Page 121 of A Dawn of Gods & Fury

“They say it is our history and our future,” a deep, melodious voice calls out, drawing our attention to the right, to a man dressed in black and red finery. “We do not know its origins other than that its construction was before our time. But it remains pristine with no effort from us. Truly a sight to marvel.” The man shifts his admiring gaze from the ceiling to me, revealing the prettiest robin egg blue eyes I have ever seen. “As are you, kal’ana.”

They keep saying that word.

Tyree never removed his hand from my waist. Now, his grip tightens. “Who are you and why do you call her that?” There’s a dangerous edge in his tone, much like the one he used just before he attacked the soldiers outside the gate.

“I am King Hadkiel, and I call her that because that is who she is.” The man smiles, showing off perfect white teeth. In fact, all of him is perfect, from his sculpted square jaw to his full lips, to the way his silver-gray hair frames his handsome face. He stands with confidence, his broad shoulders relaxed, despite there being no guards within the room and himself wearing not a single visible weapon. “‘The new kal’ana will arrive with Azokur, and the people shall be bathed with mercy,’” he quotes.

Tyree’s jaw tenses. “According to whom?”

“The lights of the night sky foretold it,” a female voice laden with the same harsh accent answers a moment before a figure cloaked in red sweeps in. Eight others trail behind her, moving like a pattern of geese. Their skin shimmers with gold paint.

“This is Yidara, my most skilled conjurer,” King Hadkiel introduces as they close in.

Yidara bows. “I am most honored, kal’ana.” She lifts her head and I stare, first at the odd, glowing scripture scrawled across her forehead, and then into soulless black eyes that seem to draw me into their depths, until I feel as though I’m sinking.

Tyree steps forward, putting himself between us in a move I would call protective—if it were anyone other than Tyree. It breaks whatever momentary daze I was caught in, leaving me feeling cold and bare.

“I am not familiar with this term. What does a conjurer do?” he asks evenly, steering the conversation.

Yidara’s lips curve slightly, as if she finds his blatant distrust amusing. “Many things, in light and shadow. We guide, we educate. We assess.” She lifts a hand toward him, revealing fingertips capped with odd gold-metal claws.

He seizes her wrist before she can touch him, the vein in his forearm rippling with tension. “I did not ask for a demonstration,” he growls before pushing her aside and stepping backward into me, goading me farther away.

“Your mate is protective,” she croons.

“He is not my mate,” I blurt, earning Tyree’s warning glare.

“No?” Her hairless eyebrow raises and she steals a glance toward the king. “Your defender, then. That is good.”

If only she knew our history.

“No harm is to come to our kal’ana, I assure you.” King Hadkiel’s eyes have never left me. “She is a gift from the sea and the stars and serves the highest purpose to the people of Udrel. She is to be honored and revered.” He hesitates. “And, if willing, she will become their queen.”

I inhale sharply as the king drops to one knee and bows his head as his words take hold.

The flock of red conjurers mimic him, and a clatter of metal at the doorway hints that the guards have as well. Soon, Tyree and I are the only two left standing in the grand hall.

I have never seen a king kneel before anyone. And was that a proposal?

He rises with a sheepish smile that is boyish, despite the etched lines around his eyes and forehead. “I apologize. I was so excited to meet you that I have forgotten my manners. You must be famished.”

My stomach grumbles in answer.

“May I have the privilege?” He holds out his hand, palm raised. I feel myself gravitating toward it, his words a soothing balm after all I’ve endured these past days. Finally, someone treats me with the respect I deserve.

“It has been a while since we last ate.” I shrug off Tyree’s hold and slip my fingers into the king’s.

A warm buzz of conversation churns in the dining hall. Well, hall is not the appropriate term for this room and the lengthy, oval-shaped table that fills most of it. Twenty strangers sit around it with us—certainly nothing like the nightly affair in Cirilea—sharing jovial stories of children and grandchildren, and the latest household gossip that servants giggled about during daily tasks. It’s all very quaint and familiar, and nothing like I am used to.

Beside me, King Hadkiel has remained mostly quiet, listening and smiling, stealing glances at me often.

I find myself wanting to strike up conversation. “So, these are your advisors?” I pick off a piece of succulent meat from the bone. The table is laden with platters of various roasts drenched in gravies, root vegetables, and breads, and endless carafes of wine. I’m so ravenous, I’m struggling to remember decorum.

“Mostly.” King Hadkiel dabs a napkin at the crumbs on his lips. “Plus a few special guests who heard of your arrival and rushed to the city to see you for themselves.”

“No family?” Tyree watches us evenly from across the table, having barely touched his meal, sparing a frequent glance at the conjurers who stand sentry around the room as one would expect of the royal guards. His distrust seeps into the air.

“I lost my children and wife long ago. I am alone, unfortunately.” Blue eyes land on me. “Though I hope to change that soon.”

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