Page 34 of Where We Belong

“What happened to Herod?” I mindlessly spin a screwdriver on the table.

“He accidentally impaled himself on his own sword. But that’s why your uncle is the way he is with you. He used a lot of resources trying to help your dad after he became King. But it was already too late.”

I think of him, his wild murals, face covered in paint, eyes distant and feverish. Cook told me they begin to lose their minds when they leave for too long. Some cruel curse from the gods to keep them here, if they ever make it past the Mer Army. I don’t even notice Eira standing right next to me. She unwraps the cloth from my finger carefully, inspecting the wound.

“Perfect,” she smiles, the cut is gone, and I flex my hand a few times, staring at my smooth, beige skin. It looks like nothing ever happened. If only the wounds inside healed as easily.

Chapter 33

Kaed

Her beauty, defiance, and all in between,

took hold of my weary heart,

Nyk’s bungalow is, without question, the messiest. He’s always been like that. We were among the few young males gifted enough to train with the Volker, and Nyk’s chaotic tendencies had made him a favourite target for Captain Quilo’s punishments. I’d lost count of how many times Quilo had berated him for his unkempt bunk, but the incident that stood out most was the last punishment Nyk ever received from him. Just as he raised his whip, Nyk’s power manifested like an act of god. The whip exploded in Quilo’s hand. The Captain barely managed to dodge the blast, but not without consequence. A thick, silver scar now runs down the side of his face. We saw him once at a tavern, a few years after I had taken over. Nyk blew him a kiss and commented on how cute it made him look. The brawl that started is one of legends.

Even now, Nyk’s room shows no improvement. Clothes litter the couch. The books stacked against the walls argue amongst themselves, and old, broken staffs and swords lie discarded in the corners. No wonder he and Eira are now getting along. That had been interesting news to come back to. And inevitable. And dangerous. The only two places he bothers to keep in order are his shrine and the ridiculous kingdom he’s built for Soot. The shrine sits by his bed, an eternal flame dancing over a bowl of ash, with Kapet incense hanging in the alcove. I sit at his cluttered desk, forcing myself to push aside thoughts of that fierce little green-eyed thing.

“What plagues the great Captain?” Nyk is sprawled across his couch, idly toying with a pocket-size star-shaped weapon.

Ashley. The hold she has on me makes Vale’s elixir seem merciful in comparison. Exhausted is too weak of a word. Drained, perhaps. Hollowed out. The bond gnaws at my sanity in slow, merciless bites. Nightmares claim whatever scraps of sleep remain to me. Voices that call from the depths of the prison lands, pulling me toward them until I can no longer tell where my will ends and theirs begins. But none of it torments me half as much as the absence of her. I feel it constantly. The empty space beside me. The unnatural distance between us. Some primitive part of me remains convinced she should be within reach at all times, close enough to touch, to breathe in. Will I ever sleep deeply again until she lies beside me? After every night of training with the Volker, I find myself outside her room. I make camp against the stone floor and send cold colourless smoke beneath the crack of the door, cooling and soothing her in the only ways I can without scaring her. Without getting in her way. And in those moments I can feel her. Awake. Hot and restless. Fear pulsing through her veins.

“Bad dream.” I yawn into my elbow and Soot hops into my lap, head butting my hand with a soft meow. I cannot believe he keeps this thing around.

“Ah.” He flicks the weapon into the air, where it spins, then drops. Its white sparks dissolving into his fingers. I’m lucky to have a brother like Nyk. He knows I learned the hard way that keeping things in only made me a worse soldier. A worse male. So, when I give him an answer, he takes it. He and my other lieutenants, by the grace of their gods, will never really know what it’s like. To lose control of your own body. To hang for hours, beaten bloody over answers you do not have. But even so, their care is evident. Over the weeks, I had caught Leander’s eyes on the scars across my arms, my neck, my back. He knows exactly what has been done to me. We spoke about it, which lightened the weight on my mind. They all ask how I am, from time to time. And I answer, honestly. Some days are worse than others. But I am healing. And I yearn for the opportunity to aid Ashley in her healing too, but I’m glad she has found a semblance of friendship in Eira and the chef.

“How are morning drills going?”

“Like I never left,” I give a coy smile, nodding to Nyk’s bed, “and yours?”

“Ha! Eira is… fun. But her feelings toward the Prince are, I don’t know how to put it. Excessive. Complicated. And entirely unaffected by anything I say or do.” he shakes his head in disbelief, shining the weapon on his sleeve.

“I recall you bragging for the last few centuries, something about the ability to make a female fall in love in one night. I see you have lost your touch since I’ve been gone, Nykholas. Don’t tell me my absence affected your cock.” I send him a flirty wink.

“Impossible! I could have been the one kidnapped, and it still wouldn’t affect my cock. I would’ve used it to my advantage.”

“Oh, I believe you. Theron would’ve been on his knees untying you before the hour was up. Meanwhile, I tried everything. I think it made him double knot the ropes.”

Soot scarpers with a harsh hiss when we burst into the type of laughter that takes hold of your entire body and refuses to let go. Nyk is practically hanging off the edge of the sofa, gasping for breath. His contagious, booming cackle echoes through the room. It’s always too loud and goes on for too long. But that only makes everything funnier. I double over in my chair, gripping the edge of the desk to keep from almost toppling over. Every time I regain control, another round of Nyk’s wheezing sets me off again.

“Before I forget. Aiden,” I say, wiping the last of my tears away with the heel of my palm.

“Oh, must we speak of him?” Nyk steadies his breathing, though a few lingering chuckles still rumble through him.

“At the treaty signing today, when he asked Nefret and Wren who they would appoint in his court.”

Ember and Obsidian signed their portion of the treaty this afternoon. It was my first large meeting since being back, and it took some convincing for me to attend, but I pushed through. Aiden oversaw it, with me, Leander, and Nyk as witnesses. Aiden assured the room that the King was visiting both Ashen Reach and Cinder Cliffs, and had received a Pyreling with word they would sign. Ashen had removed their ash cloud from Ember’s temple as a gesture of goodwill, and Cinder had opened their schools up to all students again.

Throughout the civil war, I survived on whispers and Theron’s sporadic reports. Since returning, I’ve reviewed every record, parchment, and treaty draft I could find. And the more I read, the more dissatisfied I become. Aiden should not have consented to waiving the elected seats for Ember and Obsidian. No matter how unlikely their appointment is. And no matter that there won’t be courts in The Above once freedom is attained. If freedom is attained. It undermines structure until then. The council has always consisted of two elected representatives per territory. Both must be commoners, as when it comes to voting on a matter, high ranking fae have more reason to make a choice bad for the majority.

Nyk props himself up on his elbows. “What are you thinking? I need to find some time to pray for him, he’s gone mad.”

I have always envied the certainty Nyk’s faith affords him. To trust in something beyond yourself and know without a doubt it will not abandon you. At times, I have thought it might make life feel purposeful, perhaps even fulfilling. But I’ve only ever trusted in honour and duty. The proof is in the outcome. Though, he hasn’t always been religious. Despising it in his youth. We got ourselves into no end of trouble desecrating local temples with not-so-clever graffiti. His brothers all followed the priesthood like their parents, so when it became clear his gift was for the sword and strategy, one can imagine how well that went down. Only in recent years, as he’s mellowed, if we can even call it that, has he found his way back to his renewed version of faith.

“I don’t think we can trust anyone in that room. I mean, anyone. The Prince is…” I try to find the words for something that has always been there. Before I can, Nyk grunts his agreement. Reading my mind, as usual. My thoughts slip back to Vale standing behind Theron. Eyes cold, hands shaking while he restrained me with spell after spell. The male who dined with my parents, who stepped in after they died. Because of him, I felt every cut, every slice, unable to lift a finger in defence while they questioned me. Tell us where she is.

“Theron and Vale have shown me that anyone could be plotting.”