Page 50 of Shadows and Flames (Twin Blades #2)
Chapter Thirty-One
MELINE
T he five of us formed another wall of protection around Blackwood.
Or, the best we could manage in a sea of Folk who were mostly strikingly tall, unwilling to provide us substantial berth as we awaited for the palace guards to open the gates, or trying again to steal the attention of Blackwood and the Vyrkos.
Granted, their attempts were more surreptitious here, hushed and coy instead of the propositions Fenix received the evening before. He was rightfully wary, now, sun protection providing the added benefit of an informal shield.
Our employer, however, was positively gleeful from the attention.
When I’d tried to advise him on how to approach this queen, using Von Herron’s warnings for tactful negotiation, our employer swiftly disregarded any expertise I may have had on the matter.
And now, Blackwood had a full flush spreading on his bald head.
His mustache twitched with each guffaw of a man assured he was about to get everything he’d ever wanted.
Now, why was I suspicious this would not be the case?
The guards in white armor, markings on their faces twining in elegant curls instead of the harsh lines of the ones near the portal or at the entrance to the city, stepped back and opened the golden gate.
Leaves, roses, and thorns decorated the barrier that was at least four times as tall as Elián.
The Folk around us clamored forward, and we tightened our formation behind Blackwood, fulfilling this part of the deal we struck.
What sway Blackwood had with a foreign queen, I doubted immensely. But we would be getting answers here. There was no other outcome I was willing to accept. Though they agreed to come, I led the charge to this land. Stripped Elián of his Fire.
If this journey did not end with us entering our realm with Francie in tow, I was liable to use the last dregs of my power to end it. Myself.
I rested my hands on my daggers, feeling the weight of them against my waist since I had no access to the ones I could conjure.
There was excited chatter in that language of theirs, rising in pitch and harmony.
The palace itself was the same pearl-white as the guards’ armor, leaving them like bodiless heads as they stood at attention against the walls.
Their swords were marbleized gold, and they wore no helmets.
Upon meeting this morn, Blackwood informed us that he would be making a formal request with the Queen of Pyrestan herself, as this was the original plan when he’d worked with Von Herron years ago.
Before the younger man excluded him from negotiations and shut him off of the trade agreement, they were to offer the very honey and mead from the renowned hives of the town they’d both come from.
Eventually, as demand and Von Herron’s enterprise grew, he began trading with the Folk jewels or beading made in our realm.
I knew fuck-all about trade and the dealings of merchants, but the sheer amount and demand for Pyrestan fabric I’d witnessed in Morova seemed worth more than some sweet treats and trinkets.
The large doors lining the grand entrance of the palace were closed and guarded, naturally leading us to a space similar to the size of Von Herron’s ballroom. Where I’d reunited with my Shadow.
He was beside me, so close I could flinch and touch him.
Dressed in black leathers, now, he was the darkness among so much light.
He was the rock to cling to while being assaulted by wind, by rushing water in a current far too strong.
Even with his powers gone, the Fire in his eyes dimmed to an amber-brown, he was—I choked and covered it with a clearing of my throat.
He was everything I desired. Everything I would never deserve.
More marble covered the floor, this time in a gold and white checkered pattern, and the view of the mountains was most spectacular, here.
The glass on the windows, nearly reaching as high as the cavernous ceiling above, showed not only the edge of the tree the city was constructed upon, but the craggy mountainside and clouds beyond.
Golden sunlight rained down upon the scene, as if whatever deity that created them was looking upon us, now.
Figures cut through the fluffy cover of cloud, birds glided over the supple, dense cover of the mother tree, but, as I squinted, I made out those far larger than simple birds.
And they came closer, revealing wings in unnaturally bright colors, even more than the macaws or bluebirds of our world.
No, when they bounded closer—but not too close, as if there was an invisible barrier around the palace—I realized they were Folk.
Shimmering fabric of their clothing trailing behind them, they flew amongst the animals of the sky.
If this whole place didn’t reek, it would be… absolutely splendid.
“All rise, for the royal family and Her Majesty, Sarya, Queen of Pyrestan, Protector of the Arbor, and Leader of Truth.”
Behind me, under his breath, Tomás grumbled that we were all standing anyway.
Tana harshly commanded him to hush, but that was drowned out, too, as a gilded door, cast in gold latticework, drew open.
The sound of it rang all the way to the domed ceiling built in geometric patterns of more white and gold.
The first to enter was not the queen. First, was more Folk with wings, these sporting skin varying between golden and brown.
Their markings matched each other’s, even more elegant and finer than the guards, and the membranes of their wings were liked stained glass.
The light streaming through the windows and ceiling filtered through their wings, creating a flood of blues, greens, and lilacs just from their bodies.
To highlight the beauty, most likely, they were also dressed in white. Two in tunic and trouser embellished with gold thread, one in similar motif but in a slim gown of lace. Their eyes were a deep blue, like the morning sky above.
Then, as if they’d been through this countless times before, the Folk quieted to near-silence for their queen. She entered, flanked by guards but creating a force all on her own.
Her features were similar enough to the other members of the royal family, as if they’d been drawn from her.
But unlike the white of her children, the Queen of Pyrestan had hair the same shade as mine and a few shades darker than her skin.
Plaited along her scalp, the strands were woven in an intricate design with jewels and pearls.
Her crown was an array of thin, sharpened bones.
The Queen, Sarya, floated through the quiet room, leaving a train of the fabric Blackwood lusted over trailing behind her, and she took her throne.
I could—was it made of winding branches or more bone?
Both? It couldn’t be comfortable, but she perched demurely all the same.
She cast her milky-blue stare on her citizens who were split between watching her, her children seated in smaller thrones, and the door.
I smelled something wild, heard the heavy steps, but I still wondered if it was an illusion when the bear walked into the room.
The wings around me fluttered in excitement, and I gaped as the animal, larger than any bear I’d ever seen, ambled directly to the queen’s side, sitting on its haunches and grumbling happily when she sifted her long fingers through its chestnut fur.
But—it was not over? The Queen looked upon her people expectantly, and they still watched the door.
Somewhere else in the palace, another door opened far down the corridor, and then…
grunting. Far more guttural than the sounds the Queen’s pet was making, it sounded like muffled screeches, from the depth of the belly.
My own churned, why, I was not sure, but with each step of the guards’ boots, my gut twisted. With each grunt that reached my ears, my pulse ticked higher.
Nothing, nothing , could have prepared me for the figure walking through the door. Hands at my back, the steel bands of arms kept my buckling knees from making me collapse altogether. Leather clamped over my mouth, and Elián’s silky hair brushed my temples as he pulled me into his chest.
Weak remnants of my Death sifted along the floor of the empty well within me, not even rising past the surface of my skin covered by leather glove.
And that fucking Queen watched. While the Folk chittered gleefully, the Queen with her milky eyes grinned, revealing fangs longer than mine. She reached out for the golden leash, and the guard gave it to her with a bow before stepping back.
Tears stuck Elián’s glove to my cheeks, obscuring my vision of the gaunt figure, pale as the room around us.
Matted locks fell past a naked waist, fingernails overgrown and curled inward like the talons of birds of prey.
They’d tied a leather strap to silence the screaming, but that did nothing to soften the enraged panic. The shifting of their bare, dirty feet.
“Be at ease,” the Queen bade us, but I was trembling with rage, no matter how tightly Elián held onto me. No matter the fervent whispers of my cousin in my ear, clogged with the wateriness of her own crying.
Against El’s palm, I soundlessly chanted, trying to call out to Francie.
“Welcome, children of Pyrestan,” the Queen said with gilded leash wrapped around her fist. “And foreign travelers.”
I struggled in El’s grip, and his voice joined Tana’s, trying to calm me. “Do not be rash. We cannot help her if we are reprimanded or killed, my queen. Please. I am with you.”
He was with me, but who was with Francie?
Who was with her as she’d been taken for three years.
Her features were sunken, her back hunched, and her terrified gaze cut to the animals to her left and right.
To this queen who’d stolen my friend, the royal wretched children who smirked at Francie, and the giant bear who could shred her with one swipe of its claws.