Page 17 of Kingdom Of Veil And Vow

Never let anyone know of your weaknesses, he had whispered at my back as my blood spilled onto the soil beneath my knees. Then he ordered his men to slit her throat right in front of me. He couldn’t have anticipated that what he aimed to use to destroy me would only fuel me. In a way, he ushered in his own destruction then, because I took his words as a vow that may as well have been inked in my spilled blood.

When we return to the castle, I find the king in the library, a book spread open in his lap and a cup of tea steaming on the dark wooden table at his side. Jerrick stands behind him, a glare aimed in my direction as I near. “Your Majesty,” I say in greeting, bowing deeply and then rising slowly.

King Dolian doesn’t bother looking up from his book. “What are the latest numbers?”

I relay everything Brisk, Grayson, and I saw at the sanatorium, garnering a furrowed brow only at the end when I mention that they have brought women to the third floor.

“It is supposed to be for men of the guard,” he snaps, as if I’m the one who approved bringing them there.

“There are so many—”

“Tell them to find new spots for them.” He reaches for his tea and takes a careful sip before closing the book and setting it down next to the porcelain saucer. He doesn’t meet my gaze until he is standing, shoulders drawn back and a hand slid into his pocket. “They are to use their resources on those capable of joining the guard. Even with the draft, our numbers are not nearly where I would like them to be.”

“Is there a threat to prepare for that I am not aware of?” I ask, head cocked to the side.

King Dolian studies me, his hazel eyes undoubtedly mortal, and yet, somehow, glowing with his ire. No matter the years that have passed and the plans I have made, there is still a small part of me that threatens to shrink beneath that gaze. That fears he will stare long enough and discover the building coup against him.

“A man must always prepare as if there is a threat,” he answers, lifting his chin. “Especially a mortal king. Our allies are few and far between, and in a world where there is magic, whether it is impeded by a Spell or not, our strength has always lain in numbers.” He grins, the sight wholly uncomfortable before he turns to address Jerrick. I catch the title of the book set on the table. The Little Sun. “Ensure that the details for the dinner with our Trusted candidates are confirmed with the kitchen.” The what? Jerrick nods, a smug grin on his face as he bows his head and then leaves.

Biting back my annoyance, I follow behind the king as he walks from the library and into one of the main halls. I have no doubt that he dropped that information in front of me for a reason, and I swallow back any curtness from my voice as I pretend to fall right into his trap. “Your Majesty, are you looking to gather the candidates Jerrick and I have for the Trusted positions?”

He makes an amused sound, taunting me. “Don’t worry, Xander. I planned to speak with you about it on the way to our next stop.” My teeth clench as I take in the framed portraits on the wall, all the art work the king has commissioned in an attempt to hide the truth of what this castle is: a tomb for his worst memories. “There will be a simple dinner for you to bring your candidates to. It will be the first initiation of sorts into the trials for becoming a Trusted.” He looks over his shoulder at me, something unsettling glinting in his eyes. “Despite being privileged to have avoided said trials, you do remember that it is protocol to do so, correct?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” I answer, though joining the Trusted was never about privilege. I hadn’t been given a choice at all. We weave through more guards and noblemen, each showing deference to the king as we pass.

“Bring your men to my dining hall tomorrow evening, and we will see what they are made of.”

“As you wish.” I begin cycling through my potential candidates, a rough list already in my head of who might be perfect to fill the three open spots, when I take note of the direction King Dolian has led us in. A few short moments later, we stand in front of the door that leads to the dungeon.

King Dolian’s voice resolute as he looks at me from the corners of his eyes. “Let’s see if my newest prisoner is ready to talk now.”

Chapter Eleven: Siyala

“Mama, I don’t understand why I can’t come with you! I do my schooling at home anyway!” Trailing behind my mother as she gathers clothing from my closet, my stomach flutters with nervous energy. Magic curls around my spine, but I don’t want to shift right now. Right now, I just don’t want to be left behind.

“This trip is not one for children, I’m afraid,” she counters, her dark brown braid swishing side to side as she carries an armful of clothing and stuffs it into a large satchel. “Besides, you cannot miss a week of studies. When I agreed to let you do schooling at home, it was because you promised you would work just as hard as your peers.” I frown, as if I truly chose to do schooling from home. Like I wasn’t driven there by the pitying looks and gossip whispered about my family—about Papa. “Kenji promised that he would help you should you have any questions, and you can work on his farm to earn some money so that when I return, we can go shopping.”

“Mama, I don’t care—”

“Think of it as a little vacation, yes? I’m sure it can be boring being cooped up in this house all the time. Alone, now that—” She pinches her lips shut, forcibly stopping herself from continuing. For once, I wish she would. I wish she would say out loud what we both know to be true. But she doesn’t. Instead, she folds the last of my clothing in silence, careful to avoid my stare.

It has been weeks since I’ve seen my father, since he and my mother had another fight in the kitchen before he stormed out, claiming he was going to Molsi early. It had been over some tinctures he bought—Papa’s desperation to return to his animal driving him to spend money he did not have on potions that were nothing more than false hope in a bottle. I was only a child when the blight first struck him, and for those first few years, it seemed that the rumors of how one could go mad after not being able to shift were just that, rumors. My earliest memories of Papa are of him happy. Smiling.

People in town called us lucky. Friends said that if you were to be trapped in one form forever, to be thankful that it was a mortal one. At least you can still talk with him, they would say to me. At least you can still fuck, they would add towards my mother, though not nearly as quietly as they thought. It has only been six years since I first shifted, and even in that short period of time, I crave my time as a fox. Shifting into that form is like drawing new breath after holding mine for far too long. Kenji said we were never meant to be just one or the other and that, while the blight strips us of the ability to shift, it’s the disconnect to our other form that does the killing. That it is life cut off at the source.

But, eventually, the madness did come, and watching Papa slowly lose himself to his inner turmoil didn’t feel lucky. He became brash and conspiratorial, avoiding his job to hunt for clues that the blight was somehow created by the former king, Noa. When he did work, the money he earned stopped making its way back to Mama. She had to ask Tiare and Titus for help, though I could tell that it crushed her to do so. Even so, they could only give small amounts, needing to fund their own lives too. That is when Kenji stepped in. Money. Food. Attention. He provides it all, and he does so without asking for anything in return. The thought of him should make me feel safe, comforted. But all I can feel right now is panic.

“Please, Mama,” I plead as she closes the clasp on the bag. “I can help find him. I will study extra upon my return—”

“Siyala.” She finally looks up at me, her red-rimmed eyes glistening with tears. Stepping closer, she cups the side of my face, her other hand tucking a strand of my pale, white hair behind my ear. “I know you are nervous. I am too. But I will go to Molsi, and I will find your father. I’ll enlist the help of the king, if I have to. After all, I did help raise the boy.” She manages a small smile at the mention of Kai. His mother—her sister—died shortly after I was born. I’m not supposed to know that they believe the circumstances surrounding her death were suspicious and that the former king was thought to be the cause. It is surprising what adults will say around you when they think you are not listening. When they assume that you do not care. When they’ve forgotten you exist. “I will return with your father, and then all will be well again. Now, come on, Kenji is expecting us.”

Nothing else is spoken as she leads us on the twenty minute walk to Kenji’s. When we arrive, he and my mother chat in the main living quarters of his house, while I take my bag to where I assume the spare bedroom is. Most of the houses built in Honna have the same layout, only those with significantly higher means build additions. I find it with the door open, the thick scent of damp island dirt hitting me as I walk in, the humidity following. Glass boxes line a long table against one wall, a bed with a simple floral spread set up across from it. A window stands centered between the two, giving a distant view of the ocean. Setting my bag down, I look at the different flowers and plants that Kenji has growing in the room, some of them appearing as common and simple as the monsterra leaves that can be found in the jungle right outside, while others look exotic. Unknown. Shades of pink and orange I have never seen before. Yellow and blue too.

“Sorry for the temperature.” I startle at the sound of his voice behind me, turning to find him leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed. He smiles in apology.

“It’s fine,” I manage to squeak out, turning back to look at a flower whose petals appear pointed, as if each one is meant to mimic the end of a thick dagger.

“Your mother just left.” I nod, pushing down the hurt that rises at the fact that she hadn’t given me one last goodbye. Silly, considering she will be back in a week or so. Hopefully with Papa, though a small part of me wonders if the madness of the blight has finally driven him far, far away. Maybe even off the island. Worry then hits me that maybe he doesn’t care. “The protea ruberia,” Kenji says, his voice behind me now. “Or the island’s dagger.”