“And did you have anything to do with having my family and my people ambushed and murdered so you could take the throne?” I ask point-blank.
His eyes fill with an unfathomable amount of agony, but his features soften. “No, Ever,” he answers, his tone laden with emotion. “I couldneverhave hurt your kindred. They were my kindred too in so many ways. The crown was the last thing I wanted, but I took up the mantle rather than see The Horde destroyed from infighting and mistrust. I wasn’t going to let everything your father worked for die with him.”
King Noctis runs a tired hand down his face, and for a moment, I see clearly the toll all of this has taken on him.
“I never wanted the throne, not for me or my boys,” he goes on. “I would trade this position and power in a heartbeat if I could have your father, Paloma, and your brothers back. I’ve done everything I could to honor my best friend’s memory. I’ve hunted those who betrayed him, brought them to justice, or so I thought until you told us there was more to all of this than we knew.”
His sorrow is palpable, genuine, and the authenticity of it undercuts everything I thought I knew about the king. I should feel relieved by Kathal Noctis’s heartache. My father’s love and trust wasn’t misplaced. And yet, all I can think is that I’m back to square one in my search for who’s responsible for all of this loss and pain. Up until now, the Noctises betraying the Tenebraes made the most sense. All the threads lined up perfectly.
But ever since I was brought here, the big picture isn’t revealing what I thought it would. Which means I’m once again nowhere close to figuring out what really happened that night. And for the first time, I’m starting to wonder if I ever will. If Kathal Noctis didn’t betray the Syphons…then who did? And if the King of The Dragon Horde isn’t my enemy…then what does that make him?
His gaze flits over my face, and the room grows quiet as he takes his time to survey me. I’m not sure how much he can make out in the dark, but it reminds me of the way Lorn and Aeson looked at me in Lairwood when I first told them who I was. I can tell he’s looking for my father in my features, and something about the earnestness in his search makes my chest ache.
“I promised your father I wouldn’t tell anyone who didn’t need to know about the Syphon Glass,” he explains, his fingers tracing abstract patterns over the arm of the sofa he’s leaning against. “I take my oaths seriously, even when I’m the only one left to do so.”
“So my father trusted you enough to tell you about his magic mirrors but not enough to tell you about me?” It’s a harsh question, maybe even a brutally unfair one, but I have to ask. My father seemed to entrust this male with so much, why not that too?
King Noctis doesn’t get upset. There isn’t even an ounce of defensiveness in his demeanor; he suddenly just looks really sad.
“I wish Merik had told me,” he murmurs, but I don’t know if the declaration is for me or him. “If I had known you existed, Ever, I would have stopped at nothing to protect you.”
Steely blue eyes meet mine, and I struggle not to squirm under the weight of a stare that feels far more paternal than I’m prepared for. I’m not sure what to make of that, so instead of analyzing it too closely, I rally my indignation.
I don’t want his sympathy, and I don’t want to feel sorry forhisloss, not when my own is so overwhelming. I’ve spent so much time pitting myself against The Horde and everything that was taken from me, I don’t know what to make of these gray areas the Noctises are unveiling in my black-and-white world. I wasn’t prepared to have holes poked through my carefully curated anger, not when I can barely keep the underlying chasm of sadness at bay as it is.
King Noctis takes me in like he can see all of that written across my face. I realize with a start that he’s looking at me the same way he was looking at his sons, and it unsettles me more than anything else he’s done till now. There’s a compassion and care in his countenance, neither of which I’ve earned or know what to do with.
“I tried to get to your father. I was the first to make it to his rookery…to see what they’d done…” The king’s eyes leave mine, and his thoughts drift elsewhere while his words taper off.
He doesn’t need to say anything else; we both know what he saw. We both know what he found in my father’s tower. That truth drains some of my pique, and a weighted weariness trickles in instead. My shoulders sag and my gaze wanders to the surrounding bookshelves. The king wipes at the corner of one eye and collects himself as he clears his throat.
Watching him carefully tuck his anguish away so he can focus back on the matter at hand does something to me. I can’t count the number of times I’ve done the same over the years. And I realize, in this moment, that we both mourn my father. We both live with the horrors of his final hours. And we both grieve in stolen moments coiled between everything else that’s demanded of us. Loss has aligned us and it’s also driven us apart.
“Who were you hoping to find in my census records?” King Noctis asks after a long stretch of silence.
With admirable finesse, he circles back to the unanswered question he first lobbed my way. He holds up a hand, like he’s already anticipating the lie I’m working to string together.
“Think carefully on what you’re about to tell your king, Ever Tenebrae. Like I said before, I’m not your enemy. Not unless you put me in a position where I have no choice but to become exactly that.”
“I haven’t sworn fealty to you,” I counter, but he waves it off like it’s a trivial detail.
I study him, and he patiently returns my silent scrutiny. I swiftly flick through everything I heard him talk about with Aeson and Lorn. I could approach the king’s question from a lot of angles that are technically true, but which one is going to get me closer to what I want, to what I’m here to find?
My heart hammers hard against my breastbone. I can’t tell if it’s urging me on or begging me not to do what I’m about to.
“I’m looking for members of the Relacour bloodline,” I finally answer after a prolonged, weighted moment.
I can tell instantly that my answer has surprised the king. He sits up a little straighter, and a budding shrewdness blooms in his gaze.
“And why would that bloodline interest you?” he asks, the question a perfect balance of polite interest and nonchalance.
If I didn’t already know what I do about sorcai and the Relacour line, I wouldn’t find anything amiss in what he’s asking me…lucky for me, I do. I loose a measured and calculated sigh and relax deeper into my chair.
“I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what happened the night of the rebellion. I’ve combed through every report I could find. I’ve examined every account on record of that night. And I noticed something. A lot of the sorcai involved in the rebellion were Blood Crafters. More specifically, Relacour Blood Crafters. There were other sorcai that participated, but when I looked into who, I realized that a startling number of them descended from branches of the Relacour line too.”
I purposefully fidget in my chair and then thread my fingers together to look like I’m trying to stop my nerves from peeking through. King Noctis’s gaze tracks the show I’m putting on, but he doesn’t say anything as he waits for me to continue.
“It’s a connection that means something. I can’t say exactly what, but I suspect Blood Crafters, or more specifically Relacour Blood Crafters, were involved in the curse that kept the Syphons from shifting the night they were killed. That means they know why, to this day,Istill can’t reveal. I want to ask them, but the sorcai involved in the rebellion are all dead. And when it comes to the other Blood Crafter lines, most of them have been wiped out or they’re in hiding for fear of being wiped out, like I was. If I could just talk to one of them though, I might be able to figure out how to reverse what they did. That’s who I’m looking for.That’swho I’m trying to find.”
