“So, the throne is rightfully yours no matter who sits on it now.”
“I wish it were that easy.”
He’s quiet for a while longer, then he says, “Did you ever choose a suitor?”
A mixture of regret and anxiety settles deep in my chest. I try to make sense of the feelings, but my mind is a never-ending rope, all knotted up, and with no decipherable beginning. Nothing makes sense anymore. “Yes,” I respond quietly. “I chose you.”
If I’m not mistaken, he sighs with relief. I refrain from looking at Briony as she continues to ride silently beside us.
“Unfortunately, Iywan declined and insisted that I marry Rheon.” A shudder rolls through me at the thought of being wed to a man who once publicly flogged dozens of people for the sake ofsetting an exampleto the masses.
“Did you end up marrying him or?—”
“No, thank Rhianu. I fled before he could get his hands on me.” It’s a small lie by omission, but I can’t bring myself to tell Odgar about the torture that came before. Not right now. Not when I need to keep my brave face on to meet the king.
“Alright,revna, what do Ineedto know?” Odgar asks.
My heart struggles against my ribs, fluttering wildly like a flag in a windstorm. I draw in a breath and swipe at the tear that slips down my cheek.
I try to think of where to start the narrative. Uncomfortable heat pulses in me, rushing down my arms and into the palms of my hands. I lift them from the saddle and ball them into fists, but the tiny flames are still evident. Fuck. Of course this would happen right now.
Odgar murmurs something in Uldaran and pulls the horse to a halt. Beside us, Briony does the same. Odgar’s hands wrap around my fists and I start to tug away, but a cool sensation fills my palms. I stare down at his hand covering my fist—my skin is wraithlike against the coppery undertone of his light brown complexion. The tiniest ringlet of steam rises from our hands.
My eyes flare wide. “How did?—?”
He releases his grip, water droplets dancing along his fingertips for a moment before he grabs the horse’s reins again.
“Waterweaving,” I whisper. I glance over my shoulder at him but can’t crane my neck enough to see the expression on his face. “Is magic not outlawed in Uldarvik?”
“Outlawed, no. It’s considered a rare gift from the gods.”
I scoff. That’s not quite how I’d describe my flamewielding.
Odgar nudges the horse into a walk, prompting Briony to do the same. She looks as surprised as I feel about Odgar’s magic, but Briony is a woman of very few words most of the time.
“Do you trust me a little more now?” he asks, his tone gentle.
“No,” I say.
The soft rumble of his laughter fills my ears. “We’re almost at the castle. Tell me what you can about your situation.”
I release a breath. “Iywan was part of a group called the Zenith. They want to tear open the Veil to the Otherworld … Or, I’d say, technically the Underworld?”
“Why the fuck would they want to do that?”
“Ultimate power for Erleya.” I can’t bring myself to tell him about my connection to Enidwen. “They wanted to use me for it because my royal blood could sort of control whatever entity surfaces. That was their belief, at least. It’s bullshit, if you ask me.”
“I agree,” says Odgar.
“But they were adamant. They insisted that I help them decode the prophecy—as it’s in a language that I apparently can read. Don’t ask. But refusing to help them cost me one of my most trusted guards.” My voice catches. I’m unable to say Callum’s name aloud. The memory of his face as he confessed his love to me triggers the sensation of Eefa slashing me with her dagger. My hand shakily goes to my face.
“Who did that to you?” Odgar asks quietly, one hand resting on mine atop the saddle.
“It doesn’t matter. She’s dead now. They all are.”
“Well, she’s left you with a mark of survival.”
A scoff slips past my lips.
