deeply and smiled at him, his rare smile soothing away some of the anger within her blood. She breathed a little easier.
Froda silently motioned her hands back and forth between her husband and Leonie. The older woman’s expression was marred by exasperation and rage, lips quivering.
King Gier blinked rapidly at her. “What are you doing now?” He rubbed his temples. “Daughter, you make me dizzy and queasy, all at once.”
Froda growled, “This mad woman is a danger to us, as well as to the Kingdom of Maylorn. With all of her proclamations throughout Olnorma, she has caused people to become paranoid—to act without thought of consequences! She must be locked up and made an example of.”
Gier jutted his chin. “No. Not while I still rule.”
“Father, surely—”
“No, Froda. We believe in the Trilinity, do we not? So it falls to us to believe her, too. We cannot turn a blind eye to the will of the gods.”
Froda’s nostrils flared, her lips curling downward and revealing the edges of her teeth. She opened her mouth, but then her gaze landed on Adrik. She furrowed her brow. “And what of her Gargan companion?”
Leonie tensed, anger doubling as it swelled within her. “What of him?”
Froda eyed her, and then Adrik. And then she turned back to her father, who lowered his brow and his eyelids.
Froda blew out a breath. “Very well, since my words mean so little, I suppose I must tolerate this…” She crossed her arms, her attention snapping toward the hallway. “I expect guards following the Mad Duchess and the Gargan at all times. Do you understand?”
Guards—apparently standing in the hallway, by the door—bowed. “Yes, your majesty.”
“Good,” she huffed, glaring at Leonie yet again. “Give me some peace of mind, at least.”
Prince Almund, eyes glued to the floor, nodded.
King Gier hacked a few times. “Now that we all understand the situation, we ask that you help us with this matter, Daughter.”
Froda squeaked out an amused sound, tilting her head back and placing her hands on her hips. “You wish me to aid the heretic now?”
“I certainly do! Two kingdoms depend on it, and many more lives.”
Froda rolled her eyes. “Father did it ever occur to you that if Mathsus truly wished to prevent a war from occurring, then he would prevent it from occurring.” Her gaze flicked over to Leonie. “Why would he waste time and effort on a mortal? Especially one as inconsequential as her.”
Leonie flinched.
King Gier furrowed his brow, whispers tumbling past his lips. He pressed his knuckles to his mouth.
Frowning, Adrik stepped forward and waved out his hand. “You say that as if your god of fate ever made sense. You have read the tales, yes? Many of them speak of Mathsus’s will as chaotic and random.”
King Gier’s face lit up. “Yes! That is true! That is very true!”
Froda rolled her eyes and sighed.
Leonie’s heart twisted and burned, frustration simmering in her veins as inklings of doubt taunted her. “You know what?” she said, clasping her hands together. “Let’s pray to Mathsus. If his will is to be done, then he’ll show you the truth.”
Adrik buried his face in his hands. “Leonie,” he groaned. “I don’t think this is wise.”
“No,” Froda said, her lips spread wide in a crooked kind of smile. She glanced over Leonie. “She’s right. Let’s pray to the god of fate, and this matter will be resolved.” She closed her eyes, bowed her head, and pushed her hands together. “Whenever you’re ready, Young Duchess.”
Leonie closed her eyes tight and tilted her head back, her face aimed at the ceiling—at wherever Mathsus stood in the heavens. “Mighty Mathsus, god of fate, I pray to you in this time of confusion. I’m Leonie—the Young Duchess of Asawiss that you’ve chosen to prevent the war between the Kingdom of Maylorn and the Kingdom of Sallimor. Those who doubt me stand before me, and I need your help and your guidance to show them the dangers we face. Please, speak to them as you have to me.”
“Leonie,” Adrik whispered brokenly.
She closed her eyes tighter, shoulders rising a bit. “Your will is the will of life. But please show us guidance in this confusing time. Please, Mathsus.” She went quiet then, giving time for the god to respond to her.
He didn’t.
Leonie twitched, aches blooming beneath her skull. “Mathsus—”
“Oh enough,” Froda said, huffing and shaking her head. “You’ve tried to prove yourself, and you failed. I won’t waste any more of my time on this.” She spun around—her long gown flowing for the briefest of seconds—and strode out of the room.
Prince Almund ducked his head and quickly followed her.
Leonie tightened her grip on her own hands, eyes still closed. “Mathsus, why won’t you answer when I need you to? That alone could prevent the war?!”
King Gier sighed. “Maybe he…I don’t know. Maybe my daughter is somewhat right about all of this.” He grumbled to himself, waddling out of the room. “Eat whatever, drink whatever, and sleep wherever you wish. I must be alone for a time.” He closed the door behind him, leaving the guards to stare at Leonie with their stoic eyes.
Leonie prayed, hunching over herself and trying to block out the soft noise of Adrik breathing beside her. She flinched when he touched her arm.
“Leonie,” he said, “if he wanted to come, he would come. I’m sorry.”
Her hands lowered. She prayed silently—desperately—for a few more seconds before she, at last, opened her eyes. The cold and rough touch of Adrik’s fingertips on her arm burned her torso, resentment swelling beneath her clavicle. She glared at him. “You don’t even believe.”
He shook his head slowly. His eyes gleamed—warm, full of pity—
Leonie looked away.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Leonie sulked in the council room for some time—Adrik next to her, soundless as he was—until the guards announced that the hours of sleep were upon them.
“Alright,” Leonie said, rising from her seat and rubbing her sore eyes. “Lead us to our bedrooms, please. Anything close to this room would be much appreciated.”
The guards nodded, opening the door for her to walk through. Adrik trudged behind her, his steps making the floor rumble.
The guards led her and Adrik through a couple of hallways before they stopped in the middle of the two tall doors. Then one guard pointed at both doors. “These are two guest rooms. You both may choose yours, though know that they’re practically identical.”
Leonie nodded and walked to the farther door. “Thank you.” Numbness radiated in her blood, though a dulled kind of soreness throbbed in her heart.
It would be a night of tears, no doubt.
“Leonie, wait,” Adrik said.
She rubbed her brow, something recoiling within her. “Look, Adrik, I don’t want to discuss this anymore. I’m just tired.”
“I understand. But I wish to tell you that…um, well…” He cleared his throat and shifted on his feet. “I want to say that…I’m sorry for today, I know that wasn’t easy.” He cleared his throat again. “I hope that suffices.”
She blinked at the ground for a few seconds. “What?”
“I…I don’t think I said that right.”
She turned to him, her confusion distracting her from her aches. “What are you trying to say exactly?”
Gargans couldn’t really blush—their blood wasn’t even red, much less a color that could seep through stone. The way Adrik winced, his eyes flicking over anything but her; she could’ve sworn that his cheeks turned a different shade of gray.
She chuckled at her sudden realization. “You’re trying to cheer me up, aren’t you?” She laughed a little harder and rubbed the back of her neck. “You’re not very good at it, I’m sorry to say.”
He scowled.
“But I appreciate it,” she added more gently. Her smile remained, even as her laughter died away. “Sincerely, Adrik, that you would try to make this not feel so…humiliating…” Her lips did quiver a bit then. “Thank you.”
He breathed deeply, his fingers twitching at his side. He opened his mouth, only to close it again and shake his head.
“What?” she asked. “What is it?”
He bit his lip, the brief sound grinding. “I simply…” He shook his head again and walked up to her, his fingers reaching for her hand and then hesitating. “I—”
A set of guards made their way past them on patrol of the halls.
Adrik stiffened before he slowly turned his head toward the guard, and then toward the other guard, and then toward yet another guard. The Gargan rubbed his jaw and stepped away.
Leonie sputtered out a sound of protest to his departure before she could even think to do so.
Adrik, not glancing back, said “Goodnight Leonie” as he entered his room.
“Goodnight,” she whispered to his closing door, her hand tingling. She grabbed it and massaged her palm—soothing away some sense of disappointment.
She stared at the ceiling for hours from where she laid, her eyes adjusted to the dark. The silk covers felt light on top of her body yet somehow kept her warm. She tapped her stomach with her index finger and licked her lips.
Mathsus, Adrik—that devastating moment where she looked foolish—it captivated her mind and rushed through her veins, making her cringe. She didn’t understand…
Had Adrik moved to hold her hand? And what had he meant to say?
Why had Mathsus abandoned her? Why not show himself to Sallimor’s royals?
Leonie’s fingers curled, nails digging into the silk blanket. Though her eyes stung with exhaustion, closing them felt impossible. She blinked hard, only to have her eyes snap back open. She released a long, haggard sigh.
Shadows—darker than dark—danced around the door and drifted away.
Leonie thought nothing of it, familiar with a tired mind’s tricks. She stretched and yawned. When she closed her eyes again, she managed to keep them close for several seconds.
The bed dipped, creaking.
Her eyes sprung open and she instinctively rolled off the bed as two daggers burst through the mattress where she had been.
Leonie scrambled to her feet and raised her fists, heart hammering and lungs tightening.
The dark figure upon her bed raised the daggers again. The metal gleamed, despite the darkness, making them the only things that Leonie could truly see—save for the attacker’s outline.
Yell, something within her demanded, but she froze in a rigid stance as her blood went cold.
The attacker leaped at her— a dagger slicing Leonie’s side as she rolled away yet again. Pain flared where blood instantly soaked her shirt, but the cry of anguish was lodged in her throat. She rushed for the door and choked out a scratchy “Help!”
The assailant sliced again at the back of Leonie’s cloak.
Leonie screamed and leaped to the ground—sliding over it and spinning around to kick the attacker’s knee.
The attacker stumbled.
Leonie screamed and kicked again.
The guards burst through the door and swung their spears toward the attacker, who rolled away and threw one of his daggers into the first guard’s chest.
The guard cried out and fell back, clutching at the dagger’s hilt.
More guards poured into the room and descended upon her attacker, their spears too precise for a man with one dagger to counter.
Leonie blanched as her assailant gasped, wobbled, and then collapsed from the assault. Her breath hitched, mind reeling and heart burning. But the rest of her blood felt icy, numbing flesh. It took her several seconds to recognize the agony throbbing at her side, and she gasped and snapped her hands to the wound.
The lower half of her shirt was soaked in dark red.
She trembled violently and patted the wound, flaring each her fingers crossed over it. Clenching her teeth, she swallowed back a cry as she shoved her palms against the gash.
Sounds softened, the dark setting growing darker in the corners of her visions. Her eyelids fluttered.
“Leonie!”
She jumped—cringing as fire seared into her side.
Adrik fell to his knees beside her, his large hands hovering over like he didn’t know where to place them. His face was ashen, eyes bulging.
“Adrik,” she croaked, trying to smile—trying to be reassuring—but cringing with pain.
“I need a healer!” Adrik roared. “Now! Get me a healer!”
Guards scurried to him. “She’s downstairs, near the courtyard!”
Adrik growled something.
Leonie loosened the tension in her muscles, head falling to the tiled floor. She kept pushing on her wound, but fatigue was—
She yelped as she flew upward—no, not flew, was carried. She blinked owlishly at Adrik’s shoulder, her body cradled in his arm. He wasted no time running out of the room—bobbing her unintentionally, and dizzying her further.
“Adrik,” she whispered, but even she couldn’t hear herself. She once again tried to go limp, to rest, only to have the Gargan’s hard shoulder smack her head. She stiffened and clenched her teeth.
“Sorry,” he said, even as he curled himself a little more around her.
His shoulder hit her temple.
She choked on a complaint, tilting her head away and closing her eyes. And for a few seconds, the solid feel of his rocky arms around her comforted her—fought against her earlier stress, her muscles loosening.
“Thanks,” she tried to say, but her lips refused to form the word in the correct away. Instead, she just murmured some gibberish of appreciation before consciousness slipped from her mental grasp.
The last thing she heard was Adrik saying her name.
CHAPTER NINE
Muffled words disrupted her rest once in a while, often followed by a rush of pain that her face instantly cringed from. Had she the energy to even try to ignore such fiery discomforts, she would’ve done so. More than that, she would’ve begged for the world to stop shuffling her about—she would’ve begged for silence and stillness.
She went numb for a few seconds, mind blank and sound static.
And then sensation—no longer so agonizing in nature—coursed through her, and she sucked in a breath.
“She’s going to be fine,” a woman said, voice smoky and aged. “There’s no need to fret.”
“She was nearly murdered,” Adrik snapped from her other side.
Heavy breathing and crooked footsteps rumbled in the distance. “How wretched,” King Gier choked out. “This is—this is unacceptable! A guest in my ho
me, under my protection—” He whispered something before saying, “How did this happen? Explain yourselves.”
Leonie opened her eyes as the some of the guards spoke to their king. She raised her hand and swiped outward, her gaze aimed at the ceiling and unable to move elsewhere for a time. She blinked hard against the darkness, and it took her vision several seconds to register the soft glows of orange emanating somewhere behind her head.