Page 29

Chapter 29

MY THOUGHTS ARE A FRENETIC tangle of anticipation, simmering anger, relief, and tempered determination. Plans and strategies jostle for prominence in my mind as I’m distractedly led through the white stone halls of King’s Keep. Small groups gather in the large chambers we traverse, while others rush around, busy with final preparations for tomorrow’s Naming. There’s a noticeable increase in guards standing sentinel in passageways and manning various entrances. Security has most definitely been heightened, but that’s to be expected with the influx of dragons to Four Tiers.

Traffic around the keeps has more than tripled, and there’s an eager buzz in the air that wasn’t there before. I ignore it all because I have no idea what to make of any of it. Tomorrow at my Naming, I will finally come face-to-face with King Noctis. He hasn’t sought me out the entire time I’ve been here. He’s made no attempts on my life. I haven’t been interrogated, not the way I thought I would be anyway. In fact, my time here in Four Tiers has been the opposite of unwelcoming.

At first, I thought maybe he was trying to lull me into a false sense of security, but the king could have gotten rid of me a million different ways by now, and he hasn’t. Which means he wants me here, but why? It’s all so fucking confusing.

I brush my thoughts to the side, knowing no amount of harping on them is going to help me figure out what the hell is going on. I have no idea whose Naming The Horde thinks they’re gathering for tomorrow, and while I should spend some time worrying about that, it feels like tomorrow’s problem. Tonight, I have more pressing things to focus on.

A few lingering stares track me, Jori, Blay, and Herm as we navigate the keep, but no one stops us or voices the curiosity I see lighting their gazes as we make our way toward the royal towers. I’ve been quiet since we left the treasury. Thankfully, my guards for the day haven’t said anything or pushed to fill the silence. I know they heard what Lorn and I were talking about in the vault, and I think they’re doing their best to give me some space after the emotional exchange.

To be fair, I am stewing, but not for the reasons they probably think. Despite what happened down in the vaults of the Syphon Crush, I’m not currently locked in the ache and agony of the past. Instead, I’m doggedly plotting my future. The one that just got infinitely brighter with the discovery of the Vitric Port—or Syphon Glass as my father liked to call the magic mirrors.

The one I found is being delivered in a few hours, and when it does, I’ll be one step closer to turning my abstract conceptualizations about finding the cure for the Syphon curse into reality. What was only a notion before, a plan to take advantage of my current position here in Four Tiers and look for what the other Syphons and I have been hunting for decades, is now a real possibility. That is, if I can stay focused and cautious enough to not get caught. Something that might be easier said than done because I only know the basics about how a Vitric Port works.

My father told me and Enslee about the magic mirrors and what they can do when we visited King’s Keep. Not much longer after learning about the mirrors, I used one for the first time. It’s how my sister and I escaped the night our kindred and kith were slaughtered. I’ve never seen a Port since and haven’t given their existence much thought. Probably because I never imagined a scenario where I would be back in King’s Keep and in a position to use the Syphon Glass again, but here I am.

Now, if only I can remember exactly how they work. It should be as easy as dipping back into my memories, but the problem is I’ve spent the last sixty-two years doing everything I could to not do that. My mind isn’t a safe place. Too many things locked up in my head are shrouded in agonizing loss and trimmed with crippling fear.

Over the years, I’ve tried to separate out which thoughts, smells, and recollections are safe to explore. But trauma is corrosive. It eats away and corrupts everything it touches, turning even the most innocent memories into live grenades. I can reach for something from The Wells when I was little—somewhere untouched by death and destruction—but if I hold on for too long, if I spend too much time there, my happy recollections detonate into a horrible explosion of blood, screams, death, and silence. It’s how it always ends and always will, no matter what I do or how I try to get around it.

I can’t think of my mother’s smile or the way her gray eyes would sparkle when she looked at me without then seeing the fear and heartbreak on her face when she was surrounded and she knew there was no way out. Every thought of my father, of the way he lit up the day Enslee and I walked out of the gate in Four Tiers and into his arms is tarnished by the way he was torn apart in the end. And my brothers…

I shut my thoughts down. Blank my mind. Refuse to wander any deeper than I already have, which is a problem because I need to go back there. I need to remember exactly what we did to get out, and it’s going to fucking suck.

My mind drifts back to Enslee and the warning message I need to get to her. Maybe I can slip something to Nixy tomorrow when she’s getting me ready for my big Naming debut.

The elevator ride up to Aeson’s rookery is short. My ears pop as the doors slide open, a result of our drastic change in altitude. Jori, Blay, and Herm surround me as we exit the car and head down the now familiar wide hall. Bio scanners do a quick sweep of each of us as we approach the commander’s expansive quarters. Locks disengage on the thick, heavy, sealed door before it swings open, granting us entry.

“Welcome home, Ever Noctis and Royal Wing,” a robotic feminine voice greets as we cross the threshold into the rookery.

“What the fuck?” I ask no one in particular as astonishment lassos my limbs and I trip over my feet. Quickly I regain my balance and eye the open armored door with disdain. Every other time I’ve been scanned for access to Aeson’s rookery, I was greeted as “Authorized Visitor,” not Ever fucking Noctis.

Blay is wearing an annoying grin when he looks back at me. “Tove was doing systems checks in preparation for tomorrow. Looks like she made some updates.”

A wave of irritation laps against my shock, and I let loose a few choice expletives as I squash a tendril of approval that tries to spread through me. Point to Tove in our running tally of petty moves against one another.

Bitch.

I’m going to need to up my game.

Laughter bounces out of the open doorway. My head snaps in that direction, and I find none other than the aggravating Seeder herself, bent over at the waist and grabbing her side.

“Your face,” Tove chortles, her features bathed in glee. “You should have seen your face!”

Her guffaws set off a round of titters all around me, but I manage to stay stoic against the rising tide of their gaiety.

“Keep it up and see what happens to your face,” I grumble, but it lacks any real bite as Tove backs up so we can enter the rookery.

She cheerfully sighs and rubs at a stitch in her side. Her hand is covered in the black vines of her dragon mark, and her brown eyes twinkle as she wipes laugh-tears from her cheeks. I notice her countenance is missing the usual vitriolic intensity I’m so used to seeing when it comes to Tove, but I refuse to appreciate the change since it’s at my expense. It does, however, make the chagrin of her well executed prank sting a little less—but barely.

“I was going to change it back later today, but I think I’ll keep it,” Tove taunts. “You know, for your protection.”

The small amount of amusement swirling within my aggravation instantly sours at the jab. My glower is caustic, but it only encourages her delight. I want to wipe the smug look off her face, but I’m no stranger to a good prank. It’s better to focus my energy on future retaliation.

And boy, am I going to retaliate.

“I’ll be sure to update my stationery posthaste,” I deadpan. “Maybe get it tattooed across my ass.” I stroke my chin contemplatively. “I think I’ll make you call me Mommy when Aeson and I finally make it official. Oooh, or Bestie. Maybe My Goddess, that has a nice ring to it.”

Herm’s chuckle helps to clear some of the satisfaction from Tove’s face. I blow a saucy kiss his way, and he pretends to pluck it from the air and tuck it into a pocket his scale armor doesn’t have.

“Ooh, I’m telling the commander,” Jori teases from behind me, and I roll my eyes at the schoolyard taunt.

We amble into the great room located in the center of Aeson’s rookery. It has a dining area off to my left that comfortably seats thirty, a lounge space made up of several sofas and half a dozen chairs, and a handful of emulators toward the back wall. Apparently, they can turn into any kind of gaming table in existence—or at least that’s what Chastain said when he showed me around on my first day here.

The walls and floor of the rookery are the same white carved dragon stone as the rest of the keep, but Aeson’s tower is surprisingly warm and inviting thanks to the soft colorful carpets, the art adorning the walls, and the other decorative accents expertly peppered throughout. Not that I’ve spent much time in this space. I usually try to avoid it because it’s where everyone congregates during their off time, and I’m not here to make friends.

The thick door behind us shuts and rearms itself automatically. King Noctis has made quite a few updates to the security systems protecting King’s Keep since my kith and kindred were slaughtered within its walls. I can’t help but wonder how long it would take a group of very motivated dragons and sorcai to break through the armored barriers and lethal systems now in place.

I’m sure it’s not impossible. Nothing ever is. Where there’s a will, there’s a way. I have the annihilated bloodline to prove it.

My guards for the day instantly relax now that we’re secure within the walls of the rookery. They start teasing each other and discussing some kind of status update, but I ignore it and head in the direction of Aeson’s room and my temporary prison cell, aka his mating suite. But before I can make it more than a few steps away, Ogdan appears in the entryway on the west side of the tower, the side that houses the Wing’s suites. He must have gotten a notification that we’re back, because the big Burner heads right for us.

“Frills, before you can run off and hide for the night, we need to go over the plan for your Naming,” Ogdan declares, foiling my attempted escape.

“Hide? I don’t hide,” I object, despite knowing damn well that’s exactly what I was hoping to do until my delivery arrived.

“We all know you’re hiding, Biscuit. Being surrounded by this level of excellence and sex appeal can be intimidating—we get it—but fear not, we’re a friendly lot,” Herm jibes as he gestures around the room.

My scoff is chock-full of derision. “I take back my air kiss, Hermie. There’ll be no more air kisses for you.”

Herm’s arrogant amusement instantly shifts to affront. At first I think it’s because of the new nickname I just lobbed at him, but then he presses a hand protectively over the non-existent pocket where he deposited my non-existent kiss.

“You can’t do that, Biscuit,” he petulantly argues. “This is mine fair and square!”

“Maybe it’s not us she’s hiding from, but a certain commander,” Jori sing-songs with a wag of his eyebrows as he passes me.

My face is a mask of shocked incredulity as I look over at the normally amiable and quiet Healer. “You’re supposed to be the nice one,” I remind him since he seems to have forgotten.

“Nah, that’s Karis,” Jori dismisses with a laugh while making a beeline toward one of the wall synthesizers to get a drink started. Something hot, judging by the cup with a handle that begins to print as the Healer with the ash brown hair and hazel eyes turns back to me. “Want something?” he asks.

I wave Jori off and focus on Ogdan, who’s shaking his head at all of us while moving toward the lounge area. He brushes his burgundy hair back from his face, and I notice he’s not wearing scale armor. I’ve never seen him in normal clothes before, and it throws me for some reason. He probably had the morning off—I know the Wing rotates their schedules—but I study the loose emerald green pants and short-sleeve top he’s wearing like I’ve never seen anything like it before.

Herm herds me closer to the sofas, and I perch on an ottoman directly across from Ogdan. Herm settles on the arm of a couch, and Blay leans against a wall by the west entryway. His body language is casual, just like the other two, but all of their gazes are alert and rimmed with a wariness that instantly puts me on edge.

“Have you spoken to your stylist about preparations for tomorrow?” Ogdan asks randomly.

It takes me a second to wrap my mind around the unexpected question. I examine it for a moment, looking for the trap or hidden meaning, but when I don’t immediately see anything, I answer.

“I have no way to contact her, so…no, I haven’t.”

Ogdan nods and starts tapping something into the cuff on his forearm. “I believe the scion is already taking care of the com issue. It should arrive around the same time as your delivery from the treasury. I’ll have Miss Lael reach out,” he tells me secretarially.

I nod cautiously, still unsure where Ogdan is going with this, but a small rush of relief slips through my apprehension. I work to school my features, careful not to let anything slip, but Ogdan’s unknowingly helping me, and I could really use the assist. I was going to try to slip something to Nixy tomorrow, but if she’s going to call me today, I can work with that.

I keep my breathing even and my body still despite the urge to get up and start pacing so I can work out some kind of code or way to clue Nixy in without using visuals or outright saying anything. I have no doubt whatever com they give me will be closely monitored and scrutinized. But if the com’s going to get here around the same time as the mirror, I have a few hours yet to come up with something.

“Tomorrow, Karis and Farrow will be your security team leads,” Ogdan continues, his gray eyes jumping from the screen on his forearm to me. “We’ve been making do so far, but with the security risks, we’re bringing in extra help. The Horde commanders have decided to give the current top ten ranking initiates in your Call to Arms an opportunity for some hands-on experience, meaning they will make up the remainder of your security detail for the night.”

Ogdan’s announcement has me sitting up straighter and my focus sharpening. “They’re going to assign unvetted strangers to watch over me while The Horde finds out who and what I am for the first time?” I ask, aiming for calm and collected but missing by a mile.

My hands fist the fabric of the ottoman I’m sitting on, but as soon as I realize I’m doing it, I force myself to stop.

Ogdan waves me off dismissively. “All of us were strangers not so long ago. It’ll be fine.”

Fine?

It’ll be fine?

All the ways it will not be fine quickly flash through my mind. Instantly I zero in on the mention of the commanders who made this decision. Was it the same ones I met at that lunch with Aeson, or was it one of the others I know about but haven’t officially met? I guess it doesn’t really matter who came up with this bullshit decision. What matters is why they’d want to give a bunch of unvetted strangers access to me at all. Suspicion burrows through me.

I open my mouth to argue that this is ridiculous, that it doesn’t make sense, but then I close it. Ogdan isn’t asking me how I feel about this plan, he’s telling me.

He doesn’t care what I think.

None of them do.

I blow out a breath and force the tension from my shoulders. I already knew there could be an issue with my future Wing. Mostly because there’s no way to know ahead of time if they’re pro or anti Syphon. I figured the whole death-vow thing would help me navigate that, but I won’t have that layer of protection tomorrow, and that feels intentional.

“Look at it as an opportunity to get to know the initiates and how they work,” Ogdan encourages, but it comes across as high-handed and dismissive. “Six of the ten probies assigned to this detail will be part of your future Wing. They’re all trained, capable, and dedicated. Farrow and Karis will be there as back up if needed, but there shouldn’t be an issue.”

Jori sips his drink, the slurping sound loud in the quiet that blankets the room while I stare at the two Wing members across from me. Ogdan shifts his weight as he watches me like my silence is making him uncomfortable.

I’m okay with that.

“It’s not that we don’t want to look after you, Biscuit,” Herm interjects after a beat. “We’re just ensuring that both you and the commander have adequate coverage.”

I just started entertaining that insecurity in my mind, so I must not have my face and body language on lockdown like I thought. Not if the Stormer is reading me that easily.

“Sure,” I tell him in the same dismissive tone Ogdan just used. I even use the same glib gesture to wave away the adept observation, pretending it missed the mark despite the way it’s currently lodged between my ribs and making my chest ache.

I know it’s stupid. I’m no worse off than I was before. But I can’t help feeling like I’m six years old again, watching guards carry my brothers off to safety while Enslee and I are left behind and vulnerable.

Once again, I’m reminded that I’m not one of them . I’m not Horde. They can pretend otherwise, but at the end of the day, they keep showing me that they don’t consider me an equal. I’m not entitled to any answers or even a say in my own life.

I’m a pawn.

Nothing more.

I’ll shove that assumption down their throats soon enough, but it won’t be tonight. Tomorrow will either go off without a hitch or, more than likely, someone will try to kill me. I wonder how many of my “new guards” will piss their pants when that happens. Or will they be the ones planning the attempted murder?

They’re in for a rude awakening though. Death and I have an unspoken agreement. We like to flirt and toy with one another, but we keep it cutesy and never go all the way .

I rise from my chair, and both Herm and Ogdan mirror me like they’re adhering to some old-fashioned sense of decorum. Herm looks skeptical, and unease settles in Ogdan’s features, but I quickly decide it’s not my problem.

“It’s been a long day. Is there anything else?” I ask stiffly, but I don’t wait for an answer before I peel away in the direction of my dragon stone cage.

Blay straightens from where he was leaning as I approach, and then the sound of the locks disengaging on the armored door fills the room just before the thick tungsten barrier suddenly swings open.

A flat feminine voice intones. “Welcome home, Commander Noctis, Royal Wing, and Authorized Visitor.”

I turn to see Chastain and Sondar striding confidently into the great room. Their Heart, Aeson, is centered in the cluster of guards with Farrow and Karis bringing up the rear, but it’s the commander’s Authorized Visitor that draws my eye.

Statuesque and stunning, the female has a shrewd gaze that’s a mesmerizing shade of periwinkle, flawlessly smooth bronze hair, perfect pink lips, and a bodysuit that I’m pretty sure was painted on. I have no idea who she is, but something about her instinctively sets me on edge. I can’t immediately put my finger on what it is, though I try. I can sense it on the tip of my tongue, the answer teasing the periphery of my thoughts. I try to catch it, to examine it, but I can’t seem to get a grasp on what’s setting me off.

And then her scent hits me.

Sharp and electric with notes of fresh tilled soil and an undercurrent of sun-dried animal pelt—deer, I think, or maybe it’s elk.

She’s sorcai.

And from the smell of it, she’s armed with active spells.

Warning zips up my spine and blares in my head. A curtain of red drops over my gaze, and a menacing growl rattles my chest.

She’s dangerous.

She shouldn’t be here.

But that’s okay. I’ll fix the commander’s mistake. I’ll rip her impudent little heart right out of her traitorous fucking body.