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Here I am again.
“It’s been an ass’ years, ye infernal tree!” I curse and grip one of Master Ivory’s branches, hissing. All Ivory does is shake his branches as if crossing his arms in dismissal. I almost slam my hand against his immense base. “Ye’re a bleedin’ statya da! I’mma skelp yer beeg behind!” At best, my language isn’t exactly polite and unbecoming of a Queen at worst.
Today, I am here for more than one reason. Ever since the pomegranate isle where the corpses marked with mysterious runes had floated onto the shore, Allysteir has given me nothing. Up till now, my motivation for getting into the Unseen Section was purely to learn how to conquer Kryach, but these days, he seems to want little to do with me.
Once again, Master Ivory does not relent. Every day possible, whenever Allysteir does not keep me busy, I return to the library to seek answers from Master Ivory, hoping he will welcome me to the Unseen Section. So many times, I’ve been tempted to allow Allysteir to gift me the secret, but I am determined to earn this. Just as I earned Aryahn Kryach’s respect the night I reclaimed the refter bride glen. Sometimes, I’ve asked Ifrynna to take me back there unbeknownst to Allysteir, though I’m certain he is aware of my presence later. At least he hasn’t addressed it, nor forbidden me to enter. The glen inspires my floral craft.
Not that it’s yielded results here,I consider, bristling when I attempt some of the rarest blooms I’ve researched in the annals of this library. Ice lilies cultivated upon the northernmost seas of the Deep North where dark blue-skins undulate ribbon-like fins. But for the umpteenth time, Ivory freezes as if locking himself tight...and all his treasures of knowledge.
“I don’t know what you want, you damned tree!” If I can’t learn any more secrets here, I must seek them beyond the Citadel. Somewhere deep in the Underworld.
“He has always been a damned tree,” a voice slices through the gap, through my tension with Ivory. I flinch, turning to Aydon.
He bows to me, ever diplomatic and formal, holding the propriety of a Prince of Talahn-Feylan. Despite how he wields the most political power. I find it ironic, considering his parietal bone holds more power than my floral gift. Still, I straighten, squaring my shoulders while descending from one of Ivory’s several platforms until I’m on solid flooring next to Aydon.
“I admire your persistence, my Queen.” Aydon gestures to the tree. “I gave up long ago attempting to please Master Ivory, though I’ve spied my brother in the wee hours of the morn following his Death business entering the Unseen section. Always combing through the annals, hoping in vain to learn of the Mallyach-Ender.”
I stiffen, purse my lips, and touch a nearby branch, dismissing the powder upon my fingers. “So, you do not believe the legends? That there is a Mallyach-Ender?”An Ender of all Curses is a far stretch,I remind myself. An impossibility. The threadbare fabric of legend.
Aydon steps toward me, his eyes bluer than blood-chilled veins. “I believe in Nathyan Ghyeal. I believe in Talahn-Feyal. I believe in faithfulness to my country.” The heaviness of his words sinks onto my chest the nearer he approaches. When his eyes darken, he imprisons me in this position until my shoulders tighten. “I believe we, the strongest and most powerful of all regions, bear the highest responsibility of all nations. And the greatest burdens. We should be willing to do anything to maintain such responsibility.”
Something in me shrinks to his words, but I can’t fathom why. How could intense loyalty be wrong? When the tips of Aydon’s fingers light upon the back of my hand to roam my knuckles, I draw a deep breath and hold the baited gust while pursing my lips.
“You understand such responsibility, Lady Isla,” Aydon continues, fingers striding along the lacy sleeve. “How could you not? With absolute conviction, you vowed to doom yourself, to become my brother’s damned bride, to become Kryach’s very soul pawn?”
“I am nobody’s pawn,” I snarl from his words and not his hand when it pauses at the dual-mark upon my collarbone, the mark I never conceal.
Aydon leans in, close enough so his breath stirs heat across my mouth when he says, “You accepted the God of Death’s mark. The soul tie to bind you to an utter stranger and the enemy of all virgin maidyans.”
“Not my enemy.” I shake my head and turn, but an inner voice gnaws on me, a voice reminding me of the songs and stories told to all children of Talahn-Feyal. Of how they all came true on our wedding night. Allysteir betrayed me. My body cannot stop tensing whenever I’m in his presence; my flesh will always remember as it remembers my childhood trauma. Sometimes, I wait for him to repeat that night in spite of everything.
Except Aydon causes me to flinch when he coils his hand around my neck, chaining me in place.
“You deserve more, Isla,” he murmurs in my ear. I slam my eyes shut, biting hard on my tongue to ward off his advances. “You deserve to be atrueQueen to unite with the real power of the throne behind the mask. You deserve to be worshipped forever and not used as my damned brother has used all brides. Kryach has reduced them to nothing more than rotted, walking corpses. Such a fate does not belong to you. Nor one of scarred bitterness as our mother who cannot remember what love is. Please consider Franzyna...”
When he invokes her name, my sweetheart, I gnash my teeth, but Aydon arrests my whole body by the waist while humming low, “Isla, do not mistake my intentions. I wouldneverever harm my bride. I cherish your love for her as I cherish her generous heart. Franzyina is more than either of us deserves.”
Damn right!I almost thrust out the words but don’t, freezing because Aydon’s hands do not wander. They merely anchor me in place without the lasciviousness or possessiveness of Kryach’s shades.
I listen as Aydon utters, “Imagine what could be, Isla. A King and Queen bearing a generation without the Curse. Such is the stuff of true legend to defeat the gods and earn immortality on our own merits! The first nation to bear a royal child beyond the gods’ touch. And you would be free to love your sweetheart for a thrice-lifespan or more without the burden of a deathly soul mark. That is not your destiny, Isla. You know it is not your destiny to become a refter bride, nor to fade with nothing more than a scarred soul as my doomed mother.”
No, it is not,I almost say but clamp my mouth shut because this is Aydon, the political Prince. His over-zealousness will be his downfall despite it birthed from the best intentions of which the paths of Nether-hell are paved.
“And I give you my most solemn of vows,” Aydon goes on, hand drifting to mine so he raises it to his eager lips to bestow a chaste kiss, “I would give you my parietal bone itself, Bride of the Corpse King, if you would revoke the marks and bind yourself to me. For I am convincedyouare the true Mallyach-Ender who will break the Curse with the fruits of your soul!”
My jaw drops. Ice-wrapped millstones congregate in my stomach. I’ve jested about it. Reflected on it. Because Aydon is wrong about one thing: I may wear this crown, I am no true Queen of the Underworld. This crown is a mask...like Allysteir’s. We do not sit in Court. At most, I am the glorified Mistress of Death. But the Ender of Curses!
“While Allysteir merely wishes to possess you for all eternity,” Aydon adds, “I wish you forallof Talahn-Feyal. For all worlds. I will act as the humblest of vessels to fulfill such a destiny through our future child. After all...Lady Isla, it wasnotmy brother who sat upon the throne in his skull mask guise that night. It was not Allysteir you vowed yourself to upon the Feast of Flesh...”
As his breath coasts across my cheek, nose skimming my skin, I do my best to deny the prediction I suspect, the confirmation when Aydon concludes, “It wasme!”
I gasp the deepest breath in the same moment Aydon spins me and seals his mouth to mine. To my utter astonishment, my body yields. I open my lips to grant him entrance. Aydon presses me against the bone tree and kisses me fiercely until all my skin flushes to mirror my utter humiliation from surrendering to him. To so much as consider his offer.
Because there is one secret I have kept from Allysteir, from my parents, from the very gods. Something I never considered when I vowed myself to the Corpse King, something I’d never considered until Aydon’s declaration.
I cannot bear a child.
Nor will I ever desire one!
