“Fuck you,” the stranger says, tilting his head back. He pushes off his knuckles and knees and—
“Ah ah ah, Finn,” Edain says, setting one hand on the stranger’s shoulder and forcing him back to the floor. His eyes never leave my mother’s back, and the way he’s fingering the knife in his other hand makes me wonder just who he intends to use it upon. “My queen said you were to remain on your knees.”
The stranger laughs under his breath. “Is that you do for her, Pet? Does she make you get on your knees too? Do you grovel before her and—”
Edain moves so fast it’s a flashing blow. The stranger’s head whips to the side, where it remains for a moment as if he’s gathering his breath. “You shouldn’t speak of my queen like that,” Edain says, but there’s a flare of rage within his eyes.
It’s not loyalty.
It’s not for the insult to the queen.
Does Edain despise his role as much as I do?
“Iskvien.” Mother’s chest heaves as she coils the whip. “Where have you been?”
Picking grass out of my hair. I take smooth, cautious steps closer, trying to read the room. “Bathing. As one does when one wakes.”
Andraste sits stiffly in a chair beside Mother’s throne, her gaze drilling right through me as if she alone can see exactly what happened. Tendrils of Mother’s hair wisp around her braids, as if she’s been wielding the whip hard. And Edain cuts me an insolent look, as if he doesn’t like me seeing him in this state.
But it’s the stranger my eyes are drawn to.
There’s a strange tattoo between his brows. It almost looks like the golden outline of a flame, but it’s so faint it’s difficult to make out against his golden skin. He’s gorgeous. All of the fae are, but there’s something about the chiseled slant of his cheekbones, that sulky mouth and the alpine blue of his eyes that makes my breath catch. It must be killing Mother to keep her hands off him. I swear I’ve seen a tattoo like that somewhere before, but I’ve never seen his face. Of that I’m sure of.
“What’s going on?”
Mother casts the whip aside and wipes her hands on a rag. “Nothing that need concern you. What took you so long to answer my summons?”
“Maybe she’s avoiding you,” Finn says with a rough laugh. “Can’t imagine why….”
The presence of the stranger throws me off-balance. I expected her fury, but I also expected to be the center of its attention, and from the look she gives the wounded warrior, I’m not.
“If he speaks again, cut out his tongue,” Mother says.
Edain shifts on his feet and he and the stranger share an intimate look.
“I was celebrating Lammastide,” I reply, trying to swallow down the guilt in my throat. I barely had time to wash the scent of my handsome lover from my skin. “Is that not why we’re here? I woke in a glade somewhere near the forest and it took time to return.”
“Why we’re here? The queen of Ravenal is waiting for us in her tent,” she snaps. “Her nephew is there. Etan. You may remember him. You were supposed to dance with him last night, but you vanished in the middle of the unmasking—”
Heat and rage smolder in my gut like an ember. Here it is. Here’s my moment. Deep breath. Be brave. “Apparently I’m supposed to do many things, Mother, but I will point out that nobody ever asked me if I wanted to do them.”
Stillness coils through her. “You’ve heard.”
“I’ve heard something,” I point out. “Etan managed to tell me the most ridiculous lie. I couldn’t quite believe it, because I know you would never stoop so low as to sell me to that pathetic worm—”
“Careful, Iskvien,” she warns as she turns toward her wine. “My mood is much improved, but I won’t tolerate such disrespect. And Etan is merely a stepping stone to a greater game. He’s not lying. You will marry him. You will do Asturia proud.”
“He’s a wretched—”
“He’s the nephew of Queen Maren,” she counters. “And you are my daughter. Are you saying that you are too weak to handle him? Are you saying that my own flesh and blood cannot manipulate a witless reprobate like Etan? You disappoint me. I offer you a means to step into the Askan court and build a power base. I gave you an introduction. Why did you think I sent you to serve Maren for two years?”
Because I still can’t access my magic, and you were so furious with me you could barely look me in the eye. “What kind of power base can I build? Etan’s only influence lies with the younger fae at court. He spends half his days drinking, the other half chasing sprites around the palace. He’s not Maren’s heir. He’s not even among the top ten on the list to be heir—”
“That can change,” she warns.
I reel back. “Oh, wonderful. Now I’m supposed to add assassination to my repertoire, am I?”
“Not you.” She doesn’t quite look at Edain. “Too many mysterious deaths in a short time would provide… uncomfortable scrutiny. But one or two might be overlooked. The Askan court is ambitious, and with Maren unable to give the court a true heir, the rest of them will climb all over each other like mountain goats. No, your task is to remain unnoticed. Bide your time, like a spider.
“I give you a gift, Iskvien. The boy is an idiot. Gullible, easily controlled. He sees only flesh to own, and a will to conquer. Let him think that. Move behind the scenes. Build your base. Birth a child or two. You can never rule the Askan court yourself, but you could place a puppet on the throne. Whether that is your husband or your daughter is your choice.” Her voice roughens. “But you will do this for me.”
It feels like a whirlpool, sucking me toward some hideous fate.
To defy her means punishment. She’s never baulked at any cruelties.
Memory chokes me….
“Wield the flame, Iskvien.”
My gut knots up tight as she brings the candle closer. I can’t stop a hint of dread from breaking over my skin in chills. My magic’s been slow to come in, and my mother thinks forcing me into these training sessions will help me, but if anything, my ability to weave fire is getting worse.
“Touch the flame,” she says.
“I can’t,” I cry, and it’s a little girl’s voice.
“You will.” There’s no mercy in her voice. “Whether you touch it with your magic, or with your skin is the choice you must make. I will not have a weak daughter.”
I break free of that moment, sweat dripping down my spine.
There’s no sign of a burn on my skin anymore—my fae blood is strong enough to heal almost anything she can do to me—but I can feel it there, like a scar that sunk into my bones.
The question is: How far do I dare defy her?
What could be worse? My mother’s certain punishment, or marriage with Etan? It’s only trading one monster for another.
And yet….
There’s the memory of a kiss on my lips.
There’s a flame of defiance in my heart burning faster and faster….
“I won’t marry him,” I whisper.
“Pardon?” My mother spins toward me, as if she can’t quite believe her ears.