Page 17 of Where We Belong

and so onwards and upwards I press.

On the cobalt altar besides us, priestesses put on a show, writhing in pleasure, their moans drifting through the air like music. Worship masquerading as desire. Or perhaps the other way round. Vale arrives halfway through the meal, dirty robes torn and streaked with blood. Nefret arches a brow and murmurs something to Fareese. He hides a sneer behind a leisurely sip of wine when Vale bows and slips into an empty seat. Nykholas watches him like a hawk, nostrils flaring, pupils narrowing to slits as veiled, naked servants clear the plates. One leans down to whisper into his ear, something scandalous no doubt. He dismisses her with a sharp flick of his hand, jaw taut.

“We appreciate the hospitality,” my uncle says politely. “But I am not one to dance around intentions. It is clear an alliance has been established here. I have no right nor desire to infringe upon it—law or otherwise—but I must ask, do you intend to strike Ashen Reach or Cinder Cliffs?”

Wren presses a pale hand to his chest, feigning affront. “Oh, absolutely not, my King. We would never dream of such a thing. We simply have—” he glances fondly toward Nefret “mutual interests.” They say in unison like two halves of the same threat.

“In what?” I ask.

Nefret folds her hands beneath her chin and leans on the table. “You, my Prince. The Princess was the source of the quake earlier, was she not?” All eyes dart between me and my uncle. I nod once. We spoke of it in the carriage ride. Both of us felt her magic. It was so similar to my fathers it turned my stomach.

“Several obelisks fell, and out of the dust rose a sign from Feye.” Nefret continues confidently. “A mind will be sparked this day, and someone here will bring them home.” I try not to roll my eyes. One would think a divine being would speak with slightly more clarity.

I do not miss the way Vale’s grip tightens around his goblet when Wren unfurls a weathered parchment. “Our spies—allegedly—” he smiles at the King, “returned from Cinder Cliffs last night with stacks of their research. They did not manage to find the details of the ritual; however, we have the date it must be performed. The equinox.” He hands the King the parchment.

“Eighteen months from now.” His eyes dart across the page.

Fareese swallows the last of his wine and snaps for a new glass. “Eighteen months is a long time for alliances to rot.”

“Or deepen,” Wren counters, clinking his glass against Fareese’s with a smile that is far too pleased. My fists clench beneath the table. I do not like this. At all. Obsidian and Ember are wealthy, armed, and possess an arrogance that makes Ashen and Cinder’s haughtiness seem almost endearing by comparison. The four in front of me would gladly eviscerate anything that stood in their way. With Obsidian’s mines and weapons tunnelling beneath the land, and Ember’s dominion over food and faith above it, this alliance could birth more famine and bloodshed than we have ever seen.

Nefret’s lip curls. “Or for desperation to lead us to slaughter one another before freedom ever arrives. The treaty needs to last at least that long, perhaps beyond if we are to coexist in The Above with the humans, and ensure there is no war among us that will inevitably tear the poor earth apart. Or cause the gods to imprison us once more.” She kisses the tip of her thumb and draws a symbol in the air. “Heaven forbid.”

“Heaven forbid,” the priestesses chime in through their moans.

My uncle smiles, but it’s a warning. “We will not turn on each other. Again. This pause gives us time to prepare and to build a community of fae able to integrate.” Nefret tilts her head with a voice like silk over a blade. “Which is a lovely sentiment, unless the gods have always intended to watch us destroy ourselves before freedom is achieved, which I wouldn’t put past them.” She turns her fiery gaze to me. “All we ask is that you pass a law allowing our four court positions in your court to be appointed at our discretion. No election.”

Nykholas finally tears his eyes from Vale long enough to force out a dry chuckle. “Did you not say she would be brought home? Why would you petition for Prince Aiden’s court and not the Princess’s?”

Nefret doesn’t flinch; she is used to his blasphemy. “We are not as daft as Cinder Cliffs. Demanding decisions from a girl who is not present and not yet trained.” Her gaze lands on me. “But should she perish, Prince Aiden will see to it that the agreement is honoured.” A chill scrapes down my spine. This stage of limbo is agonising; it is as if the crown is being passed around with no idea where it will stop.

“Even if she dies, my uncle is still alive and he is still young. He may not pass the crown to me for a thousand years, if at all. Your desire seems futile.”

“That’s our gamble to take.” Wren smiles, but it doesn’t suit him. Only now do I notice how much his sharp, blue eyes make him resemble his nephew, Theron.

“And what is it you will agree to if I do say yes?” I ask.

“You have our word that we will sign the treaty immediately with all the terms you and the other territories have offered us already. And any more you might like to throw in. Peace, Prince. We agree to peace.”

My heart stutters and I hate how quickly my mind begins considering it. I look to my uncle.

“It is your decision,” he says quietly. “It is your court they’re asking for. And we are not obliged to answer now—by law they must give us seven nights to consider requests. If they’re right, and someone here truly will find the Princess, we may want to see what the next week brings before we agree to anything.”

He looks hopeful as he reaches beneath the table to steady my knee again, but before he can speak further, crimson wine splashes across his robes. Vale leaps to his feet, apologising whilst servants rush in to blot the stains.

I inhale slowly, taking the opportunity to think. Of course, I want peace. Peace in the land. Peace in my mind. I have been deprived of both for quite some time. And they want four unelected seats. This could result in some concerning appointments, and though the likelihood is slim, it is not impossible. The ritual could be a myth or not work. She could die in the hands of rebels. I’m interested to know which they are banking on. Or preparing for.

Nykholas leans over to me amid the commotion, smelling faintly of sun-baked linen and arrogance. “I cannot speak for Obsidian Hold. I only know what Eira and Leander have told me of their homeland. That their leaders desire power beyond reason. However, I know this land better than anyone. I dined at this very table as a boy with Nefret and Fareese. They are tricksters and frauds, and their cunning overrules their goodness.”

He continues talking, but the speech is lost on me. Because the second he mentioned her. When her name left his lips. An ugliness, a possessiveness arose. Eira. Their conversations. Her stories of home. The way I had finally forgotten her for a breath of peace, and now the monster that desires her wakes again, stretching, hungry. I care nothing for Nykholas’s disdain for this place. The seductive promise of peace alone soothes my anxious heart. Slows its frantic beat. And so, just like that, I raise my glass to Nefret, her sultry gaze meeting mine.

“Done.”

Chapter 21

Nyk

Now when I look back on how far I have come,