At first, I thought maybe he was trying to lull me into a false sense of security, but the king could have gotten rid of me a million different ways by now, and he hasn’t. Which means he wants me here, but why? It’s all so fucking confusing.
I brush my thoughts to the side, knowing no amount of harping on them is going to help me figure out what the hell is going on. I have no idea whose Naming The Horde thinks they’re gathering for tomorrow, and while I should spend some time worrying about that, it feels like tomorrow’s problem. Tonight, I have more pressing things to focus on.
A few lingering stares track me, Jori, Blay, and Herm as we navigate the keep, but no one stops us or voices the curiosity I see lighting their gazes as we make our way toward the royal towers. I’ve been quiet since we left the treasury. Thankfully, my guards for the day haven’t said anything or pushed to fill the silence. I know they heard what Lorn and I were talking about in the vault, and I think they’re doing their best to give me some space after the emotional exchange.
To be fair, I am stewing, but not for the reasons they probably think. Despite what happened down in the vaults of the Syphon Crush, I’m not currently locked in the ache and agony of the past. Instead, I’m doggedly plotting my future. The one that just got infinitely brighter with the discovery of the Vitric Port—or Syphon Glass as my father liked to call the magic mirrors.
The one I found is being delivered in a few hours, and when it does, I’ll be one step closer to turning my abstract conceptualizations about finding the cure for the Syphon curse into reality. What was only a notion before, a plan to take advantage of my current position here in Four Tiers and look for what the other Syphons and I have been hunting for decades, is now a real possibility. That is, if I can stay focused and cautious enough to not get caught. Something that might be easier said than done because I only know the basics about how a Vitric Port works.
My father told me and Enslee about the magic mirrors and what they can do when we visited King’s Keep. Not much longer after learning about the mirrors, I used one for the first time. It’s how my sister and I escaped the night our kindred and kith were slaughtered. I’ve never seen a Port since and haven’t given their existence much thought. Probably because I never imagined a scenario where I would be back in King’s Keep and in a position to use the Syphon Glass again, but here I am.
Now, if only I can remember exactly how they work. It should be as easy as dipping back into my memories, but the problem is I’ve spent the last sixty-two years doing everything I could tonotdo that. My mind isn’t a safe place. Too many things locked up in my head are shrouded in agonizing loss and trimmed with crippling fear.
Over the years, I’ve tried to separate out which thoughts, smells, and recollections are safe to explore. But trauma is corrosive. It eats away and corrupts everything it touches, turning even the most innocent memories into live grenades. I can reach for something from The Wells when I was little—somewhere untouched by death and destruction—but if I hold on for too long, if I spend too much time there, my happy recollections detonate into a horrible explosion of blood, screams, death, and silence. It’s how it always ends and always will, no matter what I do or how I try to get around it.
I can’t think of my mother’s smile or the way her gray eyes would sparkle when she looked at me without then seeing the fear and heartbreak on her face when she was surrounded and she knew there was no way out. Every thought of my father, of the way he lit up the day Enslee and I walked out of the gate in Four Tiers and into his arms is tarnished by the way he was torn apart in the end. And my brothers…
I shut my thoughts down. Blank my mind. Refuse to wander any deeper than I already have, which is a problem because I need to go back there. I need to remember exactly what we did to get out, and it’s going to fucking suck.
My mind drifts back to Enslee and the warning message I need to get to her. Maybe I can slip something to Nixy tomorrow when she’s getting me ready for my big Naming debut.
The elevator ride up to Aeson’s rookery is short. My ears pop as the doors slide open, a result of our drastic change in altitude. Jori, Blay, and Herm surround me as we exit the car and head down the now familiar wide hall. Bio scanners do a quick sweep of each of us as we approach the commander’s expansive quarters. Locks disengage on the thick, heavy, sealed door before it swings open, granting us entry.
“Welcome home, Ever Noctis and Royal Wing,” a robotic feminine voice greets as we cross the threshold into the rookery.
“What the fuck?” I ask no one in particular as astonishment lassos my limbs and I trip over my feet. Quickly I regain my balance and eye the open armored door with disdain. Every other time I’ve been scanned for access to Aeson’s rookery, I was greeted as “Authorized Visitor,” not Ever fucking Noctis.
Blay is wearing an annoying grin when he looks back at me. “Tove was doing systems checks in preparation for tomorrow. Looks like she made some updates.”
A wave of irritation laps against my shock, and I let loose a few choice expletives as I squash a tendril of approval that tries to spread through me. Point to Tove in our running tally of petty moves against one another.
Bitch.
I’m going to need to up my game.
Laughter bounces out of the open doorway. My head snaps in that direction, and I find none other than the aggravating Seeder herself, bent over at the waist and grabbing her side.
“Your face,” Tove chortles, her features bathed in glee. “You should have seen your face!”
Her guffaws set off a round of titters all around me, but I manage to stay stoic against the rising tide of their gaiety.
“Keep it up and see what happens toyourface,” I grumble, but it lacks any real bite as Tove backs up so we can enter the rookery.
She cheerfully sighs and rubs at a stitch in her side. Her hand is covered in the black vines of her dragon mark, and her brown eyes twinkle as she wipes laugh-tears from her cheeks. I notice her countenance is missing the usual vitriolic intensity I’m so used to seeing when it comes to Tove, but I refuse to appreciate the change since it’s at my expense. It does, however, make the chagrin of her well executed prank sting a little less—but barely.
“I was going to change it back later today, but I think I’ll keep it,” Tove taunts. “You know, for your protection.”
The small amount of amusement swirling within my aggravation instantly sours at the jab. My glower is caustic, but it only encourages her delight. I want to wipe the smug look off her face, but I’m no stranger to a good prank. It’s better to focus my energy on future retaliation.
And boy, am I going to retaliate.
“I’ll be sure to update my stationery posthaste,” I deadpan. “Maybe get it tattooed across my ass.” I stroke my chin contemplatively. “I think I’ll make you call me Mommy when Aeson and I finally make it official. Oooh, or Bestie. Maybe My Goddess, that has a nice ring to it.”
Herm’s chuckle helps to clear some of the satisfaction from Tove’s face. I blow a saucy kiss his way, and he pretends to pluck it from the air and tuck it into a pocket his scale armor doesn’t have.
“Ooh, I’m telling the commander,” Jori teases from behind me, and I roll my eyes at the schoolyard taunt.
We amble into the great room located in the center of Aeson’s rookery. It has a dining area off to my left that comfortably seats thirty, a lounge space made up of several sofas and half a dozen chairs, and a handful of emulators toward the back wall. Apparently, they can turn into any kind of gaming table in existence—or at least that’s what Chastain said when he showed me around on my first day here.
