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I curse my heart for loving them, for having a soulmate who hasn’t even shared his name with me. I shouldn’t love Oberon, as he isn’t even my mate. But here I am, a fool—lovesick and wondering when my king will decide to see me instead of one of his whores.
He insults me by bringing his female guards into his chambers while I rot in this room so far away from him. They are healthy—when I’m not. I hate him for even mentioning it, far more than I love him.
I never cared for a sacred love, even if at first it sounded like such a wonderful escape. What I long for is a family. My mate won’t give me a child, for I know he isn’t of this world. He’s one of them—a messenger of the gods—at home somewhere I can’t ever follow. So I must take matters into my own hands if I, too, want a home.
If fate is as cruel as binding me to a soulmate I can’t ever be with, then I shall use my spare moments of health to carve out my own destiny. A child, a baby that will love me no matter how ill or how human I am.
His vision blurred. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to swallow the fresh surge of grief. He shut the diary and shoved it inside his coat pocket, unable to meet Nava’s eyes. Of course, she could feel his emotions, regardless.
Arkimedes grabbed the ring from where he’d dropped it inside the box, and its magic buzzed in his hand. He cleared his throat, trying to steady his voice. “We can use this to call Leir to us. I believe what he told her was true. If my mother had worn this ring when she wanted to see him, he might have made it all the way here to save her.”
“She loved you, and she saved you.” Nava reached for his hand, and the warmth of her magic seeped through him. He fell into her sad eyes. “Leir had the upper hand all this time. He killed Illaris, tried to do the same to Ari and me. Now it’s our turn, and when he comes, we will be ready.”
37
NAVA
The king summoned Arkimedes and Nava to a meeting the following afternoon. They met in a room she hadn’t visited before, which was decorated with dark murals. In its center, a bulky wooden table stood. It could easily seat forty people, although only four awaited them.
The sound of the heavy chairs scraping the floor welcomed them as three of the fae stood as soon as they entered.
“You’re late, Orion,” the king complained from his seat, the black of his wings and aura shrouding most of him. Yet the bright shades of his self-illuminating eyes cut through the haze as they burned into her. “The emissary might strike our kingdom at any moment, and you’ve been taking strolls around the city all morning.”
Arkimedes pulled out a chair for Nava, his jaw tensing as he met her gaze with quiet fury. She sat in silence. The black velvet fabric of her seat was soft and warm.
“The guards conveniently left my brother back at the docks, and haven’t located him. He’s ill, and we were trying to find him,” Arkimedes said. “But being out there this morning made us realize that there is a possibility the Zorren’s next attack will spill over into our city, and I would like to open up the castle grounds to the citizens. The wards will keep them safe until we can defeat the demons.”
“We can invite the high fae to seek refuge within our walls, Your Highness, but there isn’t a way for everyone in the city to fit,” a male sitting beside the king said. His skin was a rich brown, and his golden eyes were striking even from a distance.
“I don’t care how, but you will find a way,” Arkimedes said through gritted teeth. His dismissive tone held no room for argument.
The male opened his mouth as if to protest, but the king raised a hand. “That’s enough, Finian.”
“We can work on how to prevent the demons from getting to the city, but if we have to ruin the gardens to save our people, then we should,” Arkimedes said.
“If our primary concern is the Copper City, we could send some of our people to our other major cities. In the meantime, of course,” a female sitting to the king’s right said. Her beautiful pale face grew pensive as her eyes traveled from Arkimedes to the king and then finally settled on Nava.
“Leir can open a portal anywhere in Caztian or the kingdom, but he’ll likely target the city where King Oberon and Arkimedes are,” Nava said. It wasn’t the whole truth, given that Leir and the Zorren were targeting the Beekeepers.
The emissary had told Ark about it. Leir would help the demons kill Ari and Nava, and in return, the demons would help him burn the place down and kill the royals. It just so happened that, in this case, all of them were connected.
“While you were looking for your Crow, we’ve been discussing a way to stop Leir.” The king gestured at the center of the table where a small jeweled dagger lay.
“Is that an artifact?” Nava pressed her hands to the polished table and leaned forward to study the hooked blade and the runes etched into the shiny black metal. Could it be? Although it looked ancient and clear traces of magic wafted over its surface, Nava was too new to this to sense the difference between a magic-wielder’s power and something created by the gods.
“It’s not,” Ark said in an icy tone that matched his harsh expression, suffocating the hope bursting in her chest. She slumped into her seat.
“It’s a powerful fae weapon and has belonged to our people for longer than I’ve been alive. It was crafted even before the gods waged war on our territory.” The king’s ire was plain. “Back in those days, our ancestors fought the gods with our own artifacts, and they even killed a few. My magic can and will defeat a god’s servant.”
Nava sucked in a breath and focused on the dagger and the magic flowing off it. Somehow, she knew with absolute certainty that this wouldn’t be enough. This blade would never kill an emissary. They were back to square one, and their end was still nigh.
“You can’t be serious and believe we can actually stop Leir with this knife. He won’t let us get that close.” Arkimedes reached for the weapon, touching the silk fabric wrapped around the hilt.
“Don’t touch the artifact until you’re ready to wield it, son. It may not look like much to you, but much like our power, it steals energy. It slows down our enemy’s ability to heal and poisons their blood. But if there isn’t a foe, it will drain your energy instead.”
As if the king cared whether it hurt Arkimedes. Oberon poured himself some wine and leaned back like his fate didn’t rest in the hands of his estranged son.
The nerve of him to assume Arkimedes would be the one to wield the knife. But then again, the king looked worse with each passing day. Right now, his face was an array of all possible shades of purple and red from the beating Arkimedes had given him the night before.
