Page 2 of A Matter of Destiny

I pull myself up to attention.

“Yes, Sir,” I reply.

Ensyvir laughs again. There’s a scudding sound in the shadows at the far end of the hallway, as though someone was going to walk in this direction and then abruptly changed their mind.

“You’re a good soldier, aren’t you, girl?” he asks.

Well, there’s obviously only one answer to that.

“Yes, Sir,” I reply.

Ensyvir leans so close that I can smell the stale wine on his breath. The skin on the back of my neck prickles, and a shiver chases a droplet of rainwater down my spine.

“A good soldier,” he whispers. “Do anything for your king, will you, Rayne?”

It can’t hurt to look confused. I wrinkle my brow and hesitate before answering.

“Uh, yes, Sir,” I stammer.

Ensyvir’s laugh feels like ice cracking on my skin.

“Good, good,” he hisses. “Walk with me.”

He spins, leading me away from the king’s chambers and toward the barracks. A few people drift out of our path, spinning away as soon as they realize who Ensyvir is.

“Your dear King Donovan,” Ensyvir whispers, his voice barely louder than his footfalls on the polished stone hallways of the palace. “He is not long for the throne.”

I stumble, then catch myself. My heart thuds against the back of my throat. If Ensyvir turns left right now, we’ll end up heading toward the eastern parapet. We’ll be walking toward the hallway where I left Niglan Olovan, writhing and moaning on the walkway. Ensyvir laughs low in the back of his throat, like my little stumble amused him.

“You’d miss him, would you?” Ensyvir asks.

We pass the corridor on the left. Ensyvir doesn’t turn. My heart stutters, then resumes its slow work of keeping me alive.

“Of course, Sir,” I reply, because that’s what Ensyvir wants to hear.

Ensyvir stops so abruptly that I stumble again. The corridor leading to the eastern parapet yawns behind him, dark and cold. Before I can stop myself, I’m imagining Niglan Olovan staggering out of that darkness. Niglan Olovan screaming that I’d just come this way with two mysterious, injured strangers. That I’d claimed to be a dragon.

I force myself to meet Ensyvir’s eyes and to ignore the corridor behind him. Ensyvir watches me with a sardonic little twist to his thin lips, like he’s finding all of this rather amusing. I get the feeling he’s waiting for something, and I cast desperately through my brain, searching for the right response, the words that would convince Ensyvir that I’m the exact same woman he sent away to kill a dragon. That nothing at all has changed inside of me.

Because you love him, Doshir had said, as rainwater stung my eyes and the wind cut through my dress uniform. And it’s not true, it’s not love that I feel for King Donovan, although perhaps at one point it came close. But I never would have dared to use those words. I would have said—

“He’s my king,” I whisper.

Ensyvir laughs again, a low, rolling sound that makes my skin crawl.

“Foolish,” Ensyvir replies. “Foolish, foolish woman. But I must be feeling generous tonight, because it turns out I am in the exact position to grant you what you most want in this world.”

My heart stops. Doshir soars through my mind, his wings spread against the sky, churning the waves beneath him. Flying. Freedom.

“Your king,” Ensyvir says, and his voice twists like he’s making a joke. “If you are very, very good, Rayne. If you do exactly as you are told.”

Ensyvir leans so close that I can feel his breath against my neck, hot and thick. Something shifts deep in my gut; the back of my mouth tastes bitter.

“I’ll let your king survive,” Ensyvir hisses.

I yank backward, my heart and my head screaming at me to run. Ensyvir watches with narrowed eyes and a twisted little smile on his thin lips.

It’s a lie. It has to be a lie. Donovan is the king, by all the nine hells. Ensyvir serves at the king’s pleasure. We all serve at the king’s pleasure. Don’t we?

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