Chapter33
Crusher of Dreams, Destroyer of Hope, Deliverer of Nightmares
Alobaz had lied to his prisoner.
Careful of the sneaky shadows that stretched their tendrils toward him from the walls, he traversed the castle for the dungeon.
It wasn’t the lie that bothered him.He demanded honesty of those closest to him, those he trusted with his life.It was only fair that he give them the same in return—at least whenever it was possible, when he wasn’t obligated to keep the emperor’s confidences or carry out his deceptions.
Lying to an enemy, however, was almost always necessary.And that’s what the woman was.
An enemy.
His prisoner, as he’d taken to calling her in his thoughts when he needed the reminder of who she was to him.Of all she would ever be to him.
Shortly after, he usually called himself names he would never allow another to direct his way.He had, in fact, once killed a man for calling him a small-dicked, ball-less coward.He probably would have dispatched the man anyway for being a soldier in the defense of former Lingdon, but where Alobaz usually killed by inflicting as little pain as possible, he dealt the insult-happy soldier a gut wound that would deliver a slow death.
It wasn’t the affront to his equipment that Alobaz took issue with, though he would have had to kill the man for saying it anyway as others had overheard.It was a matter of principle, a reputation Alobaz had to uphold.The more Opalesians feared him, the fewer he had to slaughter to carry out his father’s orders.
Alobaz had never lacked confidence in the cock-and-balls department.He’d lived in close quarters with other soldiers for most of his life.He was better endowed than most, and he knew how to best use the sizable gifts he’d been given.
It was the accusation of cowardice that Alobaz had a problem with.
He was a great many things, some of them good, some not so good, others the very reason for the name delivered as a curse or mentioned in hushed secrecy, its utterers casting worried glances over their shoulders, as if Alobaz would emerge from the shadows to gobble them up.
Ghalubu.
A word that endured from ancient times, when dragons were yet known only asfuerin.Ghalubuhad no current equivalent, but meant something along the lines ofcrusher of dreams,destroyer of hope,deliverer of nightmares.
Along with the fabled Igneosaur, a monster of indeterminate features that presumably had its origins in the Igneuslands, and that parents used as a threat to keep their children in line, the mere utterance ofGhalubuwas often sufficient to rattle even those old enough to have learned that monsters weren’t relegated solely to folktales.
Monsters were all too real.
And they were everywhere, often disguised.Monstrous visages rarely concealed the worst kind of monsters.There were those—many, actually—who idolized Junot.Not because he demanded submission of all his subjects, which he did, but because they believed he’d brought unity and security to their lands—after he’d had Alobaz kill anyone who stood in his way, of course.
As they always did, Opalesians saw what they wanted to see, and how they wanted to see it.What they perceived as reality was often leagues apart from the truth.
After all the villages he’d razed and the Opalesians he’d terrified, lies were the absolute least of Alobaz’s sins.
Today, Mauldrene was at last allowing him to cut a straight path—as straight as was possible in the winding, sprawling, labyrinthine castle.After days of analyzing his every move, his friends, too, had finally backed off.
Visiting her alone for the first time, his paces shortened as he descended the stairs to the lowest level.Only a few turns now separated him fromher.
Even after days since her assassination attempt, and a visit to her each day, he still didn’t know what to make of her.
When he’d told her he didn’t recognize her, he’d lied.Oh, he didn’t know who she was, that much was very true.The question of her identity kept him up last night—and the night before, and the night before that as well.But despite the mystery of her origins, there was something undeniably familiar about her.Inexplicably, he felt as if he’d known her forever, since even before his rebirth, when he’d been a man capable of redemption, deserving of it maybe, before he’d become this version of himself he wouldn’t have recognized—when he’d been content to lead a simple life with Arabella and Carina at his side.All he’d needed then was his little family.
Now, that was the one thing he could never have again.
Beyond reason, Alobaz had recognized his prisoner the very moment he first laid eyes on her, when she’d been looking at him from that alley.He’d known her then while also not knowing her at all, while excitement thrummed through his body at the prospect of meeting her.Of more than that, really, much more than that.When she’d been by logical accounts a total stranger crossing the street, he’d longed to trail his fingers and his lips along her skin, to hold her against him and never let go.
“You’re a right dumb fuck,” he muttered to himself under his breath while rounding the last corner.
Under a swath of lumoonlight, Moncho stood guard outside her door.When he saw Alobaz, he pushed off the wall he’d been leaning against and approached.
“Who’s the dumb fuck?”
“Lev,” Alobaz said.His friends were already fretting over him too much without becoming aware that he was practically mooning over the very woman who’d done her damnedest to stab him through the heart.
