Page 87 of Queen of the Night
I shake my head. “That can’t be true. The other Tulips haven’t struggled to pull luc?—”
He taps his temple. “Strong doesn’t always mean the amount of magic a person has.”
I’m still shaking my head in denial. I’m not strong likethateither. Look where I’ve gotten myself.So many mistakes… foolish decisions… and now Ikar is dead…
“Lucentia apparently felt the recently departed king had redeeming qualities, sending one of you with enough mental fortitude to go against the grain, to bridge with him and save the kingdom. You were her last effort, and he was horrifyingly close. The kings of Moneyre were absolute lunatics. Killing off their power source all those years ago, they’ve enabled us to return, and now we get to take advantage of Lucentia’s gift. You. Her weakness.”
“Her weakness…?” I murmur, but I remember Ikar saying something about this, and I’m not sure I want to hear Renton’s explanation.
“Yes. You see, that’s why she instructed the kings to protecther tulipsso carefully. You each carry a piece of her within you. When you bridge with me, her plan will come crashing downaround her.” He eyes my neck as if he can see my mark through my clothing, and I instinctively grab the ends of my sleeves in my fists and pull them snug over my back even though the heat is growing oppressive.
“You don’t have to hide it here,” he says softly, an understanding compassion in his eyes that makes me want to weep.
What is he doing to me?
“Habit,” I say unapologetically, releasing my sleeves and shoving my hands in my pockets so my body language doesn’t betray me any more than it already has. “I’m not interested in helping.”
He steps closer, eyeing me thoughtfully. “I believe that will change, given time to see everything you’ve been missing. Our people know how to show true appreciation and respect for the Black Tulips. You’ll be worshipped.”
I’ve given enough excuses, but this is the best of them.
The weapon I’ve kept hidden.
My sharpest sword.
I watch closely for the way his face will fall when he hears it.
“Your efforts are wasted. I can only bridge with aking—and the only king where bridging will affect the entire kingdom as a whole is the high king.”
“The position has recently opened.” I feel his dirtbag smirk from here.
Anger curls my fingers into the fabric of my pockets. I don’t even feel guilt for how fiercely protective I feel of the high king.Please don’t be dead.
“Not happening,” I nearly spit.
If I wouldn’t bridge with Ikar, I’m sure as blazes not bridging with this creep.
I don’t see him move, but suddenly, cold gloam wrapsaround my throat, and I find his lips beside my ear. The gloam caresses my neck, riding the line between lover and threat.
“You will, and happily.”
Chapter 48
Nadiette
Darvy leaves, drenched in sweat, with dark circles like bruises beneath his eyes. He doesn’t say it, but I feel a sense of despair about him since it appears we can’t pull enough magic to heal Ikar and keep him from the brink of death. He’s a mirror of my own fatigue. Out of all the originators, I am one of the most powerful, but it means nothing when there’s not enough lucent topull. Lucent continues to weaken, faster than any of us have ever seen. With its decline, gloam is spreading faster, even lingering in the castle and growing about buildings in Moneyre, places where there has never been a sign of it.
I slip my hand into Ikar’s, watching his chest closely to see that it is, indeed, still moving beneath the blanket that covers him. He hasn’t woken since he was returned to the castle, half-dead, two days ago. If not for his familiar clothing, I’d have thought him another soldier because of the charm he used to disguise his identity to go in search of thatTulip—I’ve heard all about the deranged woman who stole his heart and led him to his near death. I should have warned him further, but I knowhe wouldn’t have listened. I grimace remembering the way he responded to my previous pleas.
Now with the charm neutralized by Jethonan, I stare at Ikar’s handsome profile, longing for the days when I saw warmth and affection in his eyes instead of annoyance and frustration.What must I do to earn it back?
There’s a light knock on the door, and a guard opens it. “Nadiette. Your uncle, low king Waylon, is here to see you.”
I nod, but I’m in no mood to deal with my uncle when I can hardly stand. I squeeze Ikar’s limp hand once more before I slip out the door that is firmly closed behind me. Two guards stand in the hall, solemnly watching Waylon without expression, as if the mutiny in his mind bleeds out his ears and into the air we breathe, allowing them to sense it.
Waylon uncomfortably clears his throat and motions for me to walk with him. “The dratted soldiers wouldn’t allow me, a low king, entrance to his room. Unacceptable.” Then, almost beneath his breath, he adds, “But I hear our dear king is about to pass to the other side of magic.”
I scowl at the note of barely subdued glee in his voice. “He’s not. Who told you that?” I ask vehemently, though I know I lie.
