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The Eylfe King interjects, “Such matters should not preoccupy your weary mind, Lady Isla. Instead, you should consider your upcoming nuptials and how to please your soon-to-be mate as well as Aryahn Kryach should he choose to spare you.”
I purse my lips and cast my eyes to each of them. I should shut my mouth. I should prioritize my gown, the wedding feast, my family, and a myriad of other bridal duties. But if Allysteir chooses to fuck me on our wedding night, I have less than a month until our union. Barely a month until the full moon to conjure a plan which does not involve the rape of my soul as Gryzelda had warned.
My Nether-mark turns icy at the memory of Kryach’s presence on my body when Allysteir fed from me. Spine tensing and muscles tightening from my unchecked curiosity, I can’t help but test the royals.
“My Lords and Ladies...” I stand to attention, posturing arrow-straight above their heads, and direct my steel violet eyes on them, ending with my intended husband. “I may not be royal-born, but I believe the gods would not have included an insurmountable challenge to end the Curse to taunt their pawns. So insurmountable, a way has not been discovered since the ancient times when the Curse originated.”
The Inker Queen, her eyes as dark and mystical to contrast the whorls of silver magic swirling over her umber skin, declares in a fervent voice, “Do not tread where the gods have forbidden mortals to go, little bride. This is not your affair, nor your burden.”
While Allysteir does not rise, his ascot flares, betraying how he must clench one side of his intact throat muscles.
Undaunted, I brace my hands into fists and narrow my eyes. “With all due respect, since I am risking the kiss of Death, I’d say it is my burden. The Void threatens my family and all these Talahn-Feyal lands I hold dear,” I conclude, voice resounding. I raise my neck high while contracting my eyes upon Allysteir. Nothing in the world will stop me from loving this land from the highest clifftops of Nathyan Gyheal?these White Ladies?to the deepest pit within their depths.
“Enough, Isla!” Allysteir reprimands, rising to tower over me, his bone crown casting fractured shadows upon my face.
I match his gaze, pressing my lips, furrowing my brows, wishing I could detect his facial expressions behind this mask. “What are you hiding?” I demand, hissing, directing my words to all the royals while never taking my eyes off Allysteir. Imagine I am thwarting him through his mask.What if I can save you?I plead in my mind, on the verge of a beseeching whimper.
I shiver when he cups my face, when he sifts his gloved hand into my hair. But he reveals his true purpose when icy shadows lance my chest and drive me to my knees. I shriek from the power force. The other monarchs cackle?except for Narcyssa. Out of the corner of my eye, she regards me with an expectant gaze, as if waiting for me to rise. A lioness as she’d dubbed.
It’s her resolve and the prickly chafing of the Nether-mark responding to Kryach’s power bidding me to rise. To push my shoulders back, to challenge the Corpse King, the God of Death himself. Vines tickle the soles of my feet beneath my slippers, responding to my emotions. Corpus roses threatening to crack the Great Hall’s foundation.
I wish I could make out Allysteir’s expression when I stand face to face with him, when the other sovereigns fall silent and hold their breaths.
“As baleful as death as you are, my Lord Allysteir,” I say, chin stabbing out, “perhaps this mere Cock-Cross girl has enough life to rise from the ashes. I assure you, Your Majesty, I will never be scared stiff...” I stare him down, matching those skeletal mask-eyes, no doubt an inferno behind the black veils. I don’t blink.
Golden branches of his crown shimmering on his perfect face, the Eylfe King stands and ensues the slow-clap of a standing ovation. I detect a hint of patronization laced within the gesture. By the time he’s finished, I’m ready to pass out.
Managing to lower onto my throne beside the Corpse King, I listen to the Eylfe King who alerts me, “You have tasted but a sample of Aryahn Kryach’s power and bear it well, my Lady Isla. But I believe I may speak for all here when I say: do not test Kryach. He is the most powerful of all gods and is the reason we tolerate Allysteir and his procrastination...to the detriment of our own lands.”
Despite my recognition of how the Eylfe King has masterfully insulted and paid homage to Allysteir, I slow-turn my eyes in the direction of my soon-to-be husband. My breath quickens at the notion of his power, but not once does his mask betray anything. Instead, he reaches for another wine goblet and downs it whole.
Narcyssa debates in her smoky, sultry voice from across the table, “One can argue love is as strong as death. After all, I love all my Sythe-race and their human gyzdyas, and there are thousands within our land.”
I bite my lower lip while her seductive lashes lower to me. I love her native Sythe tongue, how it adds a layer of beguiling spice to words like “gyzdya”. One of few Sythe words I know: a host.
“Same as you love nothing,” Allysteir grumbles, raising his wine glass to her in a direct mockery. “Death is final. That is the end of it, Narcyssa.”
She may not challenge him, but I do, “Death may have the last laugh, my Lord, but it doesn’t have the last emotion.”
“What?” Allysteir lowers his shoulders, gifting me courage to continue.
I sigh, close my eyes and suck in a deep breath, meeting Narcyssa’s eyes while continuing, “After family is gone, love remains. It’s why so many mourn at passings. Its power defies death. Strong enough so a mere leaf blowing on the wind can trigger a memory. Or a rose’s fragrance. Or the taste of a shortbread cake. Death may strip threads, but love keeps their memory alive.” Following my proclamation, I lean against Allysteir’s firm shoulder and close my eyes.
“Are you certain she is from Cock-Cross?” chuckles the Blue-Skin sovereign, spiny dorsal fin shuddering from their rolling laugh.
I twinkle a smile, admiring the monarch and their rolling chair decorated in pearls, goldened coral, jewels, and more. They pour a pitcher of water upon themself and sigh from their translucent scales flaring to the surface along with their keen barbs?a pattern they’ve had to perform throughout the night. The Blue-Skin they and Allysteir are the two sovereigns most respected...or feared. No one fucks with Death. Or the Seas.
When I yawn and nestle deeper into Allysteir’s robe, he mumbles, “If you will forgive me, Lords and Ladies,” he eases one strong hand beneath my waist, “I will carry my bride-to-be to her chambers. She is weary from the night’s events.”
How can he?oh, gods! I inhale sharply when he bears me, sweeping me into a bridal hold. All of him is cold as a frosted crypt, but the barest hint of a heartbeat thrums against the side of my body.
Beyond the hair-thin slit of my burdened eyelids, Aydon glances at Franzy and nods, waving to a few court servants, including Feyal-maids. “I have business to address with the royals. Please carry my betrothed to her chambers and try not to wake her. I’ll check in on her later this morning after she is well-slept.”
Yes, later because dawn has risen despite no sunlight piercing the under-realm of the White Ladies. I purse my lips, wishing Franzy and I could share chambers, but not tonight. In the morning, I’ll find a way to get her alone, so we can get her out of the Citadel and beyond the White Ladies. Perhaps Franzy’s father can get her passage on one of his ships and...my thoughts skitter through multiple rabbit holes. Each one ends with me never seeing her again.
It’s too much for me to navigate. After all the recent events, it’s a wonder I haven’t passed out.
I peek one eye open to Allysteir thudding open my chamber doors with his boot. Astonishing how he carries me, but as shadows traipse around his robes, I understand it’s not his strength alone. A pang of fear arrests my chest, and my adrenaline spikes. What if Kryach doesn’t want to wait? Will the God of Death sample my soul now? While my thoughts stray to paranoia, the fear is real enough for me to tremble. But my Nether-mark is still as a sleeping grave. Why?
