Page 23 of Her Cruel Redemption (The Dark Reflection #3)

Chapter Twenty-Three

E very room here seemed to have a view of the ocean, set with wide windows to facilitate it, and the damage caused by the constant assault of the salty wind was evident in the crumbling stone, the damp clinging to the wallpaper, the crystals of white dusting the curtains. It must cost them a fortune in maintenance to keep the place standing. Vic Gedelli hadn’t mentioned that as he played host, pointing out and naming architectural features and types of clouds and explaining principles of ship building to Gwinellyn as we sat at a table in one of the many tea rooms Bright Keep boasted, waiting on the arrival of Oceatold’s Grand Paptich, who wanted to meet with us before he decided whether or not to annul my marriage. Vic kept trying to pull me into the conversation, drawing on an entire gamut of flirtation and charm in the attempt, but my focus continually returned to the tumultuous grey ocean with a heavy, sinking sensation in my chest.

The Grand Paptich, when he finally arrived, was a short, bulky man, mostly bald, his face weathered with age. His smile, though, was surprisingly warm. Carrick, his name was. And just as I had decided I didn’t immediately despise him, the door opened and the man who’d been at the meeting in the Astronomy Tower stepped into the room. Tall, silver-haired, and cold, black eyes. Lidello. Those eyes fixed on me as he entered, and again he treated me to that unsettling smile. He was wearing what must have been druthi robes, though they were grey with white stripes around the hem rather than old-blood red as Brimordian druthi wore. Carrick stood to greet him like an old friend, warmly clasping his hand.

‘Come, come, introductions,’ Carrick said, bustling the taller man over. ‘This is Igor Lidello, our Arch Magister, or the head of the druthi Guild here in Oceatold. I’m sure you’ll recognise Princess Gwinellyn, Igor, and this is—’

‘—Draven’s wife,’ Lidello finished for him, that smile widening. ‘But not, perhaps, for much longer. I’ve been very eager to meet you.’

My skin crawled. I hadn’t heard anyone in Oceatold use Draven’s first name. They’d referred to him as the usurper , or the Shadow King , or simply Soveraux. Who was this man that seemed to caress his name as he spoke it? I felt deeply uneasy as Carrick ushered Lidello into a seat and rang for more tea. The whole time, those dark eyes kept drifting back to me with keen interest, like an academic surveying a rare and valuable artefact. I wanted to call him out on the scrutiny, but even more than that, I wanted to know what his interest in me was. I had the distinct sense that I wasn’t going to like the reason behind it.

‘Well, as I’m sure you know, I’m going to be conducting the annulment of your marriage,’ Carrick began, dragging my attention back to him. ‘I’ve asked Igor here to help me understand the legitimacy of your claim to enchantment.’

‘The legitimacy?’ I repeated, hackles rising. Gwinellyn shot me a look and I took a breath, unclenching my hands. It was hard to stay calm when this was the subject matter. Aether’s teeth, I’d agreed to the annulment because the blasted king of Oceatold had asked it of me. Why did I now have to prove I was entitled to it? ‘And how exactly will you be determining that?’ I asked in a more even voice, shooting the question at the druthi.

‘Don’t look so tense, Rhiandra,’ Vic laughed, leaning back in his chair with a casual arm laid across the backrest. ‘This isn’t a test. The Magister is just here as our expert. He can tell us whether or not magic can achieve what you’ve claimed.’

‘I’ve already told you what happened,’ I said, trying to keep a cool head. ‘Surely you could have asked that question without this.’ I flicked my hand at the tea table. ‘I don’t know what else you want me to tell you.’

Lidello leaned forwards and plucked an iced biscuit from a plate between us with fingers that were long and pale. ‘I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to hear it for myself.’ He cocked his head as he settled back into his chair. ‘So, tell me, what did my most promising project do to you, Mrs Soveraux?’

The words hung in the air between the threads of Gwinellyn’s gasp. My chest tightened, and Lidello’s smirk widened, as though he enjoyed the reaction.

‘Your what ?’ I asked, my voice low and cold.

‘Well, perhaps project is the wrong word,’ Lidello said. He took a slow bite of the biscuit, his dark eyes never leaving mine. ‘More of a subject. Did your Grand Weaver never tell you of the research we conducted together? He’s always been so driven, Dovegni, and your Sanctum has strangled his innovation with their meddling. He had to come here to push the boundaries of magic.’

‘Let’s stick to the essentials, Igor,’ Carrick said with a nervous laugh. ‘We don’t need the whole—’

‘No,’ I cut in, leaning forwards now, my heart lurching, gaze honed on the druthi. ‘What sort of research?’

A sort of glee entered his eyes. An eagerness to answer the question. ‘Our current application of magic relies on blood harvest, which is a wasteful practice that kills the fall spawn being harvested long before their magical potential is fully utilised.’

Beside me, I felt Gwinellyn stiffening, her body seizing up with tension, and I knew she was thinking of her friends just down the road. Under the table, I found her hand. She squeezed it.

‘My research proposes to instead go right to the source. To sever magic from the creatures and bestow it on the human wielder. I experimented with different methods for achieving it and found pushing a subject to extremes of endurance to be the most promising, though I still haven’t quite achieved the outcome I wanted,’ he continued, seeming unaware—or uncaring—of how half of his audience were icing over with hostility. ‘Imagine it. There’d no longer be this reliance on weaving and objects, we could simply wield with the flick of a wrist.’ He demonstrated the action, then seemed to remember where he was. The gleam left his eyes and he settled back into his chair. ‘But, to stay on topic, Draven was an integral component of my research in its early days. One might even say he was the inspiration behind it. A half human boy from Yaakandale, of all places, with magic in his blood. Exceptional. And so resilient…’

Nausea was pooling in my stomach. But my mind was racing, picking up the pieces of what he’d said and filling in the gaps. Pushing the subject to the extremes of endurance . Oh, Madeia. In jagged bursts of memory, I saw my fingers tracing over skin riddled with scars and old wounds. So many he wouldn’t speak of.

‘Lidello,’ Vic interrupted, tone suddenly firm, expression serious. ‘You’re here to answer just one question. Is Soveraux capable of compelling someone to act against their will?’

Lidello’s focus was fixed squarely on me as he answered. ‘Oh yes, more than capable. Such a fascinating ability,’ he said, sounding almost… gratified, those black eyes examining me in a way that made me want to fly across the table and grab him by the throat. ‘If only he’d understood my vision and hadn’t escaped. We had so much more to learn. But he developed such obsessive, violent tendencies. Even when I kept him consistently at the brink of his physical limits, he was difficult to contain.’

‘You broke him.’ The accusation had jumped out of me before I’d thought better of it, so full of venom. I couldn’t stop it. Because if I knew one thing about the creature sitting across from me sipping tea, it was that I hated him with every fibre of my being.

‘Broke him?’ Lidello raised a pale brow. ‘The king? The conqueror? A man powerful enough to bend entire nations to his will? He doesn’t sound broken to me.’ Then he cocked his head, his lip curling. ‘But then there’s you . Accomplice to his crimes. The woman he has interrupted his silence to demand access to. How do you fit into Draven’s story?’

‘Rhaindra wasn’t an accomplice, she was acting against her own will,’ Gwinellyn interjected, but I hardly heard her. Heat was churning through me, and my vision seemed blinkered as it fixed on Lidello, because there was something so slimy and insinuating in the way he spoke of Draven, and beneath his sheen of research I could see cruelty and sadism peering through. I’d known men who derived pleasure from hurting others. Picking them out was crucial to avoiding them at the Winking Nymph. I could hardly imagine what such a man would do if his proclivities were sanctioned by his king, if he was given resources and victims to subject to his inclinations all in the name of research .

‘How long was he with you?’ I found myself asking. A question I shouldn’t have asked, because I could already feel the stirrings of magic in my body, like it was lured out by the promise of my rising anger, ready to strike at what had caused it.

‘Only a few years.’

A few years ?

His face twisted, his mouth pulling into a grimace as his gaze shifted to the distance. ‘I knew he had mental abilities, but the compulsion—he hid that until the moment he used it to escape. Normally, we bind fall spawn to prevent magic use. A single volt of electricity—' He jabbed sharply at the air, making Gwinellyn flinch. ‘It severs their connection to magic while keeping it dormant in the blood. They can be made obedient, harmless. Docile.’ He paused, his expression darkening. ‘But binding limits the magic, makes it harder to study, so my subjects were never bound. We took precautions, but it was always a risk—’

Abruptly, I stood, jostling the table in my rush. ‘Excuse me,’ I said bluntly, hardly stopping to care about the way they were all looking up at me with raised brows. I left the room and walked quickly down the adjoining corridor until I rounded a corner and was out of sight of anyone deciding to peek their head out to see where I went. Then I leaned against the wall and folded forwards, pressing my palms against my eyes and taking slow, deliberate breaths. My skin was crawling, my stomach churning, and I was hot and uncomfortable and… angry. I could feel the crackle of sparks running through my hair, wisps of magic escaping me as a vivid heat began to build in my hands. Visions were spinning through my head, so fast and horrible and I couldn’t seem to stop them. And Lidello’s voice kept winding in a loop through my mind, just the same three words. Exceptional . So resilient.

‘It. Doesn’t. Matter,’ I said to myself through gritted teeth, trying to get ahold of myself. ‘I. Don’t. Care.’

‘Oh my, it seems I have upset you.’

Lidello’s voice shocked me back into composure. I snapped my hands away from my eyes, all but leaping off the wall as I turned on him so I could keep him where I could see him, every ounce of self discipline suddenly engaged in quelling the hiss of magic on my skin. Deep breaths. Focus out of my head. The faint breeze moving through the hallway from an open window somewhere, the firm ground beneath my feet.

‘It was too warm in there,’ I said. Blunt. Hard. Ready to tear him to pieces if he made one move I didn’t like. If he thought Draven’s magic had been exceptional, I couldn’t wait to see what he would think with lightning searing through his body.

Deep breaths.

He tapped a finger against his chin, gaze running all the way down my body and back up again, but in a way that didn’t feel lascivious. It felt like he was cataloguing me. ‘Such an unusual fixation,’ he muttered, taking a few steps to the right as though to see me better. I turned as he did. ‘Was your relationship all for show, or was there a… physicality… to it?’

‘Why would you want or need to know that?’ I hissed through bared teeth, certain the driver behind asking it was want .

‘Call it curiosity. A continuation of my research.’

‘You said you were studying magic. Not him .’

He offered me a thin smile. ‘Who is to say I cannot have studied both? There’s a certain intimacy that comes with seeing what happens to someone pushed to the extremes of their endurance. And I kept meticulous records. Logs and journals and sketches. I’m just on my way to attend to other matters, but if you’re ever interested in an exchange of information, I would be willing to make them available to you.’

Just the idea of what I might learn through such an exploration made my stomach churn again. I had to get away from him before I did something stupid that would tangle Gwinellyn’s pursuit of an alliance. ‘I don’t think so,’ I managed to say, barely refraining from taking the corridor at a run to get away from him. When I looked back to make sure he hadn’t followed me, I experienced a rush of relief to find I could no longer see him. And I reminded myself again that the disturbing man had done nothing to me. Nothing to warrant this extreme reaction. He had perhaps done terrible things to Draven, not me. It didn’t matter and I didn’t care.

It didn’t matter if Draven had spent years locked away in some dungeon somewhere being tortured by a sadist. It didn’t matter what had made him the monster he was. It didn’t change what he’d done. It didn’t excuse him for what he’d done to me. He had Leela captive. He’d chased me through the streets on the bank of the Cro. He wanted to kill me just as much as I wanted to kill him. Sympathy wasn’t going to serve me when we came face-to-face again. It would only be a fault to exploit.

It took several more minutes of bullying myself out of my weakness and into a state of calm before I could force myself back into that room again.

‘Well, between Igor’s account and Princess Gwinellyn’s assurances regarding your character and circumstances, I’m confident we can move forward,’ Carrick said when I sat back down.

‘Sorry, what?’ I blinked my way back into the room when I realised they’d all gone quiet, clearly expecting some kind of response. Gwin offered me an encouraging smile.

‘The annulment of your marriage, my dear,’ Carrick said, and that phrase, my dear , said at that exact moment, sent a chill racing down my spine. ‘With the utmost haste. Then you can put this whole business behind you.’

‘I’m so… pleased to hear it,’ I said. That seemed to satisfy them all enough that conversation flowed over and around me, Vic talking logistics with Carrick and Gwinellyn shooting me tentative smiles, her eyes unsure. I tried to return the smiles but I felt like perhaps I just wound up grimacing. Fortunately, the meeting was soon over. Carrick exchanged some parting promises to meet again soon, Vic scampered off to report back to Esario, and Gwinellyn was standing before me, clasping my hands.

‘Are you relieved?’ she asked, and she looked so eager to hear my confirmation that I wanted to scream. It’s not that simple . But of course, it was that simple. I had been married to a monster and she was offering me the chance to move on and pretend it had never happened.

‘Of course,’ I said, and she seemed content enough with that to leave me to my thoughts, telling me she was going to see Elias and the others, but that she’d speak with King Esario when she returned to make sure he was satisfied. And I just thanked her because I wanted to leave. I wanted to be alone.

But as soon as I was, all I could see was Draven. On his knees. Between my legs. My hands in his hair. Whispering against the skin of my thigh.

Marry me, Rhiandra.

My emotions were hopelessly tangled. It would be vindicating to make him as angry as I was sure he would be when he heard I’d found a way to wriggle out of our marriage after all. That was an easy one to name. It pleased my need for vengeance. But then, that conversation with the revolting Igor Lidello had torn snarls of feelings far more confusing through my stomach and my chest. Every time I thought of it, I felt sick. So I just tried not to think of it at all.

Still, the weight of it clung to me as I moved through the evening, stealing my appetite at dinner and lingering as I was preparing for bed. So when the unexpected knock came at my door, I was already wound too tight. Cursing under my breath, I wrapped my robe around me and opened it only to find Vic standing on the threshold. He flashed me a charming smile, all white teeth and amiability.

‘Forgive me for the intrusion,’ he began, though there was nothing apologetic in his manner.

‘What can I do for you, minister?’ I asked. What reason would he have for knocking on my door at this time of the night?

‘I’ve come bearing a gift. I meant to give it to you after the meeting with Carrick, but you seemed like you needed a moment to yourself.

Surprising that he noticed. ‘A gift,’ I repeated. ‘For me?’

‘For you. And I went to more than a little trouble to procure it, too.’ He offered me a small glass jar. I took it, turned it upside down to find it unlabelled, with nothing to suggest what it was a jar of exactly. When I opened it, I found a thick, pink coloured cream with an odd, acrid smell to it. I raised an eyebrow at him. When he just continued to bare those white teeth, I realised I would have to spell my question out for him.

‘What is it?’ I asked.

‘Face cream,’ he said. ‘And not just any face cream, it’s the sort laced with magic.’

I stared at him.

‘Now, magic isn’t as easy to come by here as you’d have been used to in Brimordia, especially not since the conflict dried up the fall spawn trade, but King Esario insisted that you have this.’ He tapped the side of the jar. ‘And don’t be afraid of using it. It may be hard to come by, but I’ll make it my mission to ensure you have as much as you need.’

There was a bitter taste in the back of my mouth that I tried to swallow down. I felt like throwing the jar at his perfect white smile. ‘He insisted,’ I repeated.

‘It’ll do wonders.’ He ended the sentence with the first sign of awkwardness, as though he’d been unsure how to continue.

‘For my scars,’ I finished for him, voice icy. ‘He wants me to smooth over my scars so I’ll be more palatable for the masses.’ I‘d already traded far too much in an attempt to change my face. But then I’d thought my beauty had been my only currency.

I didn’t think that anymore. I didn’t need to please in order to be powerful anymore.

’You’d be quite beautiful if you softened them a bit.’ He was still affecting a casual air, but there was an edge to his smile now. I wanted to wipe it off with violence.

‘I know,’ I said bluntly. ‘Is there anything else?’

He didn’t make any move to leave. ‘A thank you wouldn’t go astray.’

A thank you. What, did he expect me to get down on my knees and suck his cock? ‘What’s your angle here?’ I asked after a moment. ‘You’re surely an important, busy man here at court. Why are you running around sourcing face cream and trying to wring some good will from me?’

He dipped his head, all the charm of a skilled courtier. ‘I’d like you to think well of me.’

Instantly, I was on my guard. I narrowed my eyes, surveying him. ‘Maybe not as important as I guessed.’

His brows shot up his head. ‘What?’

‘You’re looking for a little more political sway. Gwinellyn is out of the question, but her stepmother—a dowager queen and her closest ally—is a decent match.’

His answering laugh was a little strained. ‘You don’t mince words, do you?’

‘Doesn’t my past deter you?’ I mused, more to myself than him. ‘Wife to two kings, one dead and the other… well, I don’t think we need to go there again today. How about the fact that I was a maisera before all that?’ I folded my arms as he shifted his weight from foot to foot, opening his mouth and seeming to find nothing to say. ‘Actually, I bet none of that bothers you. In fact, I bet it excites you a little. You’re wondering what it would be like to bed such a woman.’

He seemed to choke on his breath, face immediately changing colour as his eyebrows shot high up his forehead. At least he put that charming smile away. ‘You could stand to be a little nicer, you know. All the stories said you could enchant a man from across the room.’

‘Believe me, this is me being nice. And if you don’t like me when I’m like this, I can promise you really won’t like me when I’m mean. Goodnight minister.’ I shut the door in his face and returned to my bedchamber with anger flushing my skin, exhaustion discarded, too incensed now to crawl into bed. They found my face unpleasant to look at, did they? They wanted me to plaster it over with a mask of sweet, corrosive magic squeezed from the veins of those who’d once called this land their own?

I placed the jar on the dressing table, before smacking my hands against the dark wood and leaning down, staring at my face in the mirror. My eyes were still the same. Or maybe they weren’t. Maybe they were harder now. Maybe the things I’d seen, lived through, done, had changed them. I tried to smile, but the curve of my lips looked tight and unfamiliar. Had my face always been this sharp? And then, a heavier, more vulnerable wondering. Was it really that unpleasant to look upon?

Though, that wasn’t what this was about. This was about them wanting me to hide. Wanting me to cover myself with the remnants of stolen lives and pretend I was something softer, something more palatable. It shouldn’t have mattered. I had real power now. I could fling lightning from my hands, command forces they couldn’t begin to understand. And yet here I was, standing in front of a mirror, wondering if I should make myself smaller.

Gwinellyn wanted their cooperation. She wanted this alliance. What’s more, I knew she needed it if she ever wanted to sit the Brimordian throne. Esario, on the other hand, wanted me to prove I could be controlled. I sighed, releasing some of the anger, even when its fading revealed a yawning sadness beneath, so deep I was afraid to go near it. What did this one little submission matter in the scheme of a war? I picked up the jar. Opened it and dipped my fingers into the cream. It was thick and sticky. I tried not to think about what was in it as I smeared it over my cheek. It left a numbing sensation behind, not unlike the glamour I’d once worn. Well, I’d begun now. I may as well do it properly.

When I’d rubbed cream into the rest of my scars I stared hard at the mirror, trying to see if there was a difference. I couldn’t help but feel disappointed when I couldn’t pick any out. As I slipped into bed, I longed for the mirror I’d hidden behind for so long. And then my mind inexorably turned to the man who had given me that mirror, and in the dark it was impossible not to dwell on what I’d learned of his past. To dwell on what might have happened to him while Igor Lidello had been trying to peel the magic from his body by pushing him to the ‘ extremes of endurance’ . My imagination provided plenty of possibilities for what that phrase had meant in reality. I spiralled from there into remembering Draven struck with magic fever, his skin hot, begging some phantom being to kill him. Vowing to kill someone I couldn’t see.

And then I dreamed of smashing glass.