Page 63 of Godsbane
Snow?It’s not unheard of this late in winter, but it’s certainly unexpected in the valley that protects Gathe from the mountains to its west. It's almost as if a god froze the water in the clouds and forced it to the ground so the outside could mirror the frigidness of my heart.
“I need to make you presentable, your Governorship.” Anna holds a boar-bristle brush in one hand, her other grasping a cluster of crushed godsbane she pulled from the mattress.
“Those are poisonous.” The words are scratchy in my raw throat.
The woman nods, never speaking as she starts to unpin and untangle the mess of hair that clumps down my back. Her brush snags on knots, but I don’t feel its pull. She could rip it from my head with her bare hands and I would be none the wiser.
Somewhere in the span of the minutes or hours that follow, Anna strips me of the purple silk gown and silver jewelry. She gasps when she finds the indentation left on my stomach by the silver brooch, the red impression of the sea beast stark against my ivory skin.
This mark hurts less than the first one the creature left on me.
I’m submerged in water, scrubbed until my skin pinks, and then dried with tender care. My wet hair is plaited and secured into a bun at the base of my skull. Clothes designed to fight the chill of the winter air are slipped onto my pliable body. Supple, double-lined brown leather pants, a thick cream sweater knitted in intricate knots, and knee-high brown boots. Across my shoulders, Anna secures my noose: a heavy woolen cloak in my region’s color.
When she is done, and I am finally considered presentable for whatever I’ve been summoned for, Anna steps back in a sweeping curtsey.
“The Lord General and his men are leaving this morning, Governor.”
I don’t pull my eyes from the pristine snow that covers the ground outside in thick blankets. The door clicks softly behind me but my thoughts are consumed by the glimmering drifts of white below. If we have any hope of traversing it successfully, I’ll have to use magic. Unruly magic, life and death commingling into a mass of wild power I’m not sure I know how to control anymore.
“Maybe they’ll all die in it,” I mutter bitterly to myself, turning away from the windows and forcing my feet to take me down the red-veined marble stairs.
The Captain of Corinth waits for me outside the open doors that lead to the dining hall. He angles slightly as I approach, blocking my view of the room with his broad shoulders. His posture is rigid, his face like stone.
But his eyes—Cal’s eyes—sweep over me in assessment. From head to toe and back up again, they search for any sign of physical injury. Every muscle along his jaw is clenched, a perfect mirror to the fists that hang at his sides.
“Meet me in the courtyard after breakfast.”
Cal’s voice is a low whisper, careful not to be heard by the passing servants carrying heaping platters of food from the kitchen. There’s an unmistakable tinge of pain in the lines of his face and the tilt of his lips, something even his normally convincing mask can’t hide today. His finger brushes against mine in the barest hint of touch as he steps back and enters the hall.
Lord General Marks, wrapped in a cloak made entirely of white fur, sits at the head of the long table in an oversized chair. Rollins must have a throne-like seat in every room of his godsdamned house. Sparkling rubies nestle between the swirling clouds and stiff mountain peaks carved into the dark mahogany above his silver hair. His unnaturally golden eyes watch me as I take my seat, a predator observing my every move.
“So glad you could join us, Ivy.”
His voice is viscous, syrupy on the surface to lure in his prey. But I am no easy kill.
“Governor,” I correct. “That’s my title now, and you will use it when you address me.”
“Such venom in the mornings,” Marks tsks, turning his focus to his captain. “You could have warned me, Callan.”
Cal takes a slow sip from his steaming mug, never breaking eye contact with his commander. When he doesn’t give Marks the satisfaction he seeks, the Lord General turns his attention elsewhere.
With the flick of a finger, he waves over a servant girl, her silver platter piled high with smoked sausages. She’s still wearing the scant ruby-red uniform, her whole body shaking in the drafty room as she attempts to place the meat on his plate.
“Someone light a fire,” I demand more than ask.
“A fire?”
Delight sparks in his eyes as a cruel smile overtakes his face. Marks pushes the heavy chair backwards, his royal mantle rippling behind him as he stands. Gods, it must have taken the pelts of two dozen wolves to make his mockery of a cape.
“Allow me.”
The Lord General lifts his thick fingers in the air and snaps only once. Flames explode from the logs stacked within the stone hearth, blazing to life without the strike of a match. Servants scream and run from the room, but Marks never takes his eyes off of me.
His smirk begs for a sign of surprise, a scream, anything that might make him feel powerful. Anything that might make me appear scared or weak. My face shows nothing but a cold neutrality, as if we are three completely normal people having breakfast instead of threeaevuswith hidden magic preparing to battle for control of a nation.
Marks slams his palms on the table, his cruel, low chuckle echoing through the silent room.
“I’ve sent notice of your engagement to the Royal Clerk. When the other governors learn that Kieran will be speaking for Emerald, well … they’ll thank me with their vote. Now run along home lest I use this power on you.”
