Page 22

Chapter

Twenty-Two

T he ballroom is a sea of glittering gowns and sparkling jewels.

Hidden away in one of the alcoves, I observe the revelry from afar. The lords and ladies flit through the room, offering warm compliments before whispering ugly comments behind each other’s backs. Bridgid stands in the center of the merriment, enjoying the fruits of her labor. She glides across the dance floor, wrapped in swathes of sparkly blue fabric that swooshes with each step she takes. Her blonde ringlets are piled high on her head and adorned with a decorative diamond comb that looks awfully similar to a tiara.

The bold choice only fuels the swirling rumors about her impending engagement to the king. Apparently, Darcus and Naomi took it upon themselves to share Bridgid’s suspicions with the entire court. At this point, the guests are clamoring for her attention, behaving as if the announcement is already a foregone conclusion.

I hope they’re right.

Several gentlemen, and even a few ladies, send admiring glances in my direction, but I can’t say I blame them tonight. My lady’s maids outdid themselves. They chose a rich burgundy gown that compliments my fair complexion beautifully. Tiny straps hold up the silk triangles that cup my full breasts, leaving nothing to the imagination. The dress is tight around my waist before flaring out slightly over my hips. A high slit allows for freedom of movement and gives me access to the blade I’ve brought, just in case.

In order to highlight my exposed back, Alva swept my deep copper waves into a messy chignon, with several loose pieces hanging down to frame my face. Meanwhile, Morwen applied her talents to my makeup, painting my lips the exact autumnal shade of my dress. As always, the only jewelry I’m wearing tonight is my collar, but I feel very pretty none the less.

I must admit, Bridgid did a marvelous job with the preparations. From the decorations to the refreshments, every lavish detail has been planned to perfection. Lord Darcus and Lady Naomi trail behind Bridgid, probably hoping some of the admiration being sent her way will trickle back to them. I roll my eyes, questioning why I ever sought their friendship in the first place. It likely had something to do with the fact that Bridgid is beautiful, charming, and adored by all the courtiers. Like her jealous companions, I was hoping some of that shine would rub off on me.

Speaking of courtiers, Kaldar and his brother, Lord Burgess, are currently surrounded by quite a few. By the way he’s holding court, you’d think Bridgid’s father is the one who’s about to become royalty. Condescension radiates off him as lords and ladies clamor for his favor, searching for a connection to the future queen.

Unlike Kaldar, his brother, Lord Simon Burgess, is quite handsome. I can see why he’s rumored to be their mothers favorite. His appearance is similar to his daughter’s, both sharing the same angular features and sour expressions. His fine hair is a shockingly pale shade of blond that hangs down to his waist.

Tired of observing the party guests, I turn my attention to the decor. This room is usually closed off, since Baylor rarely hosts balls. However, I’ve snuck in here a few times over the years, strangely drawn to the haunting mural that adorns the ceiling. The centuries-old artwork depicts an ancient battle between Saint Vera and the Novians. A lone woman battling an army of pure light. Though she didn’t survive that encounter, her bravery was remembered, and the Verran Isles were named in her honor.

There’s a darkness to the painting that has always captivated me. When I squint my eyes, I can make out terrible faces within the brightness of the Novians. It’s always bothered me that I can’t tell if their expressions are twisted with horror or hatred. Humanoid in shape, their bodies were made of the purest light. Their victims were lured in by the creatures’ otherworldly beauty, only to be devoured.

With my head titled back and my focus enraptured in the magnificence of the mural, I’m too distracted to notice the approaching footsteps.

“Having fun?”

My lips part on a gasp at the faint note of familiarity in the masculine voice, one I haven’t heard since that fateful night fifteen years ago. I turn and face him slowly, terrified to see how time has changed the sweet boy I once knew. My heart cracks as my gaze flicks over his features, so similar to my own. Though his hair is darker than mine, I spot a hint of auburn mixed with his brown strands, courtesy of our mother.

“Bellamy?” I whisper.

“It’s me, Ivy.” He steps forward, pulling me into his warm embrace.

Heat prickles behind my eyes as I breathe in his scent, awakening a rush of memories. Seven years my senior, Bel never fussed about being forced to chase me through the woods or attend tea parties with my dolls. He humored all my requests, happy to give me his time no matter the activity. Just like that horrible day I asked him to play hide and seek, only he wasn’t the one to find me.

I pull back, meeting his hazel eyes. There are dozens of questions I want to ask him, but not a single one of them rises to the tip of my tongue. I’m frozen by the years that stand between us.

“How are you?” he asks.

I open my mouth to lie, but somehow the truth pours out instead.

“Terrible.” Embarrassment fills me as his eyes widen, and my mouth feels suddenly dry. “And you?”

“About the same,” he admits.

An inappropriate giggle bubbles out of me. I clasp my hand over my mouth, trying to keep it in. Bel’s lips twitch and suddenly he’s laughing too. I wipe a small tear from my eyes, noting the glassy sheen coating his own.

“Look at you, Ivy,” he whispers, his voice full of something that sounds an awful lot like pride. “My baby sister, now a grown-up lady.”

An involuntary smile lights up my face. “I’m not sure I’m much of a lady, but I did grow up. How long are you staying?”

“Just for the night. Father’s insisting we leave tomorrow.”

An invisible knife slides between my ribs, piercing my lungs as it knocks the air out of me. Fear that has lain dormant for a decade and a half reawakens, stretching itself into every corner of my being.

I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly dry. “He’s here?”

There’s compassion in his eyes as he nods. “Ivy, I?—”

A dark shadow falls over us, cutting off Bellamy’s words. Another ghost from my past appears, this one far less welcome.

“Daughter,” Lord Pomeroy says the word like a joke. His cold eyes rake over me, no doubt finding a thousand flaws in my appearance.

“Father.” I match his tone, making a mockery of the title we both know doesn’t truly belong to him. Everyone is aware I’m not his child, but the great Lord Nigel Pomeroy will never publicly admit it, despite the rumors that circulate. He believes himself above such petty gossip.

“Have you been making yourself useful?” he asks. “I trust you’re keeping the king happy?”

A muscle clenches in Bellamy’s jaw at his father’s implication.

“He’s very pleased with me,” I respond coolly.

“See to it he stays that way.” A hard glint enters his green eyes. “I’ve heard that little weasel Kaldar is trying to push his niece as a bride. You can’t let that happen. The Burgess family has too much influence already.”

“I won’t,” I lie, looking forward to his disappointment when the news is announced later tonight.

I’m sure he will be dripping with displeasure for the happy couple. Hopefully if Baylor announces Bridgid as his bride, he will stop calling me to his chambers at night. If that happens, I’ll likely fall to her feet with gratitude. She can insult me as much as she wants, as long as she keeps him away.

“Father,” Bel growls, his fists balled tightly at his side. “You haven’t seen your daughter in years, and this is all you have to say?”

“Nothing else comes to mind.” Lord Pomeroy paints a charming smile onto his face, probably for the benefit of the prying eyes that keep flicking in our direction.

I bite my lip to keep from laughing as a realization settles over me. I don’t care what this vile man says. Any power he had to cause me pain died in that lake, along with my innocence. Now, he’s nothing but a bitter memory.

“Apologies for the interruption, my lords.” Remy’s voice comes from behind me.

Turning around, I’m shocked by the sight of him in his formal uniform. Pride swells in my chest as I note the insignia and accommodations decorating the left side of his jacket. Despite being forced to serve a selfish king, Remy has always done his best to make the city of Solmare proud.

“I’m afraid His Majesty is asking for Lady Iverson,” he continues, unable to hide the simmering hatred blazing in his eyes as he glares at Lord Pomeroy.

“Then you must not keep him waiting, daughter.”

I ignore my father and turn to Bel. “I’ll find you later.”

He nods, regret shining in his brown eyes. After all these years, I’d hoped if I ever saw my brother again, we’d have more time together. I have so many questions. Why did he never reach out to me? Why didn’t he come to visit? Does he blame me for the things that happened that night? I can only imagine how the memories of Clara’s screams must haunt him.

I push aside the deep well of sadness that opens up every time I think about the young governess. Now is not the time to let such emotions consume me. With so many eyes watching me tonight, I need to play my part flawlessly. Courtiers whisper in every corner of the ballroom as Remy escorts me along the edges of the dancefloor. Couples move in sync with each other, their graceful bodies swaying with the music. There’s a part of me that longs to join them, but Baylor would never allow it.

Glancing up at Remy, I can’t help but notice the dark circles sitting beneath his tired eyes. Despite the time he’s been spending outside, his skin has become pale and sickly, making the thin scar along his neck stand out more than usual. The search for Darby has worn him down, yet Baylor keeps pushing him harder. Remy is strong, but everyone needs to rest eventually.

“Any new developments?” I ask quietly, knowing he will understand I’m referring to the almanova .

He shakes his head, his gaze dropping to my collar momentarily before meeting my own. “The king is displeased.”

“That’s never good,” I murmur distractedly as we dodge a group of lords arguing over some business matter. It appears the crowd is getting antsy as we wait for the Gods to arrive. I glance toward the staircase, searching for a specific face.

“He’s not here,” Remy says.

My gaze snaps to his. “Who?”

The warning in his hazel eyes has my spine straightening. “You need to be careful where you place your trust, Iverson.”

My jaw clenches. “You don’t know him.”

“Do you?” he counters.

I ignore the words and the doubts they stir. My gaze shifts to Baylor, still standing on the dais at the far end of the room. His blond hair has been freshly cut, the color contrasting nicely against his navy-blue suit. His eyes are swimming with self-satisfaction as he collects praise from courtiers and nobles. Hopefully, the adoration of the crowd will quell the worst of the displeasure Remy mentioned. A frisson of apprehension skates down my spine. I can’t imagine the kind of rage Baylor would unleash if tonight doesn’t go according to his plans.

“Ah, my pet!” he exclaims as I approach.

The crowd around him parts wide enough for us to slip through. Lord Burgess, who has joined the group, sneers at me as I pass. Remy bows to the king before offering me a hand to step onto the platform. Baylor’s focus dips to my leg, where the slit parts wide enough to reveal the sheathed blade at my thigh.

He arches a brow. “Expecting danger this evening, pet?”

I force my lips to part in a seductive grin. “I never expect it, but I’m always prepared for it.”

He laughs, and the courtiers nearby follow his lead, pretending it’s the funniest thing they’ve ever heard.

“She’s so violent,” he tells them, as if the thought of me using this blade is hilarious. As the crowd continues laughing, his attention shifts back to me. He pulls me close, letting his hands drift over my exposed back.

“Things are going to change tonight, Iverson,” he whispers in my ear, his warm breath sending waves of revulsion through me. “But I promise you, everything I’m doing is for us.”

The ominous words all but confirm he’s going to announce his engagement to Bridgid. Hope sparks in my chest, and for once, the smile I give him is genuine. Taking a new wife means I might get a break from all this public touching.

“I know you will always do what’s best for me,” I force the lie to leave my tongue.

He smiles fondly, squeezing my hands in his.

A loud gong sounds through the ballroom, capturing everyone’s attention. The crowd comes to a halt, turning to face the landing at the top of the stairwell. Everyone knows what that sound means.

The Gods are arriving.

I start to move from the platform, but Baylor keeps my hand in his, refusing to let go. “Stay,” he commands.

With no choice but to obey, I wait by his side as muffled voices whisper to each other, speculating on which God is about to join us. Everyone faces the same direction, except for one person. Bridgid’s hateful gaze remains on me, probably pissed that I’m by Baylor’s side during this important moment. I swallow down a sigh, knowing that when she’s crowned queen, she will make me pay for this. But whatever she throws my way, it will be worth it as long as she keeps Baylor’s attention focused on her instead of me.

All thoughts of Bridgid are swept aside as the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I sense a presence approaching, similar to what I feel when I’m near Thorne, yet different in some undefinable way. My attention shifts to the landing, somehow knowing that’s where the sensation is emanating from.

The double doors open, revealing a man and a woman. The crowd is utterly silent as the newcomers enter the room. The man’s formal jacket is the exact burnt orange shade of his wings, complimenting his warm brown skin perfectly. Gold filigree lines his collar and sleeves, giving him an air of wealth. But unlike most of the upper class, there’s a softness to his features that radiates kindness.

The woman next to him is several inches shorter, the top of her head only reaching his shoulder, yet her presence is far more commanding. Long raven braids fall to her waist, brushing against the mulberry silk of her gown. As she approaches the rail of the landing, she spreads her gilded wings wide. The feathers are breathtaking, but they are nothing compared to the rich swirling gold of her eyes. She holds her head high as her gaze drifts over the crowd, searching for someone.

My lips part on a gasp when her attention settles on me. Amusement plays at the corners of her mouth. It feels as though she’s seeing right through me, as if every secret has been laid bare for her to peruse at her leisure. Instinct demands I take a step back, but somehow, I manage to stay still, holding her molten gaze as they begin their descent down the grand staircase.

“Selim, God of Accords,” a booming voice announces as they near the bottom. “And Cassandra, Goddess of Divination.”

As one, every person in the room drops to their knees and bows their heads. There’s a palpable sense of nervousness in the air. For the last quarter of a century, we haven’t had a single visit from any of the Gods. After Maebyn disappeared, the divine rulers of the Verran Isles refused every invitation.

Until now.

From the corner of my eye, I notice several young ladies shifting uncomfortably as they struggle to maintain the submissive pose in their heels and finery. At my side, Baylor stands proud, the only person in the room refusing to bend a knee.

“Welcome to the Seventh Isle,” Baylor greets them as they reach the dais. “We are honored to have you here with us in the Realm of Illusion.”

I’d kill to witness their reaction to his disrespect, but with my head down, all I can see is their shoes approaching us.

“King Baylor, it is an honor to be here in your beautiful realm,” Selim’s deep voice responds. “May everyone please rise and continue the merriment.”

As if his proclamation has restarted time, the crowd follows his command. Music swells once more, and the conversations that previously halted continue, though at least half the eyes in the room are openly watching the Gods.

I push to my feet as I brush out the wrinkles in my gown. When I lift my gaze, I immediately lock eyes again with the Goddess of Divination once more. There’s something strange about her presence, almost familiar. But in this moment, my mind is too jumbled to connect the fragments.

Her attention shifts to the man beside me as she addresses him in a honeyed tone. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your companion, King Baylor?”

It takes every ounce of my self-control not to squirm away from his touch as his hand settles on my hip, pulling me closer to his side. Instead of recoiling, I paste a vacant smile on my face.

“May I present Lady Iverson Pomeroy,” he says.

“The famous wraith ?” Her eyes dance with delight as they flit back to me. “A pleasure to meet you, Lady Iverson. Your reputation is quite impressive.”

I bow my head politely. “The pleasure is all mine, Your Grace.”

Sneaking a glance at Selim, I find him watching me warily. He opens his mouth to say something right as another man appears on the landing. Whatever strange awareness came over me at the arrival of the two Gods, it doesn’t happen now.

The newcomer’s chestnut brown hair is pushed back, putting his blue eyes on display. I can admit he’s handsome, but there’s something about the smug glint in his eyes that tells me he’s too aware of that fact. It’s as if he’s ready to be adored by all who bear witness to his greatness.

Standing a few feet behind him is another man. Despite his smooth, unwrinkled skin, the way he carries himself makes him appear older than the other one, more mature. The sharp cut of his jaw combined with the coldness of his gaze gives him an air of ruthlessness. He’s definitely not one to underestimate.

“Foley, Heir of Life.” The announcer’s booming voice cuts through the room. “And Leland, Adviser to the God of Life.”

The crowd doesn’t kneel again, since there isn’t a God among their small party, but they do bow their heads as a sign of respect for the Heir.

“Welcome,” Baylor says as they approach the dais, joining Selim and Cassandra. “We are pleased you could make the journey.”

Foley sneers, crossing his arms over his chest as he searches the room for something more interesting. While most Heirs are hidden away from the public, the God of Life has kept his son by his side since the day he was born. Judging by Foley’s attitude, I’d say being raised in a humbler environment would probably have done him some good. For a man slightly older than me, he somehow manages to carry himself with the petulance of a teenager.

“Thank you for inviting us,” Leland responds for both of them.

I imagine Eyrkan sent his adviser along to smooth over any ruffled feathers his son may cause. Based on the not-so-covert nudge he gives the young Heir, Leland is used to such duties.

“Yes,” Foley grumbles, rolling his eyes. “We’re so very honored by your hospitality, King Baylor.”

From the corner of my eye, I notice the vein at Baylor’s temple is pulsing faster. The lack of respect is likely eating him alive, but somehow, he manages to refrain from commenting on it. Thank the Fates for small miracles.

“I see your manners haven’t improved, boy,” Cassandra interjects, having no need for restraint.

Foley turns to the Goddess and sketches an extravagant bow, the movement laced with insincerity. “How wonderful to see you again, Cassandra. Please entertain us all tonight with your little party trick.”

“It’s no trick.” Her voice deepens unnaturally. “Speak to me with disrespect again, and I might tell you what I’ve seen in your future. And trust me, it’s not for the faint of heart.”

Foley scoffs, but judging by the way his face pales, her words had their intended effect. His eyes widen as he notices me standing next to Baylor for the first time. I don’t miss the way his gaze rakes over my body with undisguised interest. Given his reputation as a notorious rake, the reaction isn’t surprising.

Baylor’s grip on my hip turns possessive. “I see you’ve noticed my pet.”

“I imagine that’s the reason you keep her around, is it not?” He reaches for my hand and brings it to his lips.

Biting down on my rising disgust, I keep my face impassive.

“You call her ‘pet?’” he asks Baylor before turning his attention back to me. “I’ve never been fond of animals, my lady, but for you, I would make an exception.”

“You’re too kind.” I smile, but my eyes are full of daggers. My blood boils within my veins as I rip my hand from his grip, unable to stop the words that tumble from my mouth. “Unfortunately, I don’t make exceptions for sniveling brats.”

Fury detonates across Foley’s face, but before he can respond, Cassandra bursts out laughing.

“I like her,” she announces, brushing one of her dark braids over her shoulder. “You’ve done well with this one, Baylor.”

Gratitude swells in my chest. I catch her eye, hoping my small nod is enough to convey my thanks. Secrets twinkle in her golden eyes, and I can’t help but wonder if she intervened because she knew what would happen if she didn’t. Foley doesn’t seem like the type to forgive any insult. Frankly, he reminds me of Kaldar—a little man, never content with what he has, always reaching for more. Still, I need to bite my tongue around him in the future. It would be foolish to make an enemy of a future God, no matter how odious he is.

“Perhaps we should all enjoy the festivities?” Selim interjects, his calming tone smoothing over the situation with an unnatural ease. I’d bet my life he’s using his gifts to quell the heightened tension among our small group. As the God of Accord, he’s blessed with the ability to soothe rising tempers. As much as I hate the idea of anyone toying with my emotions, I’m grateful for his interference right now.

“Please, make yourselves welcome,” Baylor calls as they step into the crowd, leaving us alone on the dais.

I watch them go, noting the way Selim glances back at me, his gaze narrowing with something resembling concern. I don’t have time to consider what that means before they are swallowed up by the crowd.

“That was careless,” Baylor whispers, his tone deceptively soft.

“It was calculated,” I counter, praying he buys my explanation. “Didn’t you notice that Selim and Cassandra dislike him? Many alliances have been formed based on a shared enemy. And now the others know you won’t stand for their disrespect.”

He’s silent for a moment as he considers my words. “Let’s hope your gamble paid off. But in the future, leave the politics to me, pet.”

“Of course.” I dip my chin, lowering my eyes in a show of respect.

His finger taps nervously against my side. “Killian should have been here by now,” he quietly seethes. “What is the point of this infuriating alliance if he’s can’t even uphold his end of the deal?”

I refrain from pointing out how generous the God of Death has been with us, considering Baylor is the one who hasn’t made good on his promises. Still, I can’t help but worry. Thorne said he would be here, but what if Killian changed his mind? A foolish pang of sadness settles in my chest at the thought of not seeing the reaper. I shove the emotion down, knowing there’s no room for those kinds of sentiments tonight.

A second later, the double doors at the top of the stairs burst open, quickly followed by the clang of the gong sounding off for a third time. The signal can only mean one thing.

Death has come to the Seventh Isle.

Shadows spread throughout the room, devouring every ounce of light. Silence falls as three people step onto the landing. For a moment, I don’t even notice the other two. My attention is stuck on the one in the center.

Thorne.

He’s heartbreakingly beautiful in his dark apparel as he glides to the railing. He’s so graceful, so captivating . Heat rises to my cheeks as I remember the way he used that word to describe me. He stands above us, silently judging the crowd with that ice-cold gaze. Something unexpected flashes in his eyes when they land on me, but he covers it quickly as his companions appear at his shoulders. My brows pinch as I try to understand the meaning behind that look.

My focus shifts to the familiar face on his right. Griffen is handsome in his maroon jacket. He appears far sterner than he did at the beach. The third member of their party is a woman I’ve never seen before. Her long inky black hair falls to her waist, contrasting beautifully against the midnight blue of her dress.

Something hot and vicious flares underneath my skin when she leans closer to Thorne, not close enough to touch him, but to whisper something for only him to hear. My eyes narrow at her proximity and a flash of amusement crosses his face, but it’s gone a second later. He drags his gaze away from me, his features shifting back into the cold mask he wears so often.

Both Griffen and the woman flank Thorne, walking slightly behind him as they move to the staircase. Confusion blasts through me. Did Killian send ambassadors in his place? I glance at Baylor from the corner of my eye, finding his face pinched with tension. He won’t respond to this insult kindly.

“K-Killian,” the announcer stutters, his voice quieter than before. “God of Death.”

Everyone else kneels, but I stand frozen, squinting at the open doors on the landing as I search for the God. Is he entering behind them? That would be odd. My attention flits back to the reaper, spotting a trace of shame swirling behind his eyes.

My blood turns to ice as my heart sinks into my stomach.

The announcer carries on, introducing Thorne’s companions, but I don’t hear him. The sounds of waves crash against my ears as the whole world narrows down to this single moment, this realization that’s being forced upon me.

I hold my breath as Thorne raises his hands. Heat brushes against my face as a giant ring of fire appears over our heads, illuminating the ballroom. Gasps ring through the crowd. Many people cover their heads, fearing the blaze, but Thorne shows no reaction to their dramatics. He stands proud, his head high as he watches me. Only two people in this world have the ability to wield fire, the flames of creation and destruction. Life and Death.

Air catches in my lungs as my mind forces me to confront what’s right before my eyes.

Thorne doesn’t work for the God of Death.

Thorne is the God of Death.