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Valeria
“I’d like to introduceyou to someone,” Asmo says, reaching for my hand while glaring at Griffin.
“Oh, um—” The words are lost to a gasp as he tugs me away, toward where the queen is grimacing at the gargoyle’s sniffing antics. It takes me three steps to catch up to him, but I spot the tick in his jaw, the irritation feathering there. “Don’t be mad at him.”
“And why shouldn’t I be?” he says, his voice barely audible over the hushed whisper of nearby conversations. It’s as if he’s worried someone will hear us.
“He was just trying to stop me from worrying.” I tighten my grip on our laced fingers, hoping my touch will soothe his nerves.
With sudden abruptness, Asmo halts and whirls me around to face him, his grip firm on my hand. “You think I care that he told you about the wall?” He scoffs, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth as he continues, “I’m upset that he’s the reason I had to re-enchant it. He told the blood witches where they could find abandoned magic. The wall around our keep, remnants ofthe boundary that used to surround the realm of monsters, the tree of life—a place that was sacred to my mother—and they siphoned the magic out of it to help the elves destroy a village.”
The venom that drips from his eyes, from his tone, has a knot forming in my stomach, but I don’t look away. “The elves would never work with blood witches. They’re abominations to them. As for Griffin, you and I both know he was under a spell and wasn’t in his right mind.”
“That’s just the thing, Valeria. He never thinks through the consequences. He saw a pretty woman and wanted to bed her. I doubt he thought for a moment how unsafe it was to ditch his guard and go off alone with a stranger.”
I cross my arms, feeling a chord struck somewhere deep within me. “That’s easy to say for someone who grew up without a guard following you every second of every day. People need their space or they do irrational things.”
He cocks his head, eyes narrowing on me. I can hear his teeth grinding as he pushes the words through them. “And I suppose you would know what that’s like, huh?” The hostility seeping from him was palpable—so much so that I felt it coiling tightly around my heart, threatening to wring it dry.
Shit.
“No, but I can imagine. Growing up a duke, knowing you’ll rule over a realm one day, has to be a lot of pressure. Everyone is terrified that their only heir will get hurt, so you’re placed in a bubble. You can’t eat, sleep, or breathe with someone there, watching. It’s lonely, and the silence is deafening. Sometimes, you need a reprieve and just to crawl out from underneath the weight and responsibility of it, to remind yourself what it’s like to live.”
Asmo’s eyes toggle between mine, but he makes no effort to speak or move. Though, the frown on his face has softened a bit and that muscle in his cheek has calmed.
“At least, that’s how I’d imagine it being,” I add, clearing my throat and looking past him to nod toward the queen. “Shall we continue?”
For whatever reason, he doesn’t press me any more on the subject and the death glares at Griffin stop as he leads me to the infamous Alice Morningstar.
“I’d like you to meet someone,” he says to her as we near. “This is—”
Alice looks eyes with me, her face falling as she cuts him off. “Valeria, right?”
“Yes, my queen,” I bow my head respectfully.
“Of course you’d already know her name.” Asmo scoffs, shaking his head. “You have to stop scrying or you’re going to lose an eye. You know how hard it was to get mine back. Do you want to go through that?”
The queen’s lips tip into a smirk as she pivots her gaze from me to him. “I do remember, but it’s also the only way I can keep an eye on the elves these days. Had I not scried, it wouldn’t have just been Ogre’s Landing that burned to the ground, but two other villages, too. Besides, they make stunning eyepatches now.”
“Then send guards to protect the villages along the sea border. It’s not worth losing you to know the future. Look at what happened to my mother. My father kept her lifeless body in a glass box because she lost her soul. An eye patch is just the start of what could go wrong.”
I squeeze Asmo’s hand, realizing he hasn’t let it go, and to my surprise, he squeezes it back, casting a worried glance my way.
From my studies, I know scrying is like glimpsing the future in a flurry of images. Only witches or those born from the old gods with the gift of sight can access it. And it works by transporting a creature’s spirit through the folds of time and into future or past versions of oneself.
Where the shadow is what makes you feel, what gives you magic, the other half of the soul, known as the spirit, makes you who you are. It’s what each of the gargoyles are. That half of the soul can get trapped if a creature scries a time where they don’t exist. The spirit has nothing to jump into and if not reigned back in, it can become lost to the ether, forever.
I’d never heard of that happening to the late queen. And judging from Asmo’s tone, it must’ve gutted him when his mother passed. Though, I can’t begin to comprehend why, seeing as she was the one who trapped him in the prison realm. You’d think he’d hate her for it. Had it been me, I might’ve even danced on her grave.
The queen’s laugh yanks me from my thoughts, so bright, I’d never expect for her kingdom to be at war. “Excuse me, my children need me? Of course they do. But what good am I if my castle falls and the elves kill me, them, and everyone they care about?” Asmo doesn’t argue, but the death grip he has on my hand tells me he’s anything but calm as Alice adds, “The benefits outweigh the risks.”
Choosing to end the argument, I take my hand from Asmo, flexing my fingers a second before saying, “Have you tried the punch? Griffin and the chef made it. I heard it’s lovely. Let me get you a glass.” Pasting on a cheery smile, I make my escape, weaving through the gargoyles toward the punch bowl, dishing out three cups worth and leaving the one prepared for me by the chef’s wife behind.
Something seemed off about it. I haven’t tried it, but the way Xren eyed me, like he was patiently waiting for me to take a sip… I’d rather pour my own, just to be safe.
Balancing three cups in my arms, I return to Asmo and the queen. Their voices are no longer edged with tension but still, they fidget in place, like they’re unsure of how to interact now that their opinions charge the air.
I’m about to say something, when music hits my ears. The floating instruments have straightened themselves from where they rested on the floor, and now hover as if being held in someone’s invisible hands. The violin’s sharp strings pull tight, its resonance silencing the room. Griffin holds his arms up like a conductor in the middle of the dance floor, his fingers working the air as he taps his foot and the other instruments join in to the melody.
