Page 25 of Once the Skies Fade (Immortal Reveries #2)

Chapter 25

Calla

O f the dozens of faces staring at me, why was his the one to catch my attention first? My heart—its bruised, broken pieces held together by sheer will alone—plummeted. With each step into the ballroom, I felt myself trampling it, stomping on it, bruising it and battering it further.

All the while, I held Matthias’s stare, refusing to be the first to look away and reveal my discomfort—to him, and to everyone gathered. Drawing in a long, steadying breath, I forced my features to relax and pushed the tension down into my chest where it was easier to conceal, though more painful to bear.

Behind me, Isa followed with her gentle, reassuring hand resting on the middle of my back, grounding me.

“Are you okay?” she whispered, and I offered the tiniest of nods, her words helping to snap my attention away from the Emerynian general.

To my left, musicians were settled in their seats, their instruments resting in their laps. Slowing my gait, I shifted my chin over my shoulder, and Isa stepped up beside me.

“I thought this was just dinner. Who invited the musicians?” I asked.

“It was the Assembly’s idea,” Isa explained. “A last-minute suggestion from this morning.”

“Who specifically?”

“Warren and Ursula,” she said, and I had to purse my lips to keep from sneering. Had it been any other member, I might not have minded, but these two had been a thorn in my backside since my parents’ deaths. Nothing they did was without an agenda. Nothing they did was innocent.

“You should have asked me,” I said. In the corner, a few of the Assembly huddled together. One, Fern, lifted her glass toward me in greeting. I nodded slowly and tried to smile, sure I was not fooling anyone here.

“Apologies, Calla. Can I get you a glass of wine before we eat?”

“Not yet,” I muttered and stopped abruptly. I was now in the middle of the open space, on display for a dozen would-be-kings and half as many politicians who didn’t want me as their queen.

Lifting my chin, I counted my breath silently to myself to steady my nerves. My palms itched at my sides as my shadows stirred, and I had to fist the fabric of my dress to quiet them.

“Welcome, all of you,” I said, well aware that my icy tone was at odds with my words not that anyone here expected warm hospitality from me, the shadow queen who killed her own people without warning. “General Marlowe will be briefing you all on the games, the rules, and the first trial, but first, let’s eat.”

Nobody moved.

Nobody even coughed.

Everyone simply stared at me as if I’d just been speaking in some foreign tongue, like there wasn’t a feast waiting to be devoured.

I was about to open my mouth to say something—though I wasn’t quite sure what exactly—when finally, someone shifted. Heavy, confident footsteps reverberated through the room and all heads turned toward the sound, continuing to swivel as they followed the individual’s movements. I couldn’t see who it was, nor was I about to crane my neck and stand on my toes to see over the others. Rather, I pivoted on my toe and made my own way toward the buffet table, set on enjoying my cook’s food and ignoring my guests and their reason for being here. Focused solely on the stack of plates at the end of the table, I ignored the movement in my periphery despite the spark of curiosity that begged me to at least steal a peek at who had moved first.

We arrived at the table at the same time, but my resolve held fast, and I kept my attention firmly on the decadent spread my staff had prepared instead of worrying about the audience behind me or the male to my left. To his credit, he didn’t try to make conversation as he followed my lead and began stacking food on his plate. My stomach grumbled, rumbling loudly through the quiet room. The male next to me chuckled, and the scent of wood and leather hit me, as if it rode his laughter.

Shit. Matthias. Of course.

Why weren’t the musicians playing? Why be here if they weren’t going to do their job?

As if they could hear my thoughts, the musicians immediately slipped into a soft, soothing melody that filled the awkward void, while remaining quiet enough to allow guests to converse. With my plate topped with a small portion of each dish—all my favorites, thanks to Isa—I made my way to the table and chose a seat at random.

“Let me get that for you,” a friendly, familiar voice said. Graham was already gliding the chair out. Relief loosened the tension in my body, and my once-racing pulse eased a bit. He offered a sweet smile as he gestured for me to sit.

“Thank you, Graham,” I said and added a quick command to “go eat” before I settled myself at the table.

Keeping my eyes down, fixed on my meal, I listened to the shuffle of feet as everyone finally followed suit and meandered toward the buffet.

Matthias, thankfully, did not come sit beside me, but instead selected a seat several chairs away.

So he doesn’t have to look at you all night.

Not that I wanted to stare at him either, but some small, idiotic part of me was stung by this mild rejection.

Could I blame him, though? I had called for his disbarment. Even if he wanted to leave the games, he couldn’t. Not while under the blood oath. He was here until someone won…or he died.

The meal was an altogether uncomfortable affair as the Assembly bombarded the contestants with questions, as if they had come here for a simple interview rather than a deadly competition. None of the males said much in answer, though, which brought a smirk to my lips that only deepened with each failed interrogation. Isa tried, on several occasions, to engage the Assembly in other conversation and give our guests a break, but she eventually gave up and resorted to speaking with me instead.

“This roast lamb may be Xavier’s best yet,” she said, plopping a tender piece into her mouth.

I nodded. “It’s got nothing on his mashed potatoes, though. Have you tasted them?”

“I’ve already had two helpings,” she admitted, and speared a piece of beetroot.

My staff hustled around the table, refilling wine goblets and replenishing water glasses, carrying away empty plates and bringing back second helpings upon request. As much as I wished to relax and simply chat about potatoes, my frayed nerves had me on edge, my shadows churning in my veins and tensing every muscle in my body. Keeping my head lowered, I stole a glance at each male who had sworn to compete for my hand. One of them would win. Some would likely die. I knew I should feel remorse over that fact, but no one had forced them to enter—unlike me, who would be forced to accept one of them. They had been warned of the risks, and still they had come. Whoever among them was to rule with me needed to prove himself, but I couldn’t shake this sense of foreboding that had burrowed into my bones.

Twisting my neck around to hide my lips from the others, I whispered to Isa as quietly as I could. “Are we sure Asher will be here?”

Isa nodded discretely, lifting her glass as if to take a sip, but answering me quickly before doing so. “He arrived last night and is camping on the southeastern edge of the forest.”

“And you’re sure he?—”

“Yes,” she said, not bothering to lower her voice this time as she faced me. “He knows what to do. Now, can I fetch you some dessert? A tart or a macaron? Maybe a cream puff or two?”

I looked down at my plate and the meal that appeared barely touched. The unease in my stomach had sabotaged my enjoyment of the food, but I wouldn’t turn down my chef’s confections.

Once Isa rose from the table to raid the desserts, others opted to do the same, and the collective scraping of chairs against the stone floor nearly drowned out the quartet’s music. I remained seated along with two Assembly members so deep in their quiet discussion they hadn’t seemed to notice everyone had left. Awkwardly, I turned to watch the musicians, swaying lightly to their music so as to pretend I cared about or even heard what they were playing.

“No dessert for our shadow queen?”

I snapped my head around and winced as the sudden movement strained my neck. My eyes widened against my will at the sight of the male standing there.

Matthias.

His name on my thoughts drove my teeth together, and I tried to swallow, but my throat had closed up.

Why is he even here? Why did they send him?

He leaned forward and rested his forearms on the back of the chair beside mine, holding a small plate of pastries in his hands.

What is taking Isa so long?

I couldn’t see her through Matthias, and I started to crane my neck to peer around him, but the strain I’d caused earlier whined in protest.

“Would you like one?” Matthias asked.

Shit, I had forgotten to answer his first question, though he didn’t seem to notice or care either way. Glancing from his plate to his face and back, I shook my head reluctantly.

My voice came out uneven as I explained, “No, General Marlowe is fetching me some.”

Matthias didn’t fully stand as he twisted his neck to look at the buffet table. Turning back to me, he half-smiled.

“So she is,” he said, but he didn’t leave even when Isa marched past him to set my dessert in front of me.

She didn’t stay, despite the irritated look I shot her, giving me a patronizing smile as she quietly warned me to “be nice.”

“Which one is your favorite?” Matthias asked, and I looked up at him, thoroughly confused by his casual demeanor. Most of the other entrants could barely look at me, let alone find the nerve to talk to me, and Matthias had been the last I’d expected after my outburst earlier in the courtyard.

Plucking a chocolate macaron from his plate, he held it up as if studying its construction. “I’m rather fond of these, personally. I’ve never had them before. Are they unique to Arenysen?”

My confusion deepened.

I was basically ignoring the male, yet he didn’t seem perturbed in the slightest, even carrying on with the conversation by himself.

“They’re called macarons,” I said, glad the angst had disappeared from my tone. “Our chef’s recipe. The strawberry cream ones are even better than the chocolate.” I watched as the general placed the whole confection in his mouth and ate it in one bite.

Swallowing, he licked his lips, and I tried not to let my gaze drift to his mouth.

“Would pair perfectly with a brandy,” he said.

I stilled.

Brennan had always teased me for preferring the woody-sweet liquor—said it was a drink for bachelors and crotchety old warriors. Frustration built in my chest, growing into a low growl that I barely suppressed. If Matthias noticed my poor reaction, he hid it well.

I didn’t want to get to know these males, and I certainly didn’t want to have anything in common with them. This tournament and the resulting union were nothing more than a formal arrangement for the sole purpose of keeping the crown. This wasn’t about affection; this was politics.

It’s not like he’s asking you to dance or offering you a glass of brandy, Calla.

He’s just talking to you.

And that was precisely the problem.

I couldn’t stay here and make small talk with him.

Or with anyone.

The music. The conversations. The lit chandeliers and the elaborate feast.

It was too much, too familiar.

“Excuse me,” I said, pushing my chair back from the table and standing. I didn’t know where I was going or what I was doing, but I spun around and forced my feet to carry me across the ballroom.

Each step, though, seemed to lead me back into my grief, deeper and deeper as I tried to retreat.

My breathing shallowed, my chest tightened, and the room spun out of focus.

This might not have been a lavish affair like that night, but it was the first time we had entertained any guests since…

I slammed my eyes closed against the damned memory, but the scene played out in my head regardless.

Brennan, collapsed on the balcony. Me, screaming for help. His final gasp, and his body going still.

Brennan had been an unexpected blessing. He had brought laughter and joy into my once lonely life, and he had steadied me after my parents’ death. But who would help me now that he was gone? Isa tried to, but she had a kingdom to protect. She couldn’t spend all of her time soothing my pain. And the thought of having a new husband—one of these males—attempt to fill the hole Brennan’s death had left behind…

I can’t.

You have to.

Or you lose the throne, your home.

My shadows licked at my palms, trailing to my fingertips as I ambled blindly through the room. I couldn’t release my magic here, couldn’t cause a scene and give the Assembly reason to act against me, but my magic was feeding off my panic, preparing to wrap me in a protective shield. I fisted my hands into the fabric of my dress, but it didn’t help. Even through my foggy vision, I could see wisps of my dark magic dancing over the red chiffon.

No, they would see, they would talk, and I couldn’t deal with any more rumors.

Clasping my hands together in front of me, I silently begged my magic to stop, as if it was an entity unto itself and not knit into my very being. Some part of me—some small, but terrified part of me—was calling my shadows out, and I didn’t know how to stop it. I needed to breathe, to calm, to figure out some way to gain control.

Somewhere in the distance Isa called my name, calm and soothing even through the muddled haze of my panic. Music swelled around me, blocking out her voice as I spun around to find her. But someone else caught me. A hand pressed against my lower back, guiding me around. Their other hand cradled mine, and that sweet scent of leather and wood caressed my senses.

“Easy there, Killer. I’ve got you.”

Matthias’s voice, a thick whisper that warmed my ear, coaxed me out of the darkness, bringing the world back into focus. My shadows retreated into my palms—one wrapped in his, the other resting on his arm—and I closed my eyes, hating myself for allowing him to hold me, but more so for not wanting to let go.