Page 79 of A Queen’s Game (Aithyr Uprising #1)

Chapter Fifty-One

Elyse

H ow should she respond to a smutty letter?

How would anyone respond?

Elyse was still at a loss, even as she read the letter for what felt like the hundredth time. Brynden made what he wanted clear—and gods, she wanted it herself; but how does she put that want into a drawing? How does she convey that message?

Elyse leaned back in the desk chair in her suite’s office.

Not having much gold to her name, save for what the King gave her, Elyse hadn’t bothered furnishing it beyond the desk.

Pushed up against the window, Elyse stared absently out at the palace walls.

The suite she had shared with her father was one of the coveted spots facing out into the Central Garden.

However, her new suite was a spare smaller one they had available, thus the lackluster view.

She didn’t mind, though. The view wasn’t worth more than putting up with her father.

Staring back at her sheet of parchment, Elyse picked at her nails as she thought. Though she had stopped believing she and Brynden would marry, she still wished to be with him, to relive the experience in the piano room. She wished she could give herself to him.

Perhaps she could.

Elyse jumped up from her seat, darting to her bedroom, and grabbed a mirror from off her vanity. People weren’t her strong suit with drawing, but she would at least try.

As she sat at her desk, staring into the mirror, she began drawing.

From inside the King’s study, silence encased Elyse. She sat at the desk with her eyes closed, breathing deep, as she practiced the mental exercises from Wyltam’s books.

Over the past two weeks, Elyse had worked through the stack Wyltam had left for her. The first listed breathing and mental exercises, like the one she now practiced. Each day, she had taken breaks to sit in silence, clearing her mind of any thought, any emotion.

The book had warned that it could be difficult but not to become frustrated.

Each time Elyse’s mind had drifted, the book instructed her to acknowledge it, then pull it back.

Every day, she would inhale through her nose, releasing it slowly through her mouth.

Over and over, until her mind had emptied.

Elyse’s first attempt failed miserably. Not only had her thoughts wandered, but she became aggravated from letting it happen, yet she continued to try twice every day and learned to sit with a clear mind.

Of all the ways she expected magic to improve her life, she hadn’t expected it to help with her anxious thoughts. Between the mental exercises and the separation from her father, her head remained clearer than it had ever been.

Thinking of nothing, Elyse sat behind the desk in silence as something brushed against her mind.

Her first instinct was to jerk away, but the sensation was familiar.

She had experienced it before—with Mage’s Eye at the Chorys Dasian townhouse.

Accepting the mental brush, she leaned into the energy, gasping as she became aware of the tendrils of aithyr.

With Mage’s Eye, Elyse had seen the distinct paths of the magical energy, like hazy white rapids of a river.

Without it, Elyse only sensed them flowing around her, like how she couldn’t see a gust of wind but could feel its movement on her skin.

Like the day at the townhouse, Elyse reached out, using her mind to pull at a tendril. The aithyr came effortlessly, filling her body with thrumming energy. When she opened her eyes, she imagined the aithyr as wind gusting from her hand.

Air blew from her palm, scattering the papers across the desktop.

With a laugh, she stared at her hand, unable to believe she did it.

Her toughest hurdle to becoming a mage was herself—her mental strength.

That moment proved Elyse could overcome it, that she could clear her mind and control her emotions.

That she could become the spy Wyltam wished her to be.

After working hard to improve herself, to feel such an accomplishment was empowering. No longer was she the weak and insignificant daughter of a minister; she was the budding mage of the King. If she continued down that path, no one and nothing could stop her.

Magic was power beyond what she could imagine, sweeter than any marriage.

With it, she could control her positioning in the world, no longer needing to rely on others for strength.

In that way, it was also freeing. Though she might be at the King’s beck and call while working for him, outside her duties, she could be whatever she wished.

She could do whatever she wished, see whatever she wished.

A knock drew her from her thoughts. “Elyse, it’s Sylas.”

Her smile dropped. Gods, right. The drawing. This one was a risk, one that would tell Brynden of her intentions, but she remembered what Marietta had said, that exchanging smutty letters with Brynden was fun, enjoyable.

With that in mind, Elyse grabbed the folded sheet and approached the door.

Sylas stood with his arms crossed, and he looked…

handsome. His curly hair was loose down to his shoulders, one side tucked behind his ear as if to show his piercings.

Coupled with his tight-fitting silk shirt and black embroidered jacket, he dressed too nicely for an average day in the palace.

“What’s with the elegant attire?” she asked, leaning against the door frame.

“Turns out Brynden isn’t the only one attracted to Satiroan females,” he said with a bemused grin. “I’m accompanying a lucky lady for lunch this afternoon.”

Elyse bit back her surprise. Of course, Sylas would find someone at court. “May I ask who?”

“Lydia Ryntz. She’s a friend of yours, right?”

Elyse’s limbs numbed and she nearly dropped her drawing. “No.”

Sylas narrowed his eyes, the usual scowl coming to his face. “No, you aren’t friends with her? Or no, I can’t court her?”

“Both,” she hissed. “Lydia is not my friend—has not been my friend for years. You can’t court her; she’s horrible.”

Sylas raised his brows. “Lydia mentioned you view your friendship with her differently—”

“She has a horrible habit of deciding what others should think.” Elyse hesitated, unsure whether to share more, but sighed and gave in. “I spent most of my childhood questioning my own thoughts, my own memories of events because she told me I remembered them inaccurately.”

“Well, you are erratic in your thinking—”

Elyse shoved the drawing into his chest. “Take this and go, Sylas.” She knew he was an ass, but this was different. Perhaps he would be a perfect match for Lydia.

“I’m sorry,” he said, unfolding the drawing. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t open this one,” she snapped, restraining from pulling the paper from his hands. If she were to rip it, then her hours of work were for nothing.

“You know the rules.”

Heat crept up her cheeks and chest as Sylas opened it, then quickly folded it closed. “You’re playing a dangerous game. Are you sure you want to give him this?”

Elyse sighed, hating herself for being embarrassed. The drawing was perfect, a self-portrait of her from the chest up, nude, with hair covering most of her breasts. Written at the bottom was the word dream . “How else do you respond to a filthy letter, Sylas?”

“You didn’t need to match him for content,” he said, placing it in his pocket. “A clothed self-portrait would have sufficed.”

“Just leave, Sylas. Enjoy your date—you two are a perfect match.”

Elyse turned before seeing his reaction, closing the door to stifle any reply. The drawing was a bit impulsive to send to Brynden. She knew he’d love it, but she also hoped it wasn’t a mistake.