by Mary Weber
“Breck, I can’t wear this,” I whisper. My eyes are too much. Too blue. They’ll know. I don’t care that Adora picked this out. Eogan will be furious.
But she’s already left, shutting the door behind her.
I’m tempted to lock myself in the room, but Adora would be up in flames.
I tug a swag of bangs in front of my eyes. A little better.
But not much.
Before ducking out, I pull my knife from its hiding spot beneath the floorboards and, with a slash to the inside lining of the sea-foam dress, take a thin strip of its material and tie the blade to the outside of my thigh. Just in case.
The vedic harpies are singing so loud when I reach Adora’s ballroom side door that I almost miss Colin’s whistle behind me. “Hello, sea nymph.” His eyes shimmer, as if assessing me. He brushes my bangs from my face.
I shove them right back, and then the trumpets are blasting and the king’s being announced, and I’m simultaneously stressed to go in and grateful because I can’t have Colin looking at me the way he is. It makes my stomach hurt. He takes my arm and pushes me through the door, and suddenly I’m terrified and wishing I had a squatty pot to throw up in.
The room is crowded. Beyond crowded. The place is unbearable. Everyone is squishing together like sea walruses, all facing the same direction in expectation that the king might glance his or her way. I try to strain a peek over their heads, but most of the men are taller and keep blocking us as Colin shoves me through, telling me to aim for the front.
I turn to argue, but then the music stops and we’re standing near the entry, smack across from Adora in her peacock plumes. She’s fawning in front of a young man with sandy-brown hair and broad shoulders whom I can only presume is the king based upon the facts that his attire is very kingish and he’s not old enough to have accumulated the layers of arrogance the rest of his entourage has.
I tuck my misshapen hand into a fist and slide it among my dress folds. Colin yanks me down on my knees before Adora drags her eyes our direction. Her jovial gaze turns to hoarfrost when she sees me, but before I can wonder what error I’ve made, she’s plastered on a smile and extended a long hand indicating us to the king.
My mouth falls open. He’s not just young—he’s very young. Maybe the age of Colin, maybe a year older, with a brave face and kind eyes that should be laughing. Except he looks too tired, like he’s got the weight of the three kingdoms resting in his hands. Which, I suppose, he does. His crown and velvet red clothes fit his stately frame exactly as people would want for their king, but there’s a shocking lack of glitter and jewels. Compared to him, Adora and half the guests look downright garish in their indulgence. I find myself approving of this boy-king.
He beckons us to rise as Adora says, “Your Highness, I don’t believe you’ve officially met my nephew, Colin. And allow me to introduce my niece, Nymia. Twice removed.”
Right. Because we look so much alike.
“The poor things were orphaned by the war with Bron,” Adora’s saying in a bleating voice. “So of course, what could I do but offer them my home?”
I expect Colin to snicker at this as we stand, but he’s trembling just as hard as me.
“Your Ladyship is too kind, I’m sure,” the young king says with a bit more interest. His brown eyes light on mine and I catch the measure of scrutiny as his gaze drifts down my face. I smile, and he responds with one of his own before I notice my knees seem to have melted to mush. I’m trying to get them to work when a handsome man in black, with his cape pulled back, steps next to the king. I gasp.
It’s the man from the common house.
Firm jaw. Silver tooth. He’s wearing the same look as last night as he stares at me from beside the king. I dip my head. Maybe the crowd will swallow me into their gluttonous stomachs.
“Ah, Lord Protectorate Myles!” Adora’s voice rings out. Too loud. Too cheerful. “I was just introducing my impoverished extended family to your cousin.”
Cousin?
The young man in black nods, his eyes never leaving my face. “Charmed, I’m sure.”
I curtsy as best I know how before Adora waves Colin and me off. “But not too far, lovelies.”
I retreat into the crowd, pulling Colin with me, as dinner’s announced and the music soars. Weaving through the maze of guests, I lead Colin to the banquet room still feeling the man in black’s gaze haunting me.
“Did you recognize him?” I ask Colin when we stop in front of the enormous spread of fruit and pasties and cakes and disgusting amount of meats on Adora’s dinner tables. Bodies squeeze around us like jelly, already shoveling food onto their plates.
Colin follows suit. “Recognize who?”
“The king’s cousin. Lord Protectorate Myles.”
“Sure, I’ve seen him afore. Why?”
“He was at the common house up by the Castle last night. He saw us.”
“The common house? Doubt it.”
“He was there, Colin. I swear.”
He shoots me a dubious look. “There’s no way Lord Myles was at that place. But even if ’e was, ’e wouldn’t recognize us now. Look at us.” Colin sets his plate on top of mine for me to balance so he can slide a cup from a maid’s tray. He slips his hand around her waist and winks at her. She giggles and comments on his slightly swollen lip. I bite my cheek to keep from telling her how he got that slightly swollen lip.
“A girlfriend of yours?” I ask irritably once he’s done flirting.
“Nah. Just reminds me of one of the girls from back home. Just as nice too.”
“I bet,” I mutter, leading us toward a bench against the wall from which I can watch most of the room—especially the guest-of-honor table, which I expect the king will soon be filling. I hand Colin back his plate and immediately feel guilty for being crabby with him. It’s not his fault the king’s cousin was at the common house, or that I nearly annihilated the man’s blond friend. And if I had anyone around to connect me with home, I’d be sidling up to him too—just for the moment of warmth.
My throat tightens. “Tell me about your home.”
“Not much to tell really. Except that Tulla’s beautiful this time o’ year. Warmer and not so many storms.” He makes a meaningful face until I can’t help but smile.
“I apologize for those storms.”
“Nah, I’m just teasin’. Mainly that maid reminds me o’ my mum though. Always laughing and makin’ Breck an’ me laugh too.” He pauses. “Nowadays, Breck’s different. She doesn’t laugh so much anymore.”
He pushes a lump of cabbage around on his plate, and I wish I knew what to say. Wish I could recall my own mum’s laugh. “How did you come from Tulla to Faelen?” I finally ask.
“Our mum died. The febris plague took ’er one night. The next morning I came completely unhinged, an’ that’s when my powers erupted. Ne’er knew I ’ad ’em ’til that day. Dad was a drunk so he was always gone or in a rage. By the time I calmed down, I’d nearly leveled our village and the people were so afraid o’ me, Breck an’ I knew we ’ad to move on.
“Our people are proud of their Terrenes. Our King Mael is one. But they train ’em starting young. One in my condition—whose powers displayed so late—would be considered a threat wherever we went. So we bought a passage over to Faelen and kept my power a secret while we worked to keep food in our mouths. Training on my own until I could control my abilities enough to go back home. As luck would ’ave it, I was practicing one day, an’ Adora found me and brought me to Eogan. Breck and me been livin’ here since.”
He ducks his head and goes back to his pheasant, and for a moment I catch the pain in his eyes as they crease. “Up there,” he adds after a minute, “my mum was a lady with an inheritance. Respected even.”
My eyes warm, and suddenly they’re filled with wet pity. I blink. He smirks, but it doesn’t reach beyond his lips. “I’d ask you about yer home, but something tells me you’d just sock me again.”
Right. I bite my cheek. �
��I’m sorry about that.”
Sorry for everything is what I want to say. But I don’t.
Instead I stare off across the room and sift through the bright clothes and smiling faces. A man in black is laughing, but when he turns, it’s not the king’s cousin. He’s amused at someone who’s entertaining quite a crowd, and when he moves a little more, I see the source is none other than Eogan. Here. At Adora’s party. Dressed in a gray suit made to resemble the beauty of an arctic wolf. Fluid and fanciful. Dangerous. He’s stunning. My chest clenches awkwardly. His eyes move and latch onto mine and a sparkle emerges, but he keeps talking to the huddle surrounding him, although everything about his posture tells me he’s bored.
Suddenly he smiles in his dazzling way, and something says the smile is for me. To remind me to relax.
“You two look like you’re having more fun than should be allowed in a place like this,” a slurring voice says, and instant chills slip like spiderwebs around my legs.
I glance up into the red, perfume-drenched face of the pontiff from Poorland Arch. The one who made the maidservant disappear. I feel my face drain of warmth to match the icy shade of my dress.
I look back at Eogan, but he’s gone.
The drunk man chuckles and places a hand on my shoulder, his sweaty fingers rubbing the skin between my collarbone and chest. “You look like you could do with some wine, young lady. Oh, don’t pull away. The party’s just getting started. Young man, fetch us some drink!”
The dagger pokes my thigh beneath my dress. I reach for it and nervously look at Colin, who catches my movement and shakes his head. It’s only then I recall Breck’s comment about Colin and the pontiff’s recent run-in. Colin hesitates, then stands and switches into an instant smile and shifts the man’s hand onto his own shoulder. “Actually, I was just off for more food. How ’bout you and I both find somethin’ the lady ’ere might enjoy?”
I love that boy. Clearly, I should be nicer to him. He winks as if to say I owe him one.
The man glances back and forth between the two of us—at first resistant, but I throw him my hugest, most flagrant grin and he acquiesces. “Don’t go anywhere,” he whispers behind Colin’s back. And it’s all I can do not to spit on him.
As they walk away, I take off in the opposite direction to hunt down Eogan. What’s he doing here?
Besides watching us squirm.
I pass three generals discussing the war and Bron’s airships and pause to listen. From what their spies have deciphered, the ships can only carry one or two explosives each, and each boat can only carry one extra bomb along with the necessary fuel and man power. After that, the airships have to return to Bron, while the boats can stay to launch limited attacks of their own or unload soldiers. “It’s only a matter of weeks,” one says before their talk switches to the subject of iron deliveries from Tulla and more crossbows for arming our ranks.
“If it isn’t the girl with special powersss,” a snakelike voice says in my ear. A cold hand grips my elbow, and King Sedric’s cousin is in my face, leaning his mouth against my hair while his fingers tighten into my skin. I go to pull away. His hand bruises me.
“Such beautiful abilitiesss,” he whispers, and a mental image forms of him standing with the orange-haired man in Adora’s hall, not five steps from the staircase I’d been hiding in on my first day in this wretched house. He was talking of treason and of Faelen falling, and now my mind is spinning at the implications of who he is. And what he’s done.
My skin crawls. Rigid fingers grip harder into my elbow, so cold they’re spreading frostbite through my dress.
Run.
I look frantically around the room of people. Where’s Eogan? Where’s Adora? But all I see is a mass of bodies, eating and swaying to sickening, harpy voices.
His other hand slides around my waist, and his breath catches against my neck. He begins to sway to the music with me. “Hmm. I wonder what other powers you might have.”
I bristle and jerk back, shaking. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I believe you’ve mistaken me for someone else, Lord Protectorate.”
His hand is ice, unrelenting, even as his lips pucker around that one silver tooth in amusement. He drifts dark eyes over me. “Hmm. Don’t think so.”
“Release me.” My voice, my breath are searching for firm ground. “I live under the protection of Adora, and you’d be wise to remember it.”
“Yes, well, considering that one aspect of my job is keeping Faelen purged of Elementals, her protection may be useless. I’m certain His Majesty will be most interested to hear that his brilliant strategist Adora is harboring a girl with the powers of a storm. How doesss it work for you? Do they still call you an Elemental even if you’re female?”
My free hand slides toward the knife beneath my dress. “Just as I’m sure His Majesty will be interested to hear his faithful cousin is a traitor against the crown.”
Fear slips through his face so fast, I almost don’t catch it. Then he cocks a handsome smile and leans closer. “Looksss like we each have our little secrets. But if you tell mine, it’s not yourself you’ll have to worry about. I’ll cut Eogan’s throat and watch him beg as he bleeds out. Oh, don’t look so surprised. I know all about your trainer.” He squeezes down on my memorial scars, and it triggers an image of blood on the barn floor with that patch of orange hair stuck to it.
I let out a cry. And feel the surge within.
“You know I’ve always found the weaker sex to be flaring with insecurities,” a different low voice says.
Lord Myles turns, exposing Eogan to my view. Up close the gray suit brings out a feral warning in his green eyes, and his hair’s as messy as ever.
Myles hesitates, then straightens and laughs, keeping his hand on my arm. “That they are. Which makes them so unstable, eh, Eogan? Thisss one and I were just having a little chat about that.”
The rhythm in my veins is starting to build. Strumming with the music. Louder.
Eogan steps closer and places his hand on my neck and my pulse instantly calms. “I wasn’t speaking of her, Myles.” He blinks politely. Charming.
The man’s gaze narrows. “How rare to see you at these parties, Eogan. One can’t help but wonder what bringsss you?”
“Nothing more intriguing than seeing you squirm, I assure you.”
The lord protectorate’s face goes black. He grazes my ear with cool lips. “Remember what I said or he’ll be dead before you can conjure a raindrop. And believe me, I’ll enjoy watching him finally bleed. Excuse me,” he says louder, and, releasing me, pretends to flick a fly from his black suit. Then without glancing back, he walks away at a brisk pace to blend in with the party guests.
“An unfortunate person. I take it you’ve met before?”
“Last night at the common house,” I whisper.
“Hmm.”
And it’s all he has to say. I scan the room to avoid his eyes. The nobles are drinking. The couples are dancing. The frog-lady-dressed-as-a-male-peacock is flirting with the king.
“He saw me almost lose control last night,” I finally admit.
“I’ll bet he did.”
Surprisingly, he doesn’t sound angry.
“Did Colin tell you?”
“The look on your face this morning did. Why do you think I yelled so much? I figured something happened.”
“You’re not furious?”
“I’m debating it.”
The way he says it almost makes me smile.
“He said he kills Elementals for the king.”
“It’s one facet of his position, although I doubt he’s done so more than once. His predecessors saw fit to purge Faelen to the point of extinction. But trust me”—his voice hurries on—“Myles is more interested in seeing what you can do rather than getting rid of you. Especially if you controlled your power last night.”
Something in his tone draws me back to his gaze, which is studying mine. “How’d you manage to stop it?” His voice is a spark
of starlight. Curious.
Umm.
Well . . . I thought of you.
And your eyes. And your warmth. And your fingers on my skin.
“I . . . I just did,” I say as stupid heat hurls itself at my face. I clear my throat and wonder why the air in the room suddenly feels so thin. “What are you doing here anyway? You hate people.”
“True. But clearly someone has to keep an eye on you. Because, if I’m not mistaken, I’ve witnessed two male toads get under your skin within five minutes. But you didn’t answer my question as to how you did it.”
I open my mouth and the stupid heat hurls itself even hotter, like summer petals bursting over my cheeks, my neck, my barely covered chest. I swallow and move my gaze down his perfectly cut, gray-vested suit that smells of honey and pine and effortlessness.
I need to get out of here.
He steps closer and chuckles. “That bad, eh? Must’ve been quite something to make you blush like a berry.”
I shake my head. “You’re such a blasted bolcrane,” I sputter.
“That I am,” he whispers. And his eyes are no longer just on me but on all of me. Taking in my height, my low-cut gown, my nervous fingers that don’t know what to do with themselves so they keep feeling the dagger beneath my dress. Something shifts in his expression. He takes my hand and subdues my flitting fingers—his laugh almost inaudible. “Did you seriously bring a knife under there?”
“Maybe. No. Yes. If I say yes, are you going to take it away?”
“Depends who you plan to use it on. That pontiff guy, for instance, please tell me you’ll aim straight for his, uh . . .”
My breath lets out in a whoosh of chuckles, and it hits me how much I crave him near me, setting me at ease. Just like I crave the way my hand feels in his, my skin with his, even if it’s just his job of calming me.
His fingers keep mine as he watches me laugh, until his lips part and his expression opens, as if he’s allowing me a glimpse into his soul. To show me something beautiful. Merciful. Incomprehensible.
