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“Kaysar?” Chantel asked in the candlelit darkness, no doubt sensing his change in mood.
Unwilling to sacrifice the perfection of this time with her, he hurried to distract himself. “Has your glamara recharged?” Was she able to open doorways yet?
“Not yet. I think...well, I think it’s tied to my emotions. When I’m happy, I power up fast. When I’m furious, I get temporary bursts of power. When I’m...not happy or furious, I regress.”
Guilt singed him. Her powers had weakened before the trial. Because of Kaysar. How unhappy had he made her lately? He needed to learn more about Chantel, so he could make her happy no matter what the situation warranted.
“Tell me about your parents.” He smoothed a lock of hair from her cheek. “You once told me you had no desire to relive your childhood in your adulthood. Will you tell me what your childhood was like?”
“My parents divorced—er, split up, which is what I plan to do with Jareth FYI. I mean, for your information. Anyway, Mom and Dad married other people when I was young. They started new families and seemed to forget about me. I got passed between them for a while, but never really fit with either.”
Her sad smile made his chest hurt. “I won’t leave you again,” he vowed. “From now on, we’ll render each strike against the Frostlines together.” How dare anyone not focus their every waking and sleeping moment on this female? “I should have known you raised yourself.”
“I—yes. I suppose I did.” She snuggled closer. “But why should you have known?”
“Because you do everything well.”
Her smile returned, but it still held a tinge of sadness. “What about your parents?”
“They were pixiepetal farmers in the Summerlands. Hard workers who survived rather than thrived, and yet they were happy.”
“So the most feared king in the land has humble beginnings, hmm, making him even more impressive than I previously believed.” She gave a husky chuckle at the prideful expression he couldn’t wipe from his face. “What are pixiepetals?”
“Special flowers that bloom where pixies roost, used as medicine for the fae.” Kaysar tracked a smeared line of map along her upper arm. “My parents died of a plague when I was twelve. Viori was such a joyful child before that. But she blamed herself for their deaths. Her voice... It was like mine. Powerful. Compelling. She hoped to save our mother and father from the sickness, but she used the wrong tone and they deteriorated fast.”
“Tone truly matters that much?”
“Tone is everything. The vessel responsible for carrying the compulsion.”
“I wish I could have known Viori. But. Um. Speaking of.” Chantel worried her bottom lip. “I have to confess something.”
He went still, not daring to breathe. “You remembered more about Jareth?”
“No, nothing like that.”
“Tell me. Whatever it is.” The suspense was more than he could bear.
“Earlier, Amber showed me something,” she said. “Two somethings, actually. The day you lost Viori, and the day you killed Prince Lark.”
Oh. “I’m glad.” Kaysar had no secrets from her. “I killed Prince Lark too soon. His death was too easy. I won’t make that same mistake with Hador. He’ll suffer for centuries more.”
Chantel lightly scraped her nails through his beard stubble. “What if your sister is living an amazing life? What if she’s married with a million babies? Someone wonderful could have found her in the forest and protected her, the way you found and protected me.”
Oh, how he wished. But... “Why hasn’t she approached me? Why can’t Eye see her?”
She contemplated for a moment, sighed. “All right. Let’s travel down the road of worst-case scenario. Viori could have been discovered by a terrible person. She might have suffered and died in those woods.”
He squeezed his eyes closed, a hot tear escaping.
His beautiful Chantel wasn’t done. She wiped the droplet with a trembling finger, saying, “You might never know the truth about what happened. For the rest of eternity, you’ll have to live with the mystery. It’s awful, it isn’t fair, but it’s your reality and there’s nothing you can do to change it. Despite that, your most amazing days can await you, if you’ll let them.”
His eyelids popped open. He shuddered with his next breath, agonized...but comforted? “If I kill Hador at long last, you mean?”
“Yes.”
Familiar panic. The moisture in his mouth drying. He darted his gaze as he struggled to breathe. “I can’t,” he croaked. “Don’t ask it of me.” Not ready to say goodbye.
Another sad smile, a light in her eyes dying. “I won’t, love. I told you I wouldn’t ask for this, and I meant it. I never will. Not now, not ever.”
His regret persisted and his foreboding resurged, but Chantel and her soothing won his focus. Bit by bit, his muscles softened.
“Imagine your vengeance is satisfied,” she said, stroking his chest. Specifically the tattoo that prevented conception. “What will you do with yourself?”
