The Curse of Sins, page 17
Enzo stood up so quickly his chair fell over, but Aidon was already turning away, his long stride taking him to the entryway before his father could even speak. He paused at the threshold, his jaw tight as he looked back toward his parents. “Josie is not to hear a word of this. Not of the Bellare knowing about my power, and not of Vi’s involvement.” His mother opened her mouth to argue, but Aidon pressed on.
“That is an order from your king.”
***
Aidon had fifteen minutes of blessed silence in his room—just enough time to change out of his coronation attire and into cotton pants and a loose shirt and pull his sketch pad out of his desk—before someone was rapping on the door.
He let his head fall into his hands, not bothering to hide his groan. Technically, he could tell them to go away, he supposed. He was the king now.
Aidon sighed and pushed himself up from his desk, his bare feet padding across the marble floor. He took a steadying breath before pulling the door open, his frustration vanishing as soon as he saw who was on the other side.
“We need some sort of code so I know it’s you,” he told his sister as he stepped aside to let her into the room. “I almost ordered you away.”
Josie chuckled knowingly as she made her way to his bed—a large mattress set in an ornate golden frame—and flung herself onto it. “As if I’d listen to you.”
“As if you’d have a choice,” Aidon retorted. He closed the door and turned to face his sister, forcing his face into a mocking look of severity. “Haven’t you heard? I’m king now. My word is law.” She snorted as she settled back among his many pillows. She still wore her dress from the coronation, and the tulle settled over his navy bedspread like an overzealous blanket.
“Did you come to lecture me about leaving my own coronation celebration?” Aidon asked teasingly as he settled into the chair at his desk. His body ached as he propped his feet on the wooden surface, as if the fire that had burned through him had bludgeoned his muscles in the process.
Josie shot him a roguish smile, the light of it not quite meeting her eyes. “I was actually coming to apologize for my early exit. Seems I don’t need to, though. Where did you run off to?”
Aidon trailed a finger over the sketch he’d started as he forced an easy shrug. “Needed some peace and quiet. You?”
He glanced at his sister to see her frowning at him. She knew him well enough to know that while Aidon didn’t need to be the center of attention, it was rare for him to pass up a good time. Especially when Clyde and Lucas were there.
But she didn’t press him on it. Perhaps she knew the events of the other month had changed him, just as they had her.
Josie sat up, tucking her feet beneath the folds of her skirt. “I just needed a breath. I did some painting. I went to visit Viviane this morning and it was…a lot,” she remarked quietly, her gaze focused on the tulle of her gown.
“Ah.”
An awkward silence followed, not quite tense, but not easy either. Aidon hadn’t judged Josie for keeping her relationship with Viviane. Not once. But that didn’t mean he’d known how to feel about the situation. Vi had been intent on destroying his claim to the throne. And yet…she had suffered terribly at Dominic’s hand for it.
But now that he knew she’d lied again…
It was further muddied, what with her rare power and the use she could be to them.
Sometimes, Aidon wondered if it made him just as bad as his uncle that he looked at Viviane that way—as someone to be used. Someone he could manipulate when the benefit was greatest to him.
Aidon rubbed the back of his neck, that spot where tension always built, as he searched for something else to say. He was afraid he’d give himself away if he discussed Vi much more tonight. Luckily, it seemed Josie wasn’t keen to share more about the visit. She had a faraway look on her face, the type she got when she was lost in thought and was not to be interrupted.
He waited her out, his fingers tapping a steady rhythm on the paper. Finally, she sighed, her expression solemn as she met his gaze.
“I wanted to ask you something.”
There was enough seriousness in her voice that Aidon found himself straightening, his feet smacking against the floor as he dropped them from the desk. “Anything.”
Josie shifted, her hands digging into his comforter. “I was wondering if you might…write me a contract.” Her throat bobbed, but she raised her head, her voice steady as she met his gaze. “For the Royal Army.”
Aidon blinked. “Aleissande oversees the Royal Army and City Guard,” he replied automatically.
Josie nodded, her jaw shifting with determination. “And you and I both know that Aleissande, or any general for that matter, would not accept a princess in her forces unless mandated by the king.”
He could spot the logic in her argument instantly, and yet Aidon still found himself hesitating. Josie was an incredible fighter. Hells, he had been telling Aya mere weeks ago that his uncle was wasting Josie’s talents. But that was before war was breathing down their necks.
“Josie…” Aidon stood up. But she was already off the bed, her stride purposeful as she closed the distance between them.
“I am not naive about the risks, Aidon. I know I will likely find myself on the battlefield before the summer is out. Let me serve our kingdom. Let me serve you.”
He had wanted her to. He had asked her to. As his Second—the most trusted position in his court. She had rejected the offer without a moment’s hesitation.
He couldn’t pretend that it did not sting.
“This is not a decision I’m entering into lightly,” Josie pressed as he paced away from her, giving himself a moment to breathe, to think. His fingers pinched the space between his brows.
Aleissande wouldn’t be happy about him going over her head on this. And yet Josie was right. It didn’t matter how great a warrior she was. There was no way in hells the general would contract her to the military, not with the years Dominic had spent crafting a reputation for Josie of political posturing, which was more sweet-talking nobles and entertaining foreign diplomats than anything else.
“Please, Aidon.”
The request was soft and tinged with a desperation that made Aidon draw up short. He glanced over his shoulder to see all trace of the levity he’d been so relieved to see on her face earlier today wiped thoroughly from her gaze.
The stoicism that had hung heavily over his sister had returned, and it made her vibrant gaze dull as she whispered, “Please.”
She needed this. And perhaps…perhaps it would be good to have another member of the royal family in the force. Especially if his newfound affinity issue would prevent him from being as involved as he once was.
Aidon’s stomach tightened at the thought. He’d managed to push it from his mind for a few moments, but the dread came roaring back as he continued to stare at Josie and assess his options.
“Fine,” he said finally. “But it’s up to Aleissande to place you within the forces. I make no guarantees that she’ll allow you to join the front lines, or any prominent units for that matter.”
It was telling that Josie merely nodded with no hint of dissent.
Gods, when was the last time he’d seen Josie’s inner fire? When she’d fought against the guards in that godsforsaken dungeon?
No. It was when she’d thought Aidon was truly aiding Dominic and had punched him so hard across his jaw he’d sworn the bones had cracked.
He’d known it was bad, that her desolation was deep. But only because he’d spent twenty-one years learning to read his younger sister. She’d always been such an open book, but now…
Secrets. They both kept so many secrets.
Josie stepped toward him, her arms circling his shoulders as she pulled him into a hug.
“Thank you,” she murmured against his shoulder. “You won’t regret this.”
Aidon sighed as he returned her hug, the dark coils of her hair soft against his skin as he rested his chin on her head. “Promise me one thing when you start sparring,” he muttered.
“Anything.”
Aidon drew back so he could give Josie a smirk. “Beat them all.”
There.
A spark of light, small but noticeable, lit her irises as her lips twisted in a grin—a real grin.
It was enough to make relief swoop through Aidon, enough to make him forget, momentarily, the night from hells he’d just had, especially as Josie cocked her head, that subtle note of sarcasm and defiance he’d always associated with his sister weaving throughout her tone as she said, “I’ve beaten you enough that I’m thoroughly confident that won’t be a problem.”
Aidon barked a laugh and his smile remained, even as Josie inclined her head toward his desk. “Shall we write the contract now?” she asked. Another grin. “You can’t tell me that sketch was going anywhere worth pursuing tonight.”
She needs this.
“Fine,” Aidon conceded with an overdramatic sigh. “Let’s begin.”
23
Aya knew stillness. She had trained her body and her mind to freeze in time, letting the world move around her while she waited, and waited, and waited until the perfect time to strike.
You should be prepared.
This stillness was different. It was forced on her, her muscles locking against her will, her mind emptying of everything except those four words the healer had just spoken to her with such gentleness.
You should be prepared.
Aya could barely make out the Anima standing in front of her, even though she was still speaking. Nor could she truly register Tova beside her. Everything had faded into a bright blur, as if the glaring white paint on the walls of the infirmary on the edge of town had blinded her.
You should be prepared.
“Aya?” Tova’s voice was hesitant, her grip on Aya’s arm tight.
He’s in a coma, the healer had said. We will do everything we can but…you should be prepared.
As if she hadn’t spent the last six months trying to be prepared and failing miserably.
As if anything could prepare her for this.
A laugh bubbled up from Aya’s chest, the sound choked and harsh and so utterly wrong for the agony she was feeling. It was followed by another, then another, then another, until it became a chorus of hysterical, broken laughter that seized her lungs and tightened the pressure on her chest.
Aya bowed over, her arms crossing over her stomach, as if she could contain the way her muscles ached as she continued to descend further into hysteria.
Tova was saying something, but Aya couldn’t hear her. Aya forced herself upright, blinking through the stinging in her eyes to see a look of horror on the healer’s face.
Aya’s laughter died.
Stillness returned.
You should be prepared.
And then Aya lunged.
She was screaming, vicious threats she couldn’t even comprehend spilling from her lips as she grabbed the front of the healer’s tunic. A vise grip locked around her waist, hauling her backward and ripping her fingers from the healer. Aya thrashed in the hold like a wild animal, her fingers grasping the air as she tried to reach the woman, tried to make her hurt, make her bleed.
You should be prepared.
“AYA!” Tova was yelling her name, her arms an unbreakable cage around Aya’s waist as she tugged and tugged, half carrying her out of the building. The cool, fresh air was like a slap in the face, as was the way Tova jerked her around to face her, her hands gripping Aya’s arms tight enough to hurt. “AYA!” Tova shook her roughly. “Stop!”
Aya panted, her throat searing with each breath as she looked past her friend at the door to the healing center. “He can’t… She has to… There must…” The words were choked pleas that disappeared on every sharp inhale. Aya met Tova’s gaze, watching as that sharp assessing look in her hazel eyes faded, only to be replaced by tears.
“I know,” Tova muttered as she pulled Aya into a fierce hug. “I know.”
24
Will was well acquainted with Desperation. It was what broke those he questioned, what caused even the most iron-willed to shatter beneath his affinity and beg for mercy. He knew its taste, its weight, its shape, and how it settled in the gut and scratched at the throat and made the heart beat so hard it might just crack one’s chest.
Will was well acquainted with Desperation. But he hadn’t spent much time with his own.
He could feel it now, though, warring for attention over Exhaustion as he stood in Gianna’s chambers, his eyes fixed on one of the iron flowers that decorated the mirror of the vanity at which she currently sat.
“You searched the premises?” his queen asked as she dotted her cheeks with rouge. She’d dismissed her attendants as soon as he’d come in. It made Will wary.
“I did, Majesty,” he said, meeting her gaze in the oval mirror. “Whoever did this covered their tracks incredibly well. I have two Royal Guards monitoring the property.” He paused, his jaw shifting as he considered his words. “I imagine Aya will want to search the home as well, once she’s able.”
He wasn’t sure when that would be.
It had been hours, and yet Aya’s screams were fresh in his mind, as was the picture of her falling to her knees in her father’s blood, that white healing light flaring uselessly from her hands into his chest.
It had killed him to send for Tova—to act like he didn’t want to stay with Aya after he’d finally calmed her enough that they were able to get Pa’s body to the closest infirmary. When he’d returned from seeking out the general and alerting the necessary people that an attack had occurred, Aya and Tova were gone, and a shaken healer was muttering about violence and rage.
He heard Tova had managed to get Aya to Suja for a calming tonic.
“And you were the one who found her?” Gianna’s question cut through Will’s thoughts.
“Yes,” he replied steadily. “I saw her escaping through her window. I followed her to ensure her safety.”
The lie fell easily enough from his lips, as did the exasperation that he knew Gianna could read on his face as he continued. “Aya rejects protection. I had much experience with her disdain for it in Trahir.”
Gianna let out a noise of agreement. “Even so, she will need it now more than ever, what with her display at the Sanctification. Kahn and Lamihr will stay stationed at the entrance to the Quarter, and Aya will have a Dyminara escort from now on.” She began to line her eyes with kohl before adding, “And Tyr, should he remain bonded to her.”
“If he doesn’t, it would be a great loss indeed,” Will murmured, more to himself.
Gianna sighed heavily as she set the liner down, her hands falling into her lap. “I will not dispute that. Aya has faced enough. And her road ahead…it will not be easy.”
Will’s next words were carefully chosen. “You think the gods will test her in such a way, Majesty?” He was sure not to point to Gianna in his question, to lean instead into her beliefs.
He wondered if it should worry him, how easily manipulation came to him.
Again, Gianna’s voice was heavy. “I believe the Divine test us all, William. And that they require greatness from those they call on.” He didn’t have time to parse through her words before she continued. “I pray her father will pull through.”
This had been what he had truly come to her for. A chance to feel out her involvement. Gianna did nothing without having something to gain from it, and while he couldn’t fathom what she would have to gain from ordering an attack on Aya’s father, he would not rule it out.
A coma, the healer had informed him. It is in Mora’s hands now.
Perhaps it was up to the goddess of fate. But getting answers? That was Will’s proficiency, and if it was all he could give Aya for now, he would do what was necessary. So he felt no guilt as he lowered his shield and called his affinity up to sense his queen, searching for some indication of Gianna’s intentions. It wasn’t a perfect method outside of interrogation or forcing sensation, but sensing someone’s state was typically enough to gather at least a hint.
“Do you have any theories, Majesty, on who would commit such a crime?”
Her full lips pursed in contemplation, a small divot appearing between her brows. “No,” she replied, her voice hardening. “We are a nation of devotion to the Divine. To attack one related to a saint…”
“I had the same suspicions,” Will murmured. “That he was attacked because of who Aya is. Which means whoever did this knows enough about her to be aware that Callias Veliri is her father.”
Will focused his affinity, sensing rather than pushing, letting Gianna’s emotions wash over him, but he felt nothing that indicated guilt. No heaviness other than sadness met his affinity as Gianna murmured, “Even without all she’s faced, to lose both parents…” She took a steadying breath before meeting his gaze in the mirror. “Well, let’s just say, the pain of it never leaves you.”
Will had been too young to pay attention when the queen passed, and he hadn’t had any particularly strong feelings about the former king’s death. If anything, it had been an opportunity for him—for all of them—as Gianna formed her own Tría. But he did recall Gianna’s grief, and how it had seemed to linger. Anyone could have seen she’d been a ghost of herself for months.
Perhaps the murmurs had also played a role. There had been whispers that she wasn’t fit to rule. Too young, they’d said. Too naive, especially when she’d chosen three young Dyminara above those more seasoned to form her Tría.
She had certainly silenced those doubts over the years.
“May their Majesties rest eternally in the Beyond,” Will replied, his head dipping once. Gianna smiled softly, her chin tilting as she considered his reflection. Silence settled between them, long enough that Will had to remind himself not to shift under the queen’s gaze.
“I am not beyond admitting my own faults, Will,” she finally said softly.
