Standing outside the column-like room where she had met him previously, Aizel waited as one of the guards removed the white ribbon from around her neck. Erich had replaced the spelled gem on the white ribbon with a shiny rock from the bottom of the riverbed.
Entering the room, Aizel noticed once again how the ceiling above her was so high the flickering light of the torches couldn’t even reach it. It made her feel as though she were looking up into an endless hole. Perhaps it would feel more welcoming during the daylight, but she didn’t particularly care enough to find out.
Standing before the king, she waited for him to initiate the conversation. As before, he was flanked by two older men and two hooded figures stood at the back of the room behind her.
The king merely sat on the front edge of his tall, thin throne, staring at her intently as he ignored the whispering of the advisors beside him.
Two could play at that game.
Aizel stared back at him, unafraid to look directly into his eyes.
After several long moments, even his advisors stopped whispering. Young or not, this man could command a room.
Finally, King Gareth raised his eyebrows.
Taking that as her cue to report, Aizel reached inside her sack and removed a long, colorful feather. The vanes were crumpled and the shaft was bent in multiple places.
“I bring you justice,” Aizel said, her clear voice ringing off the bare stone walls, echoing up into the cavernous ceiling. The tip of the feather in her hand dropped toward the floor, a crusted substance at its end weighing it down.
“The body?” The king reached out his hand.
Before Aizel could step forward, a guard appeared at her side and took the feather from her hand. Bringing it to the base of the throne, he handed it to the king.
The sight of the sad feather, swinging precariously at its broken joints, caused Aizel’s whole body to tense. She barely stopped her hands from tightening into fists. For her, that same plume had become synonymous with its owner. It was happy and carefree and a little excessive. Just like Erich was talkative, colorful, and animated.
Seeing the broken feather in the king’s hand—as opposed to swaying freely above Erich’s head—made her chest squeeze tight in fear. She had considered killing him in the beginning. And he wasn’t out of danger. When the king found out he was alive...
Suddenly, she desperately wanted Erich to live. Not that she cared for him...
She did care for him. And not despite his self-absorbed ramblings and unfiltered comments, but because of them. She had never known someone who could sustain such constant lightheartedness or who had no fear of speaking honestly.
Everyone on Istroya—all the Majis, that is—were exhausted. Yes, they were joyful, and occasionally even happy, but that was a rare gift. And none of them had the luxury of honesty. Her mother would always warn her never to speak of the secrets they whispered at night—secrets of magic and freedom and times long gone.
The thought of the real Erich being as broken and dead as the crumpled feather overwhelmed her with grief.
“He’s not actually dead,” she reminded herself internally. “He’s alive and well and even believed me.”
The king was staring at her expectantly. He had asked her a question.
Her mind raced, asking her ears if they had heard the words and remembered them. “Where is his body?” she finally stuttered. It was fine; she’d been prepared for that question. She took a big breath, stabilizing herself to refocus on the task at hand. “His body is in a large meadow west of the city walls. I... it’s over the edge of a cliff and may be difficult to access. I didn’t know what else to do with it to keep it a secret and all.”
“And you feel satisfied you have repaid what you stole from me?” The king swooshed the feather in front of his knees.
Aizel nodded, glancing to the side as she considered his question. She hadn’t planned an answer for this one since she hadn’t expected him to ask it. He was going to be the judge of the equitability of their deal and they both knew it. He was the Quotidian king and he would do what he wanted regardless of her opinion on the matter.
Rather than lie by answering his question, Aizel decided to push her own interests. “I have done as you asked. I have given you his life. You promised me a life in return. Where is my sister?”
The king sighed as he leaned back in his chair. “You disappoint me, sorceress.”
Aizel felt an odd tingling sensation run down her arm and over the back of her hand. She shifted uncomfortably, resisting the urge to rush forward and attack the smug young man sitting on the throne. Something was wrong.
“It is my greatest desire to unite the Five Kingdoms under a single banner, a unified whole.” His eyes were wide with concern. And hurt. “I thought we agreed on this point. I thought you would help me to achieve this dream. But no, you are like so many others, willing to put yourself before the good of the whole. Turio was right.”
Aizel shook her head, taking a step back from the sincere-looking young man. In some ways, he reminded her of Erich—but a version of Erich who was entirely too selfish to learn and grow.
That was another thing she loved about Erich. He had grown and changed each time he was presented with a new truth.
She pushed that thought aside. For now, she had to focus and save her sister. She hoped the king wasn’t toying with her, that he had not already harmed Celesta.
