Page 39 of A Matter of Destiny

A line whispers through my mind, something I’d seen written in the Historian’s shaky claw-script right before Varitan poisoned me and I woke up in Rensivar’s chains.She will destroy the Throne of Claws. Rayne’s hatching prophecy.

I glance over at Rayne, and the slug of rum in my gut shifts uneasily as the ship rocks beneath us. I need to tell her what I found, damn it. I need to tell her that Rensivar is her father and that her hatching prophecy is a legacy of destruction.

Great. She’ll love that. My chest feels tight; I rub my knuckles over my breastbone and drag my gaze away from Rayne’s lips and the pull of her blackened dress across her chest.

My father is still frowning. I draw another breath and try again.

“Besides,” I continue, “what would look better for a potential queen than revealing the trap Rensivar has laid for the dragons? Wendolyn might not believe me, but I don’t think she could pass up her chance to save the Throne of Claws. Even if she thinks it’s a long shot.”

My father exhales long and loud; I can smell the rum on his breath. Then he leans back in his gilded chair, which creaks under his weight.

“Fine,” he finally says. “It’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

Coming from my father, that probably passes as a compliment. I try to smile in response, but my lips feel numb and frozen.

“We’ll split up,” my father says like he’s commanding his sailors. “I’ll fly to the Iron Mountains in my somewhat official capacity as a former consort to the queen, and I’ll see whose claws I can twist to get some answers.”

Consort to the queen. So my father knew she was the queen. Apparently, everyone in the entire world knew she was the queen. Except me.

“You,” he continues, pointing his chin at me, “sneak into the Iron Mountains. Talk to Wendolyn. See if she can be trusted to get a warning through a few back doors. I doubt we’ll be able to change the Queensmoot, but like the woman said, at least we won’t be going in blind.”

I blink. Sneak into the Iron Mountains? How in the Mothers’ many names—

“Oh. One more thing,” my father says, cutting off my spiraling thoughts. He turns toward Rayne and his eyes narrow. “Who in the nine hells are you?”

Chapter20

Rayne

Oh, so now Doshir’s father can see me? For most of the conversation between the two of them, I’d assumed I was invisible. If he hadn’t handed me that foul-smelling glass of rum I’d ignored, I would have been certain of it.

Geredan turns back to Doshir, and just like that, I’m invisible again.

“How did you end up working with a dragon from Valgros?” he demands before turning back to me with a scowl. “And how in the Mothers many names did a dragon survive in Valgros?”

Doshir opens his mouth, but his father cuts him off.

“It seems to me,” Geredan says, in a slow drawl that suddenly feels cold, “if we’re talking about who might be working with Rensivar, we should start with this room.”

My cheeks burn as the implication sinks in, and the words are out of my lips before I can stop them.

“Oh, fuck you!” I spit.

The look of surprise on Geredan’s face is worth a king’s ransom. I smack my palm against the smooth wood of the table, and some of the rum he’d poured for me sloshes over the rim of the delicate crystal glass. I’m viciously glad I didn’t drink it, and I just barely stop myself from smashing the entire thing against the floor.

“Rensivar murdered my mother,” I snap. “He abducted me as a child, took me to Valgros, and raised me to think the most I could ever hope for was a lifetime of servitude in the Valgros Army.”

And under King Donovan, my mind whispers, with a tight little knot of anger.

“He trained me to be a weapon,” I continue, “and, by the kings, that’s what I’m going to be. I’m going to be the weapon that explodes in his hands. I’m going to be the weapon that ruins everything for him.”

I fall silent, then realize I’m panting, as if I’d been running. My own voice rings in my ears; the room is absolutely still. It’s so quiet I can hear the soft slap of waves against the wooden hull of the ship.

And then Geredan laughs. It’s not as long or as loud as it was when Doshir suggested we talk to Wendolyn, but still, it leaves my chest tight and my cheeks burning. I’ve lost my temper with lots of people, sure, but this is a dragon, damn it. And he’s Doshir’s father.

His laughter stops, and I try to swallow the knot of shame rising in the back of my throat. Geredan shakes his head, then smiles at me.

“Fiery, huh?” he says. “I like ‘em that way. You two an item?”

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