Page 3 of Crown of Iron
Micah places his hands inside a silver bowl sitting between the thrones. He removes them, revealing hills of sand in his palms. They’re the minerals his gift as a Jorden allows him to manipulate. He tilts his head back and the gritty fragments swirl until he holds tiny tornadoes. Borin reaches out with his light, placing his glowing hands over his husband's. The merging of the powers of a Jorden and a Solsta is a spectacular sight, glittering specks of sand set in a rainbow sky.
“Accept these rings as symbols of the bond you make today,” theking says.
Leif and I step forward, and Borin removes his hands from Micah's, revealing two slender iron rings.
The Sibyl takes the tokens of our promise and lifts them to the sky. Their hands shimmer like millions of tiny stars as they say, “I ask you to bind Raelle and Leif to the promise they have made before you, Sacred Statera. Let their word hold true until they are bound in your presence as wife and husband.”
As one, those around us respond, “Let it be, Sacred Statera.”
Leif and I slide the rings on the other's finger, and a heavy power flows through the cold metal; a constant reminder how the Statera has made our promise unbreakable.
I meet Leif's gaze, and we exchange awkward smiles. My hand is slippery inside of his and perspiration trickles from my hairline and down my spine. This is also a moment I’ve dreaded. The Statera knows I'd rather not share our first kiss with an audience, but I have no other choice; it's expected of us.
I close my eyes and ignore the unsettled rolling in my stomach. Leif's warm breath brushes my lips, and I pucker.
The doors of the sanctuary blow open, slamming against the wall. Leif and I jump away from each other, watching a tall, lithe woman in a sleek, black gown and a jewel-encrusted crown saunter down the aisle. “By all means, do not let me interrupt you,” she says, her voice a smooth, smoky sound which sends a chill down my spine.
My head pounds and I struggle to keep focused as she stops before the dais and flips her long ebony hair over her shoulder.
“Esmeray,” Micah spits.
The queen places her hands on her hips, and her red lips turn upward. “Brother.”
The onlookers shift in their seats and share whispered exchanges. The brother and sister are the reason for the war in our land. They were meant to rule side by side, but their views on the treatment of Cyffreds tore them apart. Now our land is split, two kingdoms, which were once one, ruled by the Lucent king and the Stigian queen. Not since the treaty, which allows our people to choose which half of the kingdom they wish to belong to, have the twins stood in the same room. And it appears time has not softened their disdain for one another.
“Raelle?” Leif whispers, nudging me.
His eyes are wide with alarm, and I hurry to follow his line of sight, past the queen of Stigian to her entourage. My heart stops and plummets to the pit of my stomach like a stone sinking in a depthless sea. I clap my hand over my mouth, suppressing my gasp as tears blur my vision.
Standing with our enemy is the man who was once our king's general and best friend—my father.
My father's appearance has withered. The brown hair at his temples is gray, worry lines mark his forehead and the corners of his mouth and the bulky muscle that once covered his frame has gone soft. He no longer wears a finely tailored general's uniform, replacing it with a black silk shirt and handcrafted boots. They’re luxuries given to the Cyffreds of Stigian for their “selfless”act.
He's one of the many who the Stigians siphon dormant power from.
The man who led our army in the battle for equality and just treatment of all people has given himself over to his enemy. My father loathed the way the Stigians exalt Khiros, treating them as superior because they can wield their gift. They use the Cyffreds for what lies dormant inside them, showering them with material objects while sucking away their stagnant power which is their life force. To the Stigians, Khiros are gods and the Cyffreds as glorified cattle used to amplify their gifts. My father is now seen as such.
A throaty snicker has my gaze darting to Esmeray. Her eyes are black, endless depths, void of emotion. I’ve never seen anything like them in real life, but I’ve heard about the soulless black eyes of the Stigians who siphon power. The horror stories of my childhood didn’t do them justice. They truly are worse than they were in my nightmares.
I shudder under her scrutiny as she examines me from head to toe, sizing up her future adversary. Amusement quirks her lips to one side and an airy sound almost like laughter vibrates in her throat. I must appear unformidable to her—a delicate flower shadowed by the towering oak of her power. I hold my chin high, refusing to bend under the weight of her scrutiny.
“You did not think I would let your father miss such an important moment, did you?” she asks.
I remain silent, gnashing my teeth together and holding her gaze. My head pounds slow and steady. With each beat, it intensifies like fingerssinking into my brain and flipping through each thought. It's not until Esmeray slowly smiles without a trace of joy that I realize what is happening.
“Get out of my head,” I hiss.
“You were so hopeful that he did not leave you for me, but he is mine now,” she says.
Hatred and anger rise within me as her gift loosens its probing hold on my mind. She violated my thoughts, stole my most private wish, and made it public. My hand bolts for the sword at Leif's side, unsheathes it, and I point the sharp edge above the gaudy pendant at the queen's throat. If the queen wants to use her powers as a Cognus to know my thoughts, then let her see the ones depicting all the ways I want to slice her apart.
Esmeray doesn't so much as flinch as my mother springs to her feet, stretching her hands to the sky. “No, Raelle!”
The vines from the ceiling slither down and quickly wrap themselves around my torso, trapping my arms to my sides. But my grip remains firm on the weapon. “Fuck you, Esmeray,” I growl, thrashing against the restraints controlled by my mother.
The queen straightens the bright orange gemstone hanging from the golden chain around her neck and clicks her tongue. “Borin, your instruction is lacking. Not only does the girl have a foul mouth, but she seems uneducated on the treaty which brings me here today. And more importantly, sacred protocol when in a holy place of the Statera.”
The leaves around me tremble from both my rage and fear. I fight the urge to spit in the queen's face, settling for clenching my teeth so tightly my jaw aches. I have countless reasons to hate this woman. She has lured so many away from our kingdom with her shallow promises of a better life and ostentatious riches, and now she flaunts my father. She acts as if he is her most prized possession, instead of the missing link to my family.
