Page 6 of Godsbane
“A truly breathtaking sight, I’m certain.” The words taste bitter in my mouth as I force them through a fake smile. Miles’ fingers grip the top of my knee under the table in silent support.
My eyes drift down the table to my best friend. Bubbly and bright, Quinn is a comical contrast to the Captain of Corinth who is strategically seated beside her. Things have been strained between us since her betrothal and I don’t have nearly enough time to make it right.
“Lady Adler, is it true that Nick will take over the daily management of the forge after the wedding?” Miles expertly directs the conversation. “I have been meaning to visit him and commission a new sword … one that’s very sharp.”
The rapping of a spoon on crystal halts the prattling as every eye turns to my father. Governor Fellows rises slowly from his seat, his voice booming in the quieted hall as he speaks.
“Esteemed nobles of the Emerald Region. Tonight is bittersweet. Not only do we toast the memory of a king, but also the continued longevity of our heir and the promise of a better Corinth.” He raises his wine-filled goblet, his soft brown eyes finding mine in the crowd. “To our future.”
“Here here.” A mumbled chorus echoes from the nobles. Pursed lips and soft sighs accompany the toast they half-heartedly make. The beast of their disapproval never takes a day off, not even on my birthday.
Their chatter resumes as the staff begins to serve the second course. The King’s death is the topic of the evening. I listen as my father boldly promises the one thing he has no power to control: that he won’t be following our former monarch’s steps anytime soon.
As if any of us have a say in the timing of our own end.
Through each course, my attention drifts to the dark presence at the end of the table. The ridiculous armor he wears to dinner, the slight dishevel to his hair, the uncomfortable way he shifts in his seat when Quinn bumps his arm with her overly-exaggerated hand motions.
I chase carrots around on my plate, prod potatoes with my fork—anything to keep my eyes off the source of the strange pull in my gut.
“You’re avoiding making eye contact with our guest, Ivy,” Miles says, dipping his head low so only I can hear him. “It’s a long way to Amale. You could have a littlefun.”
“I have fun.”
The blatant lie falls flat. Only on rare occasions have I ever allowed myself to let loose, too afraid of the secrets that I mightspill or the certain rejection that would cut deeper than any blade.
“Feast Week doesn’t count. Everyone who’s not a priest has fun then. I meanrealfun… without a mask on.”
“What’s the rule about Feast Week?” I narrow my eyes at him in warning. What happens during the debaucherous celebration is never spoken about aloud, a rule that Miles himself instated.
He waves his hand in dismissal as if the entire fate of a nation doesn’t rest on the success of this mission.
“Just enjoy the adventure! He could be a good ally to have on your side.”
Miles’ call to revelry falls on deaf ears. This is a political mission in which every move must be carefully calculated. But perhaps the Lord General’s highest ranking soldier could be a valuable weapon to have. The electric power within me forces me to steal one last glance at the ominous man.
“You’re considering it, aren’t you?” Miles chuckles as the staff synchronously clears the now empty plates from the long table.
“About as much as you’re considering settling down with that redhead I saw you with last night,” I quip.
“Ivy,” Miles says through clenched teeth. “Unless you want a duel over dessert, you should probably change the subject.”
“Oh, Lady Powell,” I call out, wiggling my fingers to get the attention of the woman sitting across from us. “I love your necklace. Is it new?”
Lady Powell’s gloved hand touches the thick pearl choker that barely covers the purple marks at the base of her neck before pulling her auburn hair over her exposed shoulder. “It is, Lady Ivy. Thank you for noticing. My darling husband brought it back from his travels.”
Miles stomps his foot on top of mine and I bite down the urge to grimace. The tinkling of a bell sounds again signalingthe end of dinner. Chairs scrape across the stone floor as the nobles stand to make their way into the various sitting rooms that occupy the first floor of the manor. Staff members carry trays of port, brandy, and frosted strawberry cake through the meandering crowd.
“I will get you back for that, Ivy,” Miles calls out playfully as I slip past him and into the swirl of departing ladies in green gowns.
A flash of golden hair against seafoam green catches my eye and I rush after my best friend. “Quinn!” I call out over the crowd.
Quinn turns, her honey eyes finding me as I sidestep past her father and future in-laws. Lords Bartlett and Adler pay me no attention, their focus fully trained on the black-clad man lingering at her elbow. A strange ache stabs at my chest and I grab a glass of port from a passing tray to calm my racing heart.
“There you are!” Quinn says sweetly as I deposit the empty glass on the table. “Ivy, do you know?—”
“Everyone knows the Captain of Corinth.”
The tan hand extended to me retracts to his side at my interruption. My gaze trails up the broad expanse of black leather until it locks onto the storm gray eyes of the deadliest man in Corinth.
