Fantasy of Fire (The Tainted Accords Book 3) (7 page)

In many ways, Glacium is the complete opposite of my home world. There are different animals, food, and clothing. The trees are brown with green leaves, instead of black with deep red-purple leaves. But the main difference is that where Osolis is full of fire, smoke, cracked ground, yellowed grass, and shriveled vines, Glacium is a planet of frost, snowy mountains, blizzards and ice. The Bruma consider us snobbish, without humor, and prim. Solati consider the Bruma barbaric, unrefined, and primitive.

It’s no mystery why we find ourselves on the brink of war.

But there is one thing we share.

We
depend
on the other world’s climate to regulate our own. We hate each other, but need each other to survive.

The Fourth—on each planet—is the farthest you can get from the other world. The Fourth Sector of Glacium is uninhabitable, with weather so cold, you could freeze in minutes. The Fourth Rotation of Osolis so hot your clothes could burst into flame—if you didn’t die from the smoke first. The Fourth areas of Glacium and Osolis are a constant reminder to us that if Osolis does not give off heat and firelight and if Glacium does not provide cold, we will all perish. The fire will spread through Osolis and burn everyone, while Glacium drowns.

I reach the First Sector and alter my course to the Sixth where the king and his assembly are situated. The ruler and their court tend to only move through the first, second, and third areas, migrating every half-revolution to avoid the fourth. The villagers simply move around the fourth, from the third to the fifth, therefore making the most of whatever housing they’re able to find. Because the wealthier citizens move more often, the rich of both worlds have two residencies—one for living in while the other house is rotating through the fourth, fifth, and sixth. It’s unusual for a royal to be based in the Sixth. King Jovan only did this to remain close to the pathway in case of attack. It was a lucky thing he did.

I weave my way toward the ground a fair distance from the castle and after a careful landing, fold my Soar. Previously, I’ve landed in one of the courtyards behind the castle, but the watch may have orders to shoot. Unlikely, but not worth the risk. Pulling out my veil, I give a furtive glance at the thick trees around me and throw it over my head, placing the wooden band on top. My vision is instantly dimmed. I reach out a hand to the tree trunk next to me and wait for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. I tuck my Soar underneath my arm and begin a quick walk in the direction of the castle.

I’ve landed on the outskirts of the Inner Ring, on the cobbled pathway which connects the richest and most prominent Bruma with access to the castle. A part of me wishes I could walk the other way, through the Inner Ring, then the Middle Ring, to the Outer Rings.

The rings on Glacium separated the different classes. The Inner Ring held the wealthy and was situated in the space closest to the castle. The Outer Rings held the penniless and was furthest from the castle, occupying the outer edges of this word. The Outer Rings may be the poorest part of Glacium, and riddled with danger, but some of my closest friends lived there in the fighting barracks. I’ll always remember my time there as the most uncomplicated and the most freeing part of my life. You fought, you survived, you ate and you drank.

I twist side to side as the wind catches the folded Soar under my arm, and ignore the few blue-eyed Brumas who pass me on my way. They gawk at my clothing and the contraption pinned to my side. I also have the veil on—which I tend to forget about now. That will draw almost as much attention as my clothing and the Soar. There was a time when I was painfully aware of the veil. But every time I removed the material, it became easier. Now
I
control the veil, not the other way around. I remember my jarring epiphany while talking to Adox. The path before me was still as clear as it had been in that soul-ringing moment. I couldn’t build my future on lies, like my mother. The only way forward for me was to reveal my true identity. Of course, I wouldn’t go about it like a fool. But if I had my way, the veil would never control me again.
I
will to decide how my secret is revealed. I won’t be forced into a corner.

A call goes up as I’m sighted. The portcullis is raised. I pass under the lattice of iron bars.

One of the watchmen runs toward me as fast as his full armor will allow him. I’m not sure why the watch wears such cumbersome equipment. The man gives an awkward bow, a terrorized expression on his face. “Tatuma Olina, the king has o-ordered you be taken to him immediately upon your arrival.” Well, that explains his fear. I doubt Jovan’s order was polite.

I nod calmly, despite the nervous thrill that jolts through me at his words. “That will be fine. Show me to him.” I wonder if this is one of the guards I tricked when I escaped to the Outer Rings.

The guard looks from me to the portcullis and back.

I smile beneath my veil. “Unless … you cannot leave your post?”

“But he did tell me to take you, and—”

I hold up a hand, trying to stem my laughter. “That’s fine. I’ll go to him directly and assure him of your determination to fulfill both of his commands.”

I leave while the watchman is still bowing. That one wasn’t picked for his brains.

It hits me as soon as I enter the heavy wooden entrance of the castle … I’m about to see Jovan! I stop in my tracks, halfway to the meeting room. The lack of sleep and stress of the last week has to be showing. I wonder what I look like. I shake my head to clear my foggy mind. What am I thinking? I resume my walk, ignoring the new tension.

“Uh, Lina?” I whip my head toward the sound. It’s Cameron. The little son of Tomi, one of the delegates.

“Cam, hello. Do you need something?” I ask.

“Nah, I’m all right. King wants to see you. I heard.”

Had Jovan given the order to everyone? I steadfastly ignore the warmth flooding through me. I’m tired enough to admit I feel this way because I’ve missed him. I’m too weary to pretend it’s just eagerness to relay the news of what happened in the Ire. But knowing my feelings and acting on them are two different things.

“I’m just on my way. Will you show me?”

I trail behind the young, chubby boy until we arrive at the meeting room. Do I knock? It seems too timid for my liking.

I push through the door, and a wave of noise hits me.

“Blaine! What you’re proposing is ridiculous,” comes the voice of Drummond, Arla’s father.

Someone slams a fist on the table and I finally process what I just heard. Did someone just say Blaine? Jovan can’t have made him an advisor! I gasp, knowing all too well about Blaine’s dodgy dealings. It can’t be. I feel a hand on my arm, and feel my muscles tighten in defense. I relax as I identify Roscoe, Jovan’s most trusted advisor and the father of one of the delegates, Adnan. The older man is always polite. An unusual trait for a Bruma.

“Tatuma Olina, I welcome you back. The king is most eager to see you.” He guides me around the meeting table—a great big stone circle. We pass the other advisors on our way. They stop talking and stare at me. I gently extract myself from Roscoe’s guiding arm and walk tall. Most of them appear relaxed, but there are those who still—whether in wariness or dislike, I don’t know. My heart begins to thud the closer I get to Jovan. Is he looking at me? I beg my feet not to stumble, though they haven’t since I was a child. I want to see him, but I feel sick at the same time. Is this normal?

I sigh in relief and a bit of disappointment as I see Jovan is in hot debate with the person to his left. It gives me a chance to control my racing thoughts. I always have this reaction when I first see him: a rightness, and a tingling down my spine, as though water were being trickled over me. Despite all my determination out in the hall, I can feel my resolve crumbling—just at the
sight
of him.

He’s as imposing and strong as ever in his chest armor. He sits in the ruler’s throne at the top of the stone circle, commanding the room without trying. I swallow as I get closer and finally see his face. The stubble on his chin is longer than when I last saw him. No doubt shaving has lost priority since news of my mother’s betrayal. His skin has the grime of travel and dried sweat. It’s likely he’s only just returned from the front line. His unwashed state doesn’t stop me wanting to touch him. My eyes move everywhere, over his shoulders, his arms, and his shoulder-length light-brown hair.

The sooner I can return to Osolis, the better.

“My King.” Roscoe interrupts him mid-conversation.

Jovan is annoyed at the interruption. But I watch with a doomed sense of sweetness as he sees me and his face transforms from irritation to relief, then settles into his usual confident—bordering on arrogant—lines.

“Tatuma, you are returned. And in one piece, too,” he says in a low voice. A tremor ripples through me. I’m close enough to see his eyes. The blue color is so vibrant; it always draws my gaze, piercing straight through me. At the moment his eyes roam over my frame. My flight suit doesn’t leave much to the imagination, though it’s not the worst outfit I’ve ever worn. The harness holds that honor.

I clear my throat. “Yes.” He raises an eyebrow at my short response. Doesn’t he know it’s all I can manage when he looks at me that way?

“And were you successful?” He frowns. I feel the men behind me shift forward to hear my answer.

I give a curt nod. “Yes. The army has been stopped for now.” I really need to speak to him alone. I turn my head to the door behind the throne. I know from my time in the two identical castles on Glacium that a smaller meeting room is situated there.

There is some celebrating behind me. But there’s something else too. An uneasiness. The advisors are unsure whether they can trust me—and with good reason after my mother’s actions. I barely take in their reaction, though. I’m locked on Jovan. His gaze is narrowed on me. I tilt my head to the door once more and restrain laughter as he understands my hint at last. A Solati could have picked up from the shortness of my responses that I wished to speak alone. It took several hints for a Bruma because they were so forthright. I found I’d largely adapted to their ways, but I supposed some traits were too ingrained in me. To the error of my people, the Bruma’s boldness didn’t mean they were unintelligent. They were just straightforward, not used to hints and subtlety. Most of the time I preferred it.

“The Tatuma and I will speak privately.” The King rises from his throne to his full height and I’m left staring at his chest. As always, it makes me feel tiny, but I don’t find his towering frame intimidating anymore. Perhaps because he doesn’t
try
to intimidate me this way anymore.

“Jovan, are you sure that’s wise? It would be easier to advise you if we hear the account directly from her,” an advisor says.

The man is ignored as Jovan turns for the door in a swirl of fur, weaponry, and leather.

Jovan slams the door as soon as I’ve moved through behind him.

Then, in three long strides he’s in front of me, hands at my veil. He rips it off. Did I really expect any less? The king of Glacium peers down at me. And I stand tall, refusing to be self-conscious of the way I appear. I cringe as another thought strikes me—or the way I smell.

“When was the last time you slept?” he growls. I wince and snatch the veil from him.

“Do you want to know what happened or not?” I attempt to put the veil back on, but he grips my hand and peels my fingers off the material, one by one. I let out an exasperated noise as he tucks the retrieved veil into the pocket of his tunic.

“Of course I do. But first let me tell you I’m glad you’re home,” he says with a grin.

“I am glad to be back at the
castle
,” I say. His eyes glint in an unusual way.

“You’ve been at the front?” I ask. He nods, while his deft hands make quick work of the straps holding his chest armor in place. His blue eyes don’t leave mine during the process. The heat in my cheeks rises and I let my gaze slide away as he stretches, pulling the plate over his head.

I squeeze my eyes shut. “There are a few things I need to tell you.” I open them and gesture to a seat.

He doesn’t take the hint, silently staring down at me, massive arms folded over the planes of his chest. I shake my head and take a deep breath, launching into a comprehensive recount of my time in the Ire.

King Jovan is statue-still, mouth slightly open when I finish. He started pacing during the middle of my account and has only just stopped.

“It’s a lot to take in …” My words seem to jolt him out of his stupor. I didn’t realize how much information I’d just unloaded on him. I’ve had months to process the discovery of the Ire and the events that have happened since.

“I’d figured the flying people were on the Great Stairway. But you say they’re all mixed? You showed your face to the leader to gain their help, almost got caught while destroying the pathway, and were sighted by the soon-to-be-dead uncle who used to beat you.” He summarizes. I nod slowly. I can’t tell if he is annoyed or angry.

“How the fuck do you get yourself into this stuff?” He’s angry.

“I … don’t know.” The truth of my words hits me and I let out a giggle. The storm on Jovan’s face breaks briefly before coming back full-force. I’m surprised he didn’t lose his temper when I’d told him about Cassius, but somehow he reined himself in.