Fantasy of Fire (The Tainted Accords Book 3) (25 page)

He kisses my palm. “Never think I’m resentful for what you did three days ago. My pride will heal and I’ll be smarter for this. And Lina, I swear to you, I’ll never treat you that way again. Never again.”

My face heats. “Even as you protected Blaine, I knew why you were doing so. Out of everyone, you know I understand. That I’ve been somewhere similar.”

“How do you see it all?” he asks.

I start at the sudden topic change. “I imagine the same way as you see things around you,” I answer, shifting on the stone steps. He shakes his head at my reply. He’s so handsome it breaks my heart to look at him.

“No, that’s not it.” He leans in and lifts my veil, kissing the healing scratch on my neck. I shiver as his lips brush the tender skin there.

“No,” he says softly. “You're different. There’s no one like you on either world,” he says.

I lean into him. “What about the Ire?” I ask. He laughs, tilting his head back.

“Or the Ire,” he adds.

I sit next to his reclined form, distracted by the warmth of his leg. I tilt my face up to the sky, listening to the peaceful sounds of the night around me. It is tranquility layered over the muffled murmur and occasional peal of laughter from inside the castle.

“My people need me,” he finally says in a weighted tone. I don’t move from where I’m seated, loath to break the rightness of this moment—the full feeling in my head and heart.

“Yes,” I murmur. “They do.”

And so do mine.

* * *

I attend the next meeting with Jovan. Drummond greets me with a pat on the back, which almost pushes my face into the floor. Roscoe hugs me tightly, saying he’s proud of me, and several of the others murmur hearty welcomes. It’s a little startling to see how changed the advisors are toward me. I hear Ashawn sniggering as I pass him and laugh quietly in return. It must look quite humorous. Jovan looks up at the sound, his expression too far away to read. I was disappointed he hadn’t crept into my chamber last night. The thought showed I was long past what I should and shouldn’t do.

The council has been busy while I’ve been avoiding them. I listen to the drastic changes already made.

“Ice still believes there are a number of caches stored in the Fifth Sector. Not to mention those coming out of the Fourth in the next six months,” Merc says. It’s a valid point. No one can live in the Fourth, but that doesn’t mean Blaine has never utilized the space there. Even on Osolis we would store valuable goods in large Kaur cases, so the fire couldn’t damage them; trees and archives.

“Any further reports of rebellion?” Jovan asks. He flicks through various documents in front of him, looking every bit the part of king.

“Several small groups. All have been dealt with,” Ashawn speaks. “Malir estimates another few weeks until peace is restored. The men in the dungeons have talked. Rhone’s been very efficient there. Every day we get more names and locations.”

“Excellent,” praises Jovan, smiling at his brother. He stands to address the rest of us. “I would like to propose additions to the council,” he says next. “As you will see, Gerden opted to step down from his seat, leaving two open positions,” he says. “One of the places, I give to Prince Ashawn. He is my successor and needs to familiarize himself with our processes should anything happen to me.” My stomach drops at his words.

The advisors voice their agreement, though clearly waiting for the next person to be named. Ashawn was an obvious choice. Roman would be a good pick for the second position. I wonder who Jovan has in mind.

“The second person I would like to propose is Shard, whom you met several days ago,” he says.

“The son of the whorehound?” a voice says incredulously. I’m almost as shocked, though for other reasons. Shard? Outer Rings Shard?

“Yes.” Jovan speaks firmly and they quiet immediately. “Frost highly commends him, but that aside, you saw how he held himself here three days ago. I’ve watched him closely from the Dome until now. He is a rarity. And in Frost’s words, he has an ability to remove himself from a situation and analyze it without emotion. I believe he will be invaluable for these reasons, but also for the link he presents to the Outer Rings,” he says in a calm voice. “The more ties we have to this part of Glacium, the less likely we are to have a repeat of the last fifteen years. The people will have a voice.”

I bounce a little in my chair, I'm so happy. The other men in the room exchange glances, but no one can fault Jovan’s logic. They’ll question Shard's origins, sure. And he’ll have to earn their respect, just like everyone else here. A grin beams across my face at his words. Shard was made for the council—it’s perfect!

“What about Frost? You seem to respect her advice,” Jak asks. Excited murmuring takes hold of the room.

“A woman on the council?” Jovan asks. I narrow my eyes. His tone’s not offensive; it’s more curious, if anything.

“Well, Frost’s not just any woman, is she?” Yate says. “It seems like she’s always helping anyway. The people love her. I admit, her attitude needs an adjustment.” I hear Jovan cough from across the room and I grin. “But I’m sure she’d come into line,” Yate finishes.

Ashawn begins to choke. Jovan stands up and begins circling around the ring.

“Sorry, Tatuma,” Yate remarks. “I didn’t mean to imply anything. You can certainly hold your own.”

I’m assuring Yate I’m not offended, but half of me is distracted by Jovan, who has moved to stand directly behind me.

“What are you doing?” I mutter over my shoulder.

He leans forward and places his hands on my shoulders. “Do you trust me?”

“Why?” I ask in an uncertain voice. The room has fallen silent and I know we’ve become the center of attention.

“Do you?” he asks.

I don’t even pause to think. “Of course.”

Jovan clears his throat and the room grows quieter still. I fidget underneath his hot hands, realizing he’s asked me that question because he’s about to do something I’ll object to.

He squeezes me gently. “I think it’s time for you all to know the truth. Perhaps then you’ll understand how the Tatuma came to learn what she shared with you three days ago.”

What! My mouth dries. I frantically try to recall who is in the room. Unfortunately, I know the answer: every single advisor. Surely he can’t mean to...

“This knowledge is held by only a few. I trust you to keep what you’re about to see the solemnest of secrets. More than that, I ask you keep an open mind when you are shown the truth. I’m asking for your support, as your king, but also as your friend,” he says. “This woman has saved Glacium. She has saved us all. We owe her a great debt. Bruma don’t forget their debts.”

“Jovan!” I whisper. “What are you—?” I hear the clanging of Ashawn’s armor as he moves to stand next to his brother. My heart is beating so loudly the sound fills my ears, making all other noise blend in an unrecognizable hum. I stare up at him, turned in my seat. With the gentlest movement imaginable, he tilts my chin until I’m facing the advisors once again, who wait in silence. His fingertips brush my cheeks as he draws the material upward. The advisors begin to talk now they know what their king intends to do. The talking swells as they murmur excitedly and stand to get a closer look. Even Roscoe pushes forward to see, usual manners forgotten.

How many times have they wondered what’s under the Tatuma’s veil? How many times have they wanted to lift it themselves?

Just one peek.

Jovan grips the bottom of my veil and leans down to whisper in my ear.

“This is how it should be, Lina. You’ll see.”

I sit awkwardly in the uproar of the room. Papers litter the ground. Chairs lay upturned where they’ve been flung back to the wall as shouting men erupt out of their seats to argue their point. It’s one of those moments where you realize how much has changed.

I’ve just allowed the king of Glacium to show my face to a whole room full of his advisors.

At least five minutes have passed now. Even Jovan hasn’t been able to quiet them. Instead, he sits next to me, a wry half-smile on his face. Ashawn doesn’t bother to hide his grin, winking at me whenever I catch his eye. I don’t know how they can be so calm. My heart is threatening to beat out of my chest. Jak stands one meter from me, staring with his mouth open. It’s very disconcerting.

“The Tatuma is Frost!” I hear for the twentieth time. I hope this room is soundproofed.

“So the Tatuma’s dead?” someone asks. I sigh and lean my head back against the seat.

“What are you thinking?” Jovan asks.

I shrug one shoulder, folding my arms. “They handled civil war with less noise.” I feel the warmth of his breath as he chuckles softly. I glare at him. “And if you’re really asking whether I’m angry at you, I’m still deciding.”

Jovan accepts this with a nod.

“This is how you were able to bring the Outer Rings and assembly together to fight Blaine?” Roscoe asks. The volume ebbs at his questions.

“So you
are
the Tatuma?” Jak asks. He’s finally closed his mouth.

I raise an eyebrow. “Yes, Jak.”

“But … you have
blue
eyes!” Drummond splutters. His face is pale. I wonder if he’s going to faint.

“Yes,” I say. With another glare at the king, I leap into a quick version of the events of the last few sectors. It’s easier, now I’ve done it a couple of times. I tell them of my mother’s likely affair, how I ran to the Outer Rings and the Ire, and how I’ve managed to continue the facade since returning to the castle. They stare at me as I finish; that will teach me to want silence. I force my spine straight as they gawk.

“I have known of this from the beginning,” Jovan addresses them. I give him my own wry look. He made it sound a whole lot nicer than it was. The king ripped off my veil shortly after my arrival in the Third Sector. Most of the advisors have something to say about this, clearly angered by his secrecy. I can’t blame them. This is huge news. Some of the biggest in our collective history. The Tatuma is mixed? It changes everything—I know that best of all.

“Do all Solati women fight like you?” Ashawn asks.

“Those with the aptitude,” I answer. “We certainly do not rely so heavily on males on Osolis. Your own women could be fierce fighters if you allowed them.” That idea is quickly shot down. I content myself by thinking of the women training to fight in Alzona’s barracks.

“One thing at a time,” Jovan whispers in my ear. His smile blinds me when I glance up at him. For a second, my mind can’t seem to grasp how attractive I find the king of Glacium. The fatal feeling he causes baffles me. I quickly school my features. That’s all we need, for the advisors to notice the infatuation between us.

Jovan straightens and loses his smile. The king of Glacium is back. Menace creeps into the air around him, growing with every step as he pins each man in the room with his penetrating stare. He looks every advisor in the face for several moments. Obviously searching for something within each of them, though I’m not sure what. “Despite the bloodied history between Solati and Bruma, the Tatuma has done nothing but help this world since her arrival. Believe me when I say I have never met anyone more focused on doing what is right, rather than what is expected. This drive pushed her to the Outer Rings to search for my brother’s murderer.”

The familiar sense of failure stabs me.

“It compelled her to save those in the Dome at the risk of her own life.” He stalks around the meeting room. “One of those men she saved is to become my advisor. She has the ability to see potential in those around her, regardless of their station. She has the ability to see evil and deceit in men who breathe the same air as you and I. The Tatuma of Osolis has saved our world.”

“Jovan,” I say, cheeks warm from his praise. He doesn’t acknowledge my comment.

“The Tatuma is held high in my esteem. I trust her with my life and the life of my family.” He gestures at Ashawn. “We have done little to earn her trust. I want to show her what the word of a Bruma means. If news of her secret gets out, I will find who did it by any means possible,” he says with factual calm. “And that person will die a painful death.”

He turns and I gasp at the blazing vividness of his eyes.

“She will not be harmed,” he says.

* * *

“You’ve shown the advisors,” Olandon says at dinner. It only took him two minutes to discover the cause of the shift in dynamics. Likely because Drummond and Roscoe haven’t stopped staring at me since the meeting.

“I did,” I say.

“No she didn’t,” Jovan calls from two seats down. “I did.”

I sigh at his gleeful tone.

Olandon’s hand tightens around the shining goblet. “The king’s decision is wise, Tatuma.” He puts the hint of a question in his voice. I doubt anyone else hears it. They probably think he’s commending the king on his choice.

“They took it better than could be expected,” I say. “I’ve seen no falsities, or untruths in the rest of them.” I lean closer to my brother. “Some people leave a little kindness and open-mindedness to be desired.” That was understating the matter. Some of the advisors had been furious, but not at me, at their king for the subterfuge. And Yate had to work to hide his disgust the whole time. But I was Frost, someone they respected. And the Tatuma, who they owed a debt to. And then there was the fact that King Jovan recently beheaded one of their own and threatened them. I shouldn’t feel so calm about my unveiling, but I did. I couldn’t even be angry at Jovan for it. He knew his people, and had judged the time to be right.

Olandon squeezes my hand under the table and holds it. Just like he used to do when Mother or Cassius were humiliating me in front of the court.

“I worry for your life,” he says on a breath.

Tears prickle my eyes. I wish I could take away his worry somehow, but any promises I use to reassure him will be empty. Every time I unveil, my life is at risk, but I can’t stand the alternative. He’s old enough to know the truth. In fact, I think he already knows what must happen. The truth is staring him in the face, but he's doing his best to avoid seeing it.

“Have you ever thought about the parallels between our worlds?” I ask quietly. He shakes his head, his head tilts to me in confusion. “I often think of mother’s dining ring. The lesser court sits on the outside, while royalty sits at the inner table. It is the same on Glacium, you know, just on a larger scale. We sleep in the middle with the Outer Rings surrounding us, assuming the people there will act as a buffer between us and attack.” There are other examples I can think of: the torture room in Mother’s palace and the fighting pits in Glacium’s Outer Rings.

“In reality, both king and Tatum are surrounded at all times. Our people
let
us sit in the middle, not the other way around.” I fiddle with my knife. “The relationship between ruler and subjects is a balance of what the people need to know, and what they
don’t
need to know. What will help them thrive, and what will make them crumble inwards. In my particular case, the balance is even more tenuous. I know that one day, the circle could look in and decide to crush me.”

I squeeze his hand. “So, do I wait until I’m sitting on the throne to tell my people I’m mixed? They will feel tricked. Or, should I never breathe a word to anyone, hoping the secret won’t get out? When my children are born with blue eyes, I veil them too. Or maybe I can prevent inflicting that sad existence on others by not having children in the first place?” My brother sits with his goblet frozen in the air, hanging on to my words.

“Or lastly, should I reveal my secret to my people before making any move for the throne? Then, if they put me in the middle of their circle, it will be because it has been their choice. I will be able to live; open, and unafraid—without a veil—happy.”

“Without risk, I will not get to where I want to be,” I say carefully. “Nothing I ever do will be risk-free. I’ve accepted that. And I have also accepted the possibility of my plan backfiring.” I intertwine my fingers with his and sip at my goblet. “I know that by revealing my mixed blood now, I may never get a chance to rule. I’d rather suffer the disappointment early on.”

“I never thought it would be this hard,” he says in a rough voice. I don’t know exactly what he’s referring to. My rule? Or coming through the Oscala to find his sister has changed?

“Sometimes the hardest tasks yield the best results,” I hedge.

Screams start at the back of the hall. I tense, resisting the urge to rip off the veil. It’s the scene of some of my worst nightmares.

“What is it?” I ask Olandon tightly. Is the archer back? Which of the six will it be? This time I refuse to let the assassin get away. I hover, half-raised in my seat, prepared to launch myself down the food hall.

“It’s one of the Ire. They’re injured,” he says quickly.

“Description,” I order, heart sinking.

“Curly black hair, average Solati height, young male.”

Hamish!

“Where is he?” I stand in readiness.

Olandon rises with me. “Food benches,” he says. I’ve already started moving before he finishes.

Jovan booms for the assembly to move back from the injured man. Many of them have already seen Jimmy, but it doesn’t make the second sighting any less impossible for them to believe. With Solati armies and civil war, Jovan hasn’t had enough stability to break the news of the Ire folk. I fall to my knees beside the groaning man, quickly confirming it is Hamish.

“What happened?” I cry, trying to locate the source of his injury through my veil. He’s pale and his body spasms with the force of his shaking. I clamp down firmly on memories of Flurry in the Dome and a glass-eyed Kedrick.

“Get W-willow.” Hamish grips my forearm in a grip slippery from the blood covering it. “They’re coming.”

The assembly has heard it, and so have I.

Pandemonium erupts.

Sadra kneels beside me and starts examining Hamish as Jovan demands silence behind me.

After a brief assessment, Sadra nods behind her, and two watchmen pick up the groaning Ire man.

“Infirmary,” Jovan snaps. He talks quietly to Malir, who nods and moves swiftly to the archway. I hurry after the watchmen who are carrying my friend. Jovan falls in beside me, walking one stride to three of mine.

“What is his condition?” he barks at Sadra.

“Unstable, my King,” she stutters. “He appears to have been shot with an arrow. I’ve snapped off the end, but would like to assess him further before removing the tip.” She holds up the arrow end.

I grab the end off her and examine it. The wood is black.

“Kaur wood. A Solati arrow,” I say, handing it to Olandon on my other side. He surveys it with a grunt and passes the fletching to Roscoe. I glance over my shoulder and see the advisors are trailing us down the hall.

“He will need to be questioned before you care for him. Have you got something to wake him?” he asks Sadra. She nods quickly and runs to a wooden cabinet.

“It can’t wait?” I ask with a frown. I observe as the watchmen gingerly deposit a now unconscious Hamish on the bed.

“Olina, this must be done. I will be quick.” Jovan rests his hand on my shoulder as I force my feelings aside.

Sadra waves something under Hamish’s nose. I wrinkle my own nose from two meters away. Jovan leans in and holds the Ire man down as he jolts awake.

“Where is Willow?” Hamish demands, clutching his stomach.

I turn to Jovan. “Who's in the room?” I ask.

“Get out!” he barks at two watchmen. He surveys the rest of the group. “All right,” he says. Everyone left in the room has seen my face before.

I turn back to Hamish and take off the veil. “I’m here, Hamish,” I say, perching on the bed on his other side. The sight is more horrific without the mask.

“That bad?” he says.

I smooth my features. “I’ve seen worse,” I say.

“Olina,” Jovan softly interrupts. I banish my shock, gripping my friend’s hand.

“What has happened?” I ask. “How were you hurt?”

He sets unfocused eyes on my face. “Jimmy went exploring,” he starts. My hand tightens and I loosen my grip as Hamish winces.

“He got caught by the Solati,” he whispers between coughs. Blood drains from my face.

“He’s dead?” I gasp.

He shakes his head, and his eyes flicker. Sadra waves more of the strong-smelling concoction under his nose.

“That … bloody stinks.” Hamish glares at Malir’s wife. “They’re holding him hostage. They said they would cut him into several pieces if the supports were not back in place in a day’s time,” he says, shifting uncomfortably as Sadra begins peeling material off the wound.