“Stay here. Talk to no one,” he says firmly. “Arax is close by if you need him. His heart may have softened in his old age, but his blade still cuts through bone with a single stroke.” Daed looks me deep in the eyes. “If anyone tries to disrespect you, command him to make them bleed. Do you understand?”
Though I’m sure he’s trying to reassure me, I’m more nervous now than I was before.
“I will return to you soon,” he says. His eyes roam over my face, a gentleness to his gaze. “You look beautiful tonight, Amara.”
I gulp and I’m sure my heart stops beating all together.
Daed leaves me at the table, joining his father and the others departure through the arch. My appetite leaves me similarly. Solena said that Baev’kalath alone cannot defeat the Legion. That it will take all the thrall houses, including this Modok from Mor’Thravar. I can not just stand here while those who care the least discuss the fate of The Grove. I should be there too, convincing them to fight for us.
I must know what is going on in that room.
I know what I must do, and as I discretely slip away from the table, avoiding Arax’s seeking eyes, I already regret it.
Chapter 14
The shadows are my cover as I slide along the walls and behind the dais to keep hidden from sight. Fortunately, the thrall houses are too preoccupied with gossiping about me to actually care whether I am present or not.
I approach the arch where Daedalus vanished, only to be blocked by a Reaper stepping into my path. At first, I think Arax has found me, but when the helm is removed, I find myself staring into Frane’s piercing violet eyes.
“Are you lost, Princess?” she asks, her voice laced with a hard edge.
“No,” I reply, straightening my shoulders and feigning confidence. “I’m just exploring.”
“Hasn’t anyone told you that wandering through Baev’kalath is dangerous? This fortress is so vast you might vanish forever, or tumble off a balcony and plunge into the ocean if you’re not careful.”
“I’m aware,” I snap, irritation bubbling to the surface at her attempt to intimidate me.
Her eyes skim over me, a look of distaste crossing her face. “I don’t understand what all the fuss is about. Of all the humans he could have chosen, what makes you so special? Was there really no one else?”
“I thought the same when I learned you’d taken Arax’s place with the Reapers. Mordorin stock must be in dire straits if you’re the best they can muster.”
Frane's fist clenches, the metal of her chain mail grinding ominously. She speaks through gritted teeth. “I should have thrown you off the ship when I had the chance. I may not be a lord, but I stand with their concerns. You will be the downfall of House Mordorin.”
I tilt my head, a smile playing at the corners of my lips. “Well, that’s wonderful news, isn’t it? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more exploring to do. Or would you prefer I summon my husband, the prince, so you can voice your concerns to him?”
Frane swallows hard, her glare faltering beneath her helm as she pulls it back over her head. She bows sharply, then turns on her heel, rejoining the banquet.
I release the breath I had been holding, though it sputters out, the corset squeezing me tight. I return to the archway and find a heavy, deep blue tapestry draping over the doorway. At the center of the fabric, a large ivory eye watches over several winged figures kneeling in prayer. The Pale Eye, no doubt.
Fae gods are mysterious things. To some, the Fae themselves are fit to be gods with their strength and their magic. So a being who can bring them to their knees must be a magnificent thing indeed. The Pale Eye and the moon are connected, I’ve deduced that much in my time here, and as she resides in the sky, she must be the mother above. Then who is the Father Below? Arax called him that. But did not give him a name.
My stomach churns and my throat goes dry. Or have I heard the name already?Gygarth.
I close my eyes, reluctant to recall the horror emerging from that impossibly black abyss, but when I see the flash of teeth and feel the heat of its breath on my skin, I gasp and my eyes open wide, watery with fright. Gygarth. The Father Below. Too terrifying for any tapestry or painting, and too nightmarish for even the Mordorin to idolize.
The smallest gap allows me to peek into the room behind the tapestry. There is no one inside the small square space, but there is a door leading to a second room. I slip past the tapestry, again keeping to the sides, my every step light and deft as a feline, even though the weight of my dress makes me feel more like a tiptoeing ox. The door is every so slightly ajar, enough for flickers of candlelight to dapple the floor and the low thrum of voices to drift on the air.
With my back hard against the wall, I notice a mural on the wall across from me. There is not enough light to see things clearly, but I strain my eyes to make out a backdrop of waves and several islands crowned with castles. The island at the center is the largest, with Baev’kalath written in cursive beneath it. The surrounding islands are much smaller, some close, some in the very corners of the mural.
Mor’Thravar. Eyr’Drogul. Thal’Morven. Fyn’Rothar. Gryn’Velcor. Jor’Thalas.
The islands ruled by the thrall houses of the Mordorin, all sworn to King Kaelus.
Mor’Thravar and their Lord Modok, who somehow escaped the banquet with his head still on his shoulders, are the most remote island, and much larger than the other thrall houses.
This must be why he is needed.
I stand as close to the door as I dare and hold my breath.
