Page 6 of The Heart of Nym (The Twisted Roots Duology #1)
Dorid looked at her with the same air of pride he always did.
His smile was apologetic, like a chastised child, as his eyes trailed over her dripping form and Nymiria watched as he ran a finger over his jeweled ring.
“I suppose you’re right.” He sighed. “Fine. Call off the dogs and send all of them to me immediately. Have Nansia dismiss the women they’ve already caught.
” After exchanging a few more words with one another, Oran turned to leave.
He didn’t spare her another glance, his jaw still tight and shoulders rigid with anger.
“Nymiria,” the king called. “I believe that I owe you an apology of sorts.”
Nymiria shook her head, fingers knotting in the drenched fabric of her skirts. “No, Your Majesty. You are not indebted to me in the slightest. If anything, it is I who must apologize for trampling your son.”
He let out a soft laugh and with one look directed at his peers, they dismissed themselves from the throne room.
Nymiria watched them leave, her breathing unsteady as the king rose from his throne and approached her with a serpentine slowness.
His eyes twinkled in the sunlight that spilled through the arched windows, catching the silver strands of hair that were just visible under the golden, spired crown he wore on his head.
Her body went rigid when his hand extended in her direction, brushing her hair away from her heaving chest.
"I've been looking for you." Dorid sighed. "I have another task for you. Two, actually."
"Oh?" She tried to mask her disappointment, squeezing her hands together so hard that the rings on her fingers dug into her skin.
“You have grown into a lovely woman, Nymiria. You remind me of someone I once knew, long ago. She was full of life. She had… heart.” His fingers skimmed over her collarbone, dipping just below the fabric that covered the silver flower on her chest. Nymiria gritted her teeth, eyes closing to will herself to remain calm.
It was enough to make her stomach churn, just the thought of where this could go—what he could force her to do.
“My sons have returned from their quests overseas.
Oran has become somewhat of a problem. He harbors a lot of anger towards me that I fear I do not deserve.
I blame it on his brother, who I also have reason to believe is plotting against me. "
He clicked his tongue as he brushed his fingers over the flower, shaking his head as if this one feature made Nymiria just as disgusting of a creature as he believed the other Mystics to be.
Anger rose to the back of her throat in the form of a stifled scream, eyes prickling with unshed tears as he pulled her dress back into place.
“I want you to kill him. Use whatever power you have to manipulate him and do well, my precious girl. Because it is only someone like you who has the capability of that form of trickery. And I need Aziel Haze dead.”
“Trickery?” She stammered. “I… I’m not sure I understand.”
Dorid smirked. “Trickery is in your blood, Nymiria. Creatures like you have the ability to make us fall in love with you, ensnaring us with your charms.”
He was wrong. It may have been a decade since she'd left the Beyond, but Nymiria knew that what he spoke of was a lie. The only time manipulation or trickery was allowed in her society was strictly for survival.
Even though her anger was rising inside of her like an overgrowth of thorns that prickled at one’s throat, she swallowed it down. She hid her ire behind the timid smile she flashed at him and the obedient nod of her head.
"First, I need you to take care of the ambassador from Grennick.
He's been snooping around the palace far too much for my liking.
Found him near the vaults the other day.
" Despite her desire that he would simply just let her go and complete her task, Dorid kept talking.
He'd told her about the vaults hundreds of times, but he insisted on talking about them anytime the opportunity arose. They were his pride.
Nymiria let him speak. She'd let him talk for hours if it meant that she could stave off the inevitable. Her stomach twisted into knots, her palms started to sweat. She knew that it would be hard to breathe next, but she did her best to focus on Dorid talking.
When he finally approached her with that gentle, caring look in his eyes, Dorid smoothed her hair out of her face and gave her a loving smile. "Do not fail me. You know there are wonderful rewards for when you do well."
One down, one more death to go.
Her body trembled as she walked through her bedroom, a sob bubbled from her chest the moment she closed the washroom door.
She let the dagger that the king gifted her fall to the ground, the clattering of it against the tile floor shook her to her core.
Shedding her gown and kicking away her boots, Nymiria stuffed a rag into her mouth and let out the scream she’d so desperately tried to hold in.
This should not have bothered her. For the past decade, she was made into the king's secret weapon—slipping deadly powders into drinks at parties, slicing throats in brothels…
. she knew what this life entailed, what politics would come with it.
But it felt like a betrayal to the side of her—the roots of her being that still dwelled in the Beyond.
The water was at it’s hottest temperature, steaming as it spilled from the spigot and into the porcelain basin below.
Her sobs were muffled by the rag as she slipped from her undergarments and lowered herself into the water.
When she closed her eyes, all she could see were those beautiful green eyes looking at her as she plunged her blade into his heart.
A scream burned at her throat, her fingers digging into her skin, hoping that if she dug deep enough, she could physically pull the pain from her body.
Images of Seelie faces, all of them flashing with shock and betrayal, bombarded her.
She felt ropes against her wrists, felt the burn as they sliced into her skin.
She clawed at the feeling of oily disgust. But no matter how much she clawed or scrubbed at herself, she couldn’t rid herself of that feeling.
The guilt. The humiliation. The heartbreak.
It wasn’t surface level, it was deeper.
It took an hour for her sobs to taper off into quieted sniffles.
Her eyes were red and swollen with tears as she donned her nightgown and her silk robe.
The silk tingled against the place on her arms that were raw with her discomfort and she sighed as she turned and headed out of the washroom and back into her bedroom.
The sun had not set yet, but the orange hue that tinted the stained glass on her windows signified that darkness was close.
On any other day, she would be on the first floor enjoying drinks and parlor games with the other courtesans, but the thought of sitting with them and pretending that everything was fine did not fancy her at that moment.
She wanted silence and peace. And though the king had supplied her with countless novels and reading materials over the last ten years, she preferred something darker—something more real than all of those frivolous love stories and acts of heroism.
Still sodden with anger, Nymiria left her room and headed towards one of the smaller libraries in the palace.
It was one that people did not frequent, the tomes and novels blanketed with a thick layer of dust. She would be alone, certainly, and surrounded with the dusty accounts of the slaughtering and enslavement of her people to help her bask in her emotions.
It was a form of self-harm, one could say. To torture yourself with your shortcomings. But why would she want to feel happy right now? It would only be more of a disservice to those she left behind if she tried to distract herself from what she’d done. The traitorous acts she committed.
Nymiria shook her head in frustration, grumbling hateful words to herself as she turned down the short corridor that led to the library.
A dark, brooding figure stopped her in her tracks.
She prepared to turn around and head back to her room, but the figure turned to her, revealing its identity.
And while she hated the Yaarboroughs and everything they stood for today, she could not bring herself to feel any sort of malice towards the man that’d vouched for the death of Hunting Day and who’d foolishly defended her honor.
“Courtesans aren’t supposed to be on this wing.” His voice was low, straining against the smoke that spilled from his lips and out of the open window at his side. He flicked his rolled tobacco out into the dusk, the embers splintering and scattering in the warm breeze.
She smirked. “King Dorid does not allow smoking inside of the castle, either. But here we are.”
Oran raised a thick brow, his eyes twinkling with humor that did not reach the rest of his face.
“Yes. Here we are.” He folded thick arms across his chest, dark eyes raking over her form as he leaned against the window frame.
“Still doesn’t answer my question as to why you are here and not in the west wing with your kind. ”
“You didn’t ask me anything, you simply said courtesans aren’t allowed on this wing.”
“Well, I am asking you now.” He retorted, taking a single step closer to her. “Why are you here, Mystic?”
Again, with that name. Nymiria closed her eyes, turning her head to the side as she let out a small noise of discomfort. “I live on this wing. As I’m sure you’re aware, I am not like the other courtesans here.”
“And how is that?” Oran laughed, eyes dropping to the moonflower branding her chest. Out of instinct and fear, she tugged at her robe to cover the mark. “How are you not like the others?”