by M. L. Greye
Onyx would want to know how she and Trezim managed to escape in the middle of the night from a third of a clan. Trezim had told her how many she’d faced once they’d returned to Acoba. He’d counted the bodies himself.
No, Emry didn’t want her father to start looking too closely at her past activities. If he sent his spies in her direction, he could discover Emry’s treasonous alter-ego. That would be bad.
So, she and Trez had decided to get rid of each and every one of her new scars. The process would take a while – weeks, maybe months. It was far easier for a Ruby to heal with a thin sliver of a scar left behind than to make the skin as smooth as glass, which was exactly what Emry required. She knew it would be an expensive undergoing, but for saving his life, Trez told her he’d pay for everything.
Her scar removal would begin in two days. Emry wouldn’t miss the thick, angry red scar splitting one side of her face. It was vain of her, and she didn’t even care. She already had a crooked nose, thanks to the Ruby who had been too hasty in fixing her nose the night Ewan died. A long, jagged scar was too much.
Really, though, she should just be grateful to be alive. She was lucky. Taking in that much power at once … it should have made her ooze shadow. It should have been too much for her. It could have cleaved her apart.
At the end, it certainly had felt like she might. She’d never taken in that much before – had never killed so many people before in one swoop. It made Emry feel dirty.
She’d done it for Trez but also for herself. If she’d died there in that oasis, then so did The Mistress. So did the plans of the Rioters – her people. Emry had fought for them. For the future of Enlennd. It had cost her.
Her very soul felt different – fractured, darker, heavier. She was herself, but not. Faces with barren branches up their necks and cheeks haunted her dreams – the faces of those she’d slaughtered. Because that was what she had done. She’d literally ripped their lives out of them. They hadn’t stood a chance.
“You still haven’t taken a bite of anything,” Trez reminded.
With her free hand, she picked up a purple grape and shoved it into her mouth. “There. Happy?”
He rolled his eyes. “When I carried you through the desert, I did it to save your life. Not so you could just starve yourself to death later.”
“I’m not starving myself,” she retorted. “I simply do not have an appetite. There’s a difference.”
Trezim really had saved her life. After taking in the darkness of everyone she’d killed, she’d passed out. Either from exhaustion or loss of blood or the immense effort it’d taken to contain that orb of power, she wasn’t sure. All she remembered was one moment she was on the sand in that oasis, and the next she was in her pillow pit, surrounded by Rubys.
A few hours later, she’d learned Trez had carried her through the night toward Acoba until the sun had risen. He’d left her there, half hidden behind a dune, and shifted into light, running the rest of the way to the city for help. He’d apparently been too exhausted to return back to her, though. A few of his Sun Soldiers had gone back for her and brought her the rest of the way to the palace.
Emry wasn’t particularly fond of the fact Trez had left her in the middle of the desert, but according to him, he was too tired to run with her to the city. So, he’d gone for help and had it sent right away. Trezim had told her she was only alone for a total of twenty minutes.
Still, twenty minutes beneath direct sun in the desert had given her a bad sunburn all over that the Rubys had fixed as well. Trez had apologized for not realizing that would happen. Heerths rarely were burnt so quickly, thanks to their rich, dark skin.
“Please eat, Emry,” he pleaded, his voice taking on a slight whine. “Here, I’ll eat with you.” He popped two cubes of cheese between his lips.
“You’re hard to be around sometimes.” She sighed and ate one of the other cheese chunks on the plate.
“Because of my overwhelming good looks?” He winked.
She stared at him. “How are you so cheery right now?”
“How are you not?” He quirked a brow. “You fought beautifully and saved us in that oasis.”
“We’re at a Funeral Ball.” She blinked.
“For servants you didn’t even know the names of,” he replied. “You should be feeling relieved. Elated even.”
“I killed all those people,” she protested.
“If you hadn’t, they would have killed you,” Trez shot back.
Emry shook her head, running her cool fingers down the scar on her face. She knew he spoke the truth. It was the same conclusion she’d come to that night. Honestly, it wasn’t really what concerned her.
Taking a deep breath, she gazed out into the family and friends of the servants who had died because of her and Trez. She grimaced. “I hate that I wasn’t able to save them.”
“Is that what’s bothering you?” Trez asked quietly.
She bit the tip of her tongue and nodded. “Yes.”
“You can’t save everyone,” he told her, his golden eyes sparkling in the light from the torches.
“But maybe if I’d done something differently, no one would be here tonight in mourning,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Trezim turned to her and took the plate out of her hand. He then let it fall onto the short grass beneath them. Emry opened her mouth to demand why he’d dropped her food on the ground, but her voice died in her throat when he reached both of his hands up to cradle her face. He brushed his thumb over her scar. She tried not to wince at the thought of how she must look with it.
“Emry, you are the strongest, bravest, most kind-hearted woman I’ve ever met.” He leaned in and kissed her firmly.
Emry clung to him. As her mouth moved against his, she released everything within her – all her pent-up tension and fear and worry – and just let herself be kissed beneath the stars with the music in the background … for a moment.
All of the sudden, Trez’s tongue flicked along the inside of her lip. That was all it took. He’d never once done that before. But someone else had. Many, many times.
Declan’s face flashed through her mind, and Emry felt ill.
She yanked backwards, breathless. Trez was looking down at her, clearly startled. But Emry couldn’t do it. She couldn’t pretend anymore.
Trez was not the person she wished to be seeing in front of her. His touch wasn’t right. It was as if her skin craved someone else – as if there was some internal strand drawing her elsewhere.
No matter how real Trezim was, she was lying to herself. Trez wasn’t Declan, and Emry wasn’t being fair to him.
He reached for her again, but Emry took a single step away, clutching her middle. “This isn’t right.”
“Why not?” He blinked.
She took a deep gulp of air. “Why do you keep kissing me, Trez?”
Her question surprised him. His eyes widened slightly. “I care about you, and I like kissing you. Why are you asking this now?”
Ignoring his question, she threw another one at him, “Do you love me?”
Trez visibly jolted. “Of course I do.”
Emry pressed her lips together. He’d said it too quickly. She had no doubt that Trez truly did care for her, but love?
No, Trez didn’t love her. At least, no more than he loved his sister or his Sun Soldiers. She knew the difference. As absurd as it sounded out loud, she’d tasted love in her dreams. With Declan.
“You don’t have to love me, Trez,” she told him softly. “But I can’t go on kissing you just to kiss you.”
“I-” Trez stopped, hesitating. Then, “You will always be the night to my day.”
Something like relief swept through her. She didn’t want to lose her friendship with Trez. Ever. She smiled. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
He brought one of her hands up to his mouth and brushed his lips over the back of it. When he lowered her hand, he winked. “Dance with me until dawn.”
; For the first time in days, Emry felt some of that heaviness ease – slipping away into the night. She nodded. “Of course.”
As Trez led her to join the dancers, he leaned in a little closer. “About ten minutes ago, I discovered a bit of news you might like to hear.”
“Oh?” She blinked.
“The king of Quirl is dead.” Trez glanced down at her. “His son killed him.”
Emry froze in her tracks. “What?”
“There’s more.” He grimaced. “Ryde Randor, as the new king of Quirl, just made his consort into his queen.”
“Queen,” she blurted. “Has that ever been done before?”
“Not for centuries.”
“Why change an age-old tradition now?”
She’d mostly been asking herself, but Trez answered her with a smirk. “Rumor has it, they’re a Pair.”
:::::
It’d taken weeks and more Rubys than Emry wanted to admit, but her skin was finally smooth. Every wound had been stitched back together so thoroughly that not a scratch marred her. Her burnt and blistered leg had apparently been tricky. The scar down her face had been tedious and incredibly painful on Emry’s part.
Three different Rubys had reopened the scar because the one before them hadn’t knit the skin close enough to rid her of it completely. Each time one of them opened it, her face felt as though it was being torn apart. Because it literally was.
Once it was gaping open the Rubys could take away her pain, but not before. It was the stupid way their abilities worked apparently. Annoying Rubys.
But it was all done. Emry was free to return home. Her father might not be pleased with her shortened visit, but keeping him happy wasn’t all that high on her priorities list at the moment.
With the murder of the Quirl king, Emry couldn’t help but feel the vulnerability of Enlennd. She needed to return to her own country – to adjust her schemes accordingly with Levric and the rest of her Committee.
It still bothered her a little that Ryde had killed his father. Not so much that the king was dead – honestly, good riddance to the man. It was just that Ryde had done it. She never would have expected it from him.
She’d always liked Ryde. He’d always been comfortable with just being himself, and Emry admired that about him. There were more than enough fake nobility in the world to fill the quota. It was just … Emry didn’t know Ryde had had it in him.
The prince must had seen the corruption of his father and decided to do something about it. According to Trezim’s sources, Ryde had purged his father’s court as well. Part of Emry wanted to send Ryde a congratulatory note – from The Mistress. Obviously not from herself. Yet, before she did anything else, she needed to get home and meet with Levric.
This pressing urge to get out of Heerth was what had her standing in front of the Zyntar palace barely after sunrise. Her farewell party was even less than her greeting one. It was just Trez this time, which was fine by her. It meant this would be a real goodbye between them. They could be themselves. It was the way Emry liked it.
Ever since their uncomfortable conversation at the Funeral Ball, things between them had been relatively normal. They hadn’t kissed again, but Emry had never craved it anyway. She and Trez were friends.
Sure, Trez was egotistical and impulsive and at times a little reckless, but he was a good man. A loyal ally. No matter what, Emry knew he’d have her back. They didn’t have to force a romance to make their relationship any more important.
“Why do I feel like this is the end of an era?” Trezim grimaced across from her.
“Because in a way it is,” Emry replied. “We can’t just hide out in Acoba for months and months. We each have responsibilities now – you with your Sun Soldiers, me with Enlennd.”
“When you put it that way, I can’t help but feel like you’re belittling my Sun Soldiers,” he retorted. “They’re just as important as your country.”
She patted his arm with one hand. “Of course they are.”
“You sound so sincere,” he said dryly.
“I am.” She widened her eyes innocently. “They really are a great hobby for you.”
“You’re the worst.”
Emry laughed. “I’m going to miss you, too.”
Trezim wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a tight hug. “Safe travels, Emry.”
“Thanks, Trez.” She eased back as he released her.
“I have a parting gift for you,” he told her, digging his hand into a pocket on the front of his bright blue vest.
“You do?” She blinked. He’d never given her anything in the past when they’d separated. Well, other than a kiss.
“Here.” Trez extended his hand to her.
Sitting on his palm was a round compact mirror. Emry had seen similar ones sold by vendors on the streets of Acoba. This one in particular was yellow on top with a turquoise and lime geometric design embedded into it. Its sides, clasp, joint, and back were a shiny silver. Emry clicked it open and saw on its inside were two identical mirrors. But she didn’t see her own reflection – one side was a wavy blue color and the other a speckled white.
Trez chuckled at her confusion. “The mirrors don’t actually work. Or, at least, not since I bought them a couple weeks ago. But I have one just like it in my room. The vendor told me the two compacts were a pair meant to be split between allies – or something like that.” He rolled his eyes. “A load of rubbish. But you’ll have one, and I’ll have one – a memento acting as the symbol of us. Night and day. Forever friends.”
Emry pressed it shut between her palms. “I love it. Thank you, Trez. I really am going to miss you.”
“Now you have something to hold while you cry yourself to sleep thinking of me.” Trezim winked.
“How very thoughtful of you,” Emry drawled.
They fell silent for a moment. Then, Trezim straightened and sucked in a breath. It was time for Emry to go. They both knew it – they were just stalling. Because this farewell really did feel different, and not just because they’d shut the door on romance between them. There was something … changed within her. She almost didn’t feel like the same person who had stood here kissing Trezim just a couple months before.
“Until the next, Emry,” Trez said softly in her own language. “The night to my day.”
“Until the next,” she intoned. And with that, she climbed into her palanquin.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Since her father was not expecting her back for at least a month, Emry chose not to travel by ship this time. She and Fanny, along with her “guards,” slipped through the eastern tip of North Quirl incognito and into Kruth where it bordered Enn.
They stayed two nights at a pleasant, picturesque little inn. On the second night, Emry ventured into a rival inn across the street from her own. Two minutes later, she was seated beside Levric at one of the tables – a basket of steaming bread between them.
About three weeks ago, Emry had sent a detailed letter to her Committee from Acoba. She had still been in the midst of ridding herself of scars, but she had been out of contact with her people long enough. She’d described what had happened to her in the oasis, and informed them of how she would be returning early due to the political upheaval in Quirl. Lastly, she’d asked Levric to meet her at this very inn on this particular night to discuss her next move.
“How was your holiday?” Levric asked by way of greeting.
Emry pulled back the hood of her cloak, letting it fall behind her head. “It was … illuminating.”
“From the content of your letter, I believe that might be an understatement,” he mused.
“You would be correct.” Her gaze dropped to the basket of bread. There was no butter on it or the table. Emry wanted butter.
“Are you alright?” He asked, his tone inquisitive, thoughtful.
She nodded. “All my scars have been removed. No one will be the wiser once I return home.”
“I wasn’t referring to those scars.” He frown
ed.
“Oh.” She sucked in a breath. “At first, it was hard – hard to accept what I’d done. After a couple weeks, though…” She hesitated, biting the tip of her tongue. “I don’t think I’ll ever be the same, but I’m alright with who I’ve become.”
Levric watched her for a moment, and then nodded. “So, why are we here, my Mistress?”
“So formal.” She loosed a short laugh. “It’s just us, Ric.”
“I can see that.” He grunted. “You have your own set of guards, yet you never seem to have any of them with you.”
Emry nearly rolled her eyes. Levric had been cautioning her towards being more careful with her safety for almost a year now. Her misadventure in Heerth was just fuel for his fire. “They’re at the inn across the street,” she told him. “That’s close enough.”
“Perhaps for the moment,” he replied wryly.
She sighed and rubbed the side of her eye with one hand. “This is not why I asked you to meet with me.”
He was frowning again, but he said, “I’m listening.”
“With the death of the king of Quirl, I’ve decided it’s time for me to have a Trials of my own.” She tried not to wince. “Before I left for Heerth, I informed my sister of a correspondence I had begun with a member of The Mistress’s Committee. I told her I was doing it in hope to bridge the gap between our people.”
“I’m afraid I don’t see how the two events correlate.” He raised an eyebrow. “How did your sister take it?”
“Cit had to be told.” Emry pressed her palms into the wood of the bench she sat on. “If – when my Knight carries me away to Anexia – we were to be caught by my father’s men along the way, I would need her as a witness that it was all planned, to save the life of my Knight. As for timing,” she paused, “another king has been murdered. I don’t want Enlennd to be next. It’s time to put a stop to this Feud.”
“Alright.” Levric leaned forward over the table, resting his forearms on top of it and clasping his hands together. “I’ll begin searching for potential candidates. Ones we can trust.”
