I shake my head, “Not yet.”
I’m not ready to choose, not ready to let go of the male that holds me like I’m something precious. Because either path I take begins with the revealing of myself, and the male embracing me seeing me for exactly what I am.
“All right. He’ll be at the masque. You can meet him then.” He drops a kiss on my temple. “I need to help Riesh organize the guards. Maybe you’d like to visit Media?”
The idea of visiting the woman strikes me as odd until the general leads me to the kitchens and I survey the route like a military strategist for the first time.
It’s an unlikely place to look for someone, if the palace were to be raided, and the corridors leading to the kitchens are a bit of a maze. Guards line the narrow, easily defensible halls, and as if all of that were not enough,the general leaves me in the care of a feyn by the name of Faidra.
Faidra’s bright red spirals are a beacon compared to the dark auburn locks of Siserie. She touts radiant eyes in a similar shade of green, a honey complexion and a uniquely lovely freckled face. The female is no soldier, it’s obvious by the brown gown she wears and her flippant attitude. I can’t help but wonder if the color of her hair is any indication of the female’s gift as I watch her joking with Sera on the other side of the room.
“Come back for another history lesson?” Media cackles warmly when she sees me enter the room.
She knocks the leg of an empty chair with her cane. I smile at the woman and pull the chair up to the fire, taking a seat beside her.
“I never thanked you for all that you shared with me when I came to visit before,” I say.
Her eyebrows creep up her head and her lips quirk up on one side. “You still haven’t.”
I grin and thank the woman, appreciating her humor as much as her candor.
“Truth be told,” she sighs, rocking back in her chair, “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. You didn’t seem particularly convinced by my tale.”
“I’ve seen a lot since then,” I admit.
Her shoulders bounce as she chuckles. “Funny, the things that can change us in such a short amount of time.”
She has no idea. Or maybe she does. Either way, she seems satisfied when I agree with the sentiment.
“What more do you know about the Vatruke?” I ask.
“Only what is written in the history books. There were eight of them, one born shortly after the sundering, one lost to the war, and one who abandoned their cause.”
“Nine,” Faidra corrects the old woman around a mouthful of bread, raising nine fingers in the air. “There were nine after the sundering. Then the child was born.” She adds a finger. “Then Muri was killed in the first war, she was the most powerful,” she says, directing the last statement at me, lowering her finger again, “leaving nine Vatruke in the veil.”
Media harrumphs at the female, waving her over as she glances at meapologetically.
“It’s been years since I’ve been asked to recall such things,” Media says, “and as cantankerous as this one can be, I do trust her memory of it.”
“You should,” Faidra says pridefully. “My professor just covered the Vatruke during my lessons. I had to write ten pages on them.”
“How old are you?” The question slips past my lips before I can pinch it back.
“Sixteen. How old are you?” she asks, completely unbothered.
“Twenty-four,” I answer.
Her eyes bulge. “Aren’t you a little young?”
“I’m older than you,” I say, unable to stifle the annoyance in my tone, oblivious to what she might mean.
“I mean, aren’t you a little young for the general?” She smirks.
My cheeks heat, and she waggles her eyebrows at me.
“Faidra, leave the girl alone,” Media sighs, “You’ll learn soon enough that there are some things, destined by the fates, that you have no control over.” She pulls a light quilt over her legs and clears her throat. “Anyway, tell us what you’ve been learning about the Vatruke.”
CHAPTER 30
