Page 88 of Kissed By the Gods
But that’s not what I find when I turn the corner.
King Agis is there, kneeling in the dirt in front of a young girl with blonde, curly hair. She’s an absolute miniature of him, probably 12, and she’s grinning at the King of Faraengard with trust, excitement, and a look that says she’s the powerful one in that relationship. He holds both her hands like he’s loath to let her go.
“Father,” the little girl placates him, “don’t worry. I’m ready for this. I’m ready to train with Elowen.”
Her coat is a little big, giving her room to grow over the winter. And he … he’s staring at her like she hung the stars, as if she lit the moon with her bare hands and guided it into the night sky. Seeing it steals the breath from my lungs, because that’s how my father used to look at me.
It guts me.
King Agis is the reason Levvi and Alden and Irielle are dead. The reason my parents are dead. The reason my people starve and huddle and scrape. I hate him.I hate him. But now, he doesn’t look like the architect of all my nightmares.
Here, he’s just a father with his daughter, and I don’t know what to do with that. Elowen, standing behind the little girl, laughs and places a hand on the child’s shoulder. There’s a deep kindness and compassion as she stares down at King Agis.
“I’ll take good care of her, Father.” Elowen says.
Father.
I’d forgotten Elowen is a princess of the very realm I hate—not only my friend, not only the healer with dirt under her fingernails and a friendly hug. She’s his daughter. The sameblood that ordered The Collection, that turns homes into ashes and children into corpses, runs in her veins.
I stumble back, desperate to get away from this, but my steps are clunky and the frost crunches beneath my feet. The king’s head snaps up, and his eyes find mine. The father disappears before my eyes as he comes to his feet, regal and proud and so fucking arrogant.
He scrutinizes me like I’m nothing at all and, somehow, also a threat to everything he’s ever worked for.
Elowen steps forward, reaching for me, “Leina—” But King Agis holds up his arm, blocking her, holding her back from me as if I’m a threat.
I’m not a threat to Elowen.
Right?
“I hear you’re excelling in your training, Leina of Stormriven,” he says.
I stiffen my back, tearing my gaze from Elowen, from the empathy in her eyes, and the confusion puckering the young child’s brow. “Keeping tabs on me, King Agis?”
His face is a wall. Not a smile, not a frown. Nothing. “I would be stupid not to.” He steps toward me and looms. But I keep my eyes trained on his, reminding myself that I’m not a serf anymore. I’m a godsdamn Altor, and I bow to no one. Not even him.
“And you’re not stupid,” I say, my voice shockingly level. It occurs to me, as if I’m observing both of us from a distance, that I’m a wall, too. Any warmth, any hint of softness, of humanity, is gone—buried under an avalanche of ice. He studies me for a beat, the kind of silence that prickles along your spine. Then he tilts his head slightly, like I’ve confirmed something for him.
“No,” he agrees. “Which is why I tend to remove threats before they become untouchable.”
Elowen stiffens, her hands dropping to the poultice she carries at her belt, as if there were any herbs in the world that could deal with this. “Fath—” she starts, but he raises that hand and cuts her off again.
I ignore her. So does he.
“I believe you’ve already tried that,” I taunt. I smile, but not with warmth. I make sure of it. Something flickers behind his eyes. Not anger. More like interest, as though I shifted from annoyance to complication.
“You've survived things that would break most,” he admits. He smiles now, too. “That kind of tenacity is admirable.”
“How is the investigation of the treatment of Selencia progressing?” I ask, taunting him.
“Slowly,” he says, his voice smooth. “Bureaucracy is a stubborn thing, even for a king.”
He’s taunting me back, but he’s much better at it. My stomach twists. We both know what he means—nothing’s changed. The people are cold. They’re hungry.
His smile is a blade wrapped in silk, and the sting of it aches even as he turns away. I’m already forgotten. He offers Elowen the faintest nod, and then he leans down and flicks a finger down the girl’s nose. She giggles like the world is still bright and whole.
That small gesture, the tenderness of it after everything he said, makes me tremble.
“You listen to your sister, now,” he says to the child, sternly, but you can hear the softness under the words. “You’ll make an excellent healer, Siofra.”
