Page 33 of Queen of the Night
“Vera?” The echo of Ikar’s voice seems to come from every direction, all at once.
I readjust my grip on his heavy sword and forge ahead. Best be more careful not to hit the stone with it again as he’d likely hear it echo and never forgive me. I skirt around gaping death-holes and dodge the scattered growths trailing throughout the cave. Then I round another corner and stop. The narrow walkway opens into an enormous cavern, the ceiling shaped in a reverse-funnel, with a small opening allowing weak sunlight from the first of the three suns rising—enough to light up the scene before me.
Ikar swings upside down from what I am sure is a velvet widow’s thread, only instead of swinging behind a spider, it’s attached to the very high ceiling of the cave. Widows prefer their food… unalive, and are known for their patient waiting while their meals die a slow and miserable death. I shiver as my eyes dart around at the hundreds of other threads hanging empty around him. From what creatures, or long-dead people, I don’t know.
“You shouldn’t have followed,” Ikar scolds. “But since you’re here anyway, toss me your knife.”
“Did you try magic?” I ask.
“Of course.” He sounds even more irritated now. “There’s none.”
Naturally, Ikar’s face is red from the position the spider left him in, and I would have laughed at his irritated expression—the painfully handsome, untouchable Ikar hanging upside down from a widow’s thread—but my teasing smirk fades as my gaze is drawn to the way his shirt has slid up, revealing his remarkably muscled torso. I’ve never appreciated the force that holds us to the ground more than in this moment. My attention must be too obvious. He quickly tugs his shirt up and tucks it into the front of his trousers. It immediately slips back out. I’m not complaining.
“I’m going to need yourfocusbecause the spider is going to be back any minute,” he whispers as he once again jerks his shirt up toward his trousers and shoves it into the waistband.
My eyes rebelliously dart to where he holds his shirt to keep it tucked, then back to his face. “I’m completely focused.” I raise my brows innocently.
He works to keep his shirt tucked in. “Mmhmm.”
I stride forward like I have nothing to be embarrassed about and toss my knife up. Without hesitation, he snatches the handle with one hand. Rupi soars up to perch on the sole of his left boot and proceeds to offer him an assortment of encouraging chirps. I stand several feet beneath him, my attention now diverted to the shadowy, dark edges of the cavern. I really don’t want to wrangle with a velvet widow today.
“Anytime now,” I call up, still watching the entrances warily.
I turn as I hear a scuffle from somewhere beyond my line of sight, angling my body toward where I think it came from. The only problem is, Ikar’s sword is too heavy for me to fight with, even with both hands, so I slip my smaller sword from its sheath.
Ikar curses and grumbles something as his shirt continues to slip.
“Forget the shirt already!” I hiss, keeping my eyes on the slowly emerging shape to our left.
I hear the telltale popping before I see its giant black pincers. It steps into a ray of weak light and millions of intelligent, reflective eyes stare at me, followed by a body of deep violet that looks soft as velvet. A spider aptly named—a velvet widow. It approaches slowly, and I realize it’s eyeing me as bait, exhibiting a complete lack of concern for the swords in my hands.
I glance up at Ikar for a split second, hoping he’s almost free. He has pulled himself upward with his torso in what can only be described as an impressive ab hold, slicing through the thick rope that winds around his ankles and lower legs. In his effort, his shirt has once again slipped, and my eyes do an immediate double-take. Not because of his impressive build this time—though there’s that—but because I spot the edges of a scrawling black mark that reaches almost to his mid-back on the left side, and if I am correct in my assumption, snakes its way up and wraps around his left shoulder, then crawls down the upper left of his chest. Only a select few have a mark like that, and I know exactly what it means.
“You’re a king,” I whisper.
My grip relaxes on the sword handles as numb tingles travel throughout my body, and everything grows fuzzy.I arrested a king. I was alone with him for over a week. I’m stuck on this journey with a king.The weapons clatter to the ground.I kissed the high king.How did this happen?
I shake my head in horror. I am a Black Tulip. I do not associate with kings, or become friends with them, and I definitely do not ever kiss them. Ikar is good. Kings are bad.Ikar is a king.
I press my hands to my temples as I attempt to process what I’ve learned, but my world has tipped, and I have no idea which way is up.
“I kissed a king,” I whisper.
Chapter 21
Ikar
Icurse when I realize she’s seen my mark, but I have no time to consider the implications now, and neither does she.
“Can we not do this right now?” I ask through gritted teeth as I strain to hold my upper body high enough and simultaneously force the dagger through the fibrous, surprisingly dense thread that has seemingly been wound around my lower legs at least a billion times.
I tried to pull magic to tear it apart with strength, but not one of the thick ropes broke. There’s not enough lucent here without Vera’s help. I’ve never been caught in a velvet widow’s thread, but it’s worse than I ever imagined.
“A little lucent might help,” I call sardonically.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me when I arrested you!” she hisses from below, unwilling to wait for this conversation.
And apparently unwilling to lend me lucent.
