“But the rebel base, though well-made, is a poor reflection of Nawie’s splendor. You’re in the heart of an underground empire that extends far and wide in every direction you can name. There are thousands of tunnels and caves, all carefully hewed from the stone of the island, all airy and fresh thanks to the raw magic pulsing deep underneath us. It brings in air and fresh water for those who need them. Most don’t, of course.”
Jaga stumbles, one small, out-of-rhythm step that makes her sway into him. I clench my jaw so hard, my tooth breaks. My magic fixes it at once, and when Chors helps her catch her balance, I’m as good as new.
“The island?” she asks with idle curiosity that might fool him, but not me. She’s planning an escape. Of course.
He looks back at me, his eyebrows raised. “You’ve been locked up with her for a month. Haven’t you told her anything?”
“She’s an ungracious listener,” I snap.
Chors laughs under his breath and tugs on Jaga’s arm to hold it more securely as we reach wide, comfortable steps. The staircase widens as we ascend, opening up to the large vista of the Hall of Fires that’s one level above my throne room. The stairs are bejeweled like everything else, with tiny emeralds and golden ambers embedded in every riser. The light here shimmers with magic.
I love this space dearly. It’s my home, my masterpiece, my pride. I fantasized about showing it to Jaga for a long time, back when she still lived in her village, so when I offered and she ignored me, I raged.
It’s sickening that Chors is the one who gets to do that.
“Nawie is an island,” my son explains. “In the south, the Struzina River cuts it off from Slawa. It’s bordered by the sea on the other side. Contrary to mortal belief, Nawie is not just underground. There are thick, dark forests above us, little lakes, even a mountain. The north coast is a series of high cliffs. Theyare magnificent on stormy nights, when the waves beat against the rock. I’ll show you one day.”
No.My chest sinks with a horrid realization. Is that it? Is he planning for their future? Will my beloved and my son be… together now?
I won’t allow it. Ican’tallow it. And yet, what can I do? She’s rendered me helpless.
If I force Jaga to be mine, she’ll only feed me more indifference until I go mad—and she’ll never trust me again. If I play good, keep trying even though I can’t seem to go a day without a lie slipping out of my treacherous mouth, maybe, in a thousand years, she will forgive me. But in the meantime, Chors will snatch her away.
I wish I knew which part of her is broken. I wish I’d done it all differently.
I wish she’d look at me just once.
Chapter two
Underworld
When we reach the Hall of Fires, Jaga stops with a faint gasp. Chors nods.
“Impressive, isn’t it?”
The top of the staircase is wide enough for ten people to stand abreast, so I pass them easily and step to the side, making sure Jaga sees me in her periphery. I need her to know I made this, that I am capable of creating beauty. That heartsick, pathetic thing that lives in my chest like a parasite stirs in an impossible hope that she will praise my creation.
I want her to love my kingdom.
But Jaga says nothing. Disentangling herself from Chors’ supportive hold, she walks into the Hall with careful steps, as if expecting some witchery to split the floor under her feet and bury her again.
I follow, mimicking her slow steps. The Hall of Fires stretches ahead of us, a mosaic of sparkling lights and smooth shadows, flames shimmering and dancing everywhere, rubies, ambers,and sapphires reflecting them. Precious gemstones are set in the walls, the pillars, the vaulted ceiling that glitters like a restless sea, its multiple arches filled with obsidian stones glinting with darkness, the protruding ribs bedecked in sapphires and ambers creating an impression of foaming waves of light.
I made the Hall to resemble a great fire, quenched by the great sea represented by the ceiling. Two forces at play, light and darkness, fire and water, destruction and birth.
The patterns in the walls are flames licking at shadows, rubies representing dark red embers, with yellow ambers glinting above, and cold blue sapphires at the tips. Multiple real fires are placed strategically to light some parts of the mosaic while leaving nooks and alcoves in shadow.
I held great dance reveries here, once upon a time. So much fucking happened in those hidden nooks, and then out in the open, too.
“To the times long past,” I murmur under my breath, raising my hand in a mock toast.
Jaga reaches the first pillar and stops, her hand extended, her fingers just a hair’s breadth away from a brilliant cluster of diamonds that form the tip of a flame. Their prisms play on the skin of her palm. She takes a breath, trembles, and snatches her hand away.
“It’s where I hold counsel,” I say, my voice low, choked by the uncontrollable longing for her touch.
I wish she’d stroke the stones, at least, because I shaped them and set them into this pillar. Her touching my creation would be like touching me.
“The Hall of Fires used to hold large gatherings. My generals and commanders gathered here, and we’d discuss war strategy. There would be maps, cauldrons filled with poison brought for us to test, weapons and beasts. I created new monsters to send into battle, made new metals for our swords, bowstringsso durable and supple, they could let an arrow fly right across Struzina. Invigorating times. Now, most of the strategizing, a pale shadow of the past, happens in the rebel base. No one comes here anymore.”
