Page 46 of Where We Belong

Uncle raises a hand. “Please, allow me. It’s not every day my niece joins me for dinner.” With the same care he uses for his own, he pours her drink and arranges her plate. When she isn’t looking, his hand hovers briefly over the food, a glow flickering at the tips of his fingers. Whatever he finds seems to satisfy him, and he begins eating, telling us one of his tales from his younger years. When the meal concludes, he toasts to Nykholas, thanking him for his service whilst the Captain was held hostage and his efforts in Agni’s rescue. When Cook offers to walk my half-sister back to her room, Kaed’s jaw locks so tightly a muscle jumps in his cheek. He and Nykholas excuse themselves shortly after. When the door closes behind them, I study the King’s face. It appears that whatever he sensed from Agni earlier is eating at him. But you will never guess what. I do not care.

Chapter 44

Kaed

but I soon learned to speak is to mend,

and filled in the grooves and hollows.

King Aeron crouches over a patch of flowers, his hair sweeping the soil.

“You called, Majesty.”

He points and holds his hand out, and I pass him the small spade.

“Thank you. I need you to retrieve the Barkus and bring him back here. You must do whatever it takes.”

“Consider it done.”

The corners of his eyes crease as he smiles. “This is why you were chosen, Kaed. Not Creed or fate. Power and talent alone are not enough to lead. Loyalty, trust, and, of course, character all must come into play,” he says, brushing dirt from his fingers. “When you bring the creature back here, do not bring it into the palace. I do not want to frighten our help. Or Aiden. Or any of our guests.” He gives me a knowing look over the blood red petals of the blossom he dethorns. I fight a wave of nausea as the scent of the gardens surrounds me.

“Of course. Just one request, if I may.” He gestures for me to continue. “May I take Lieutenant Nykholas with me?”

“Yes, yes.” He waves me off.

I bow, turning to leave, but the sharp clearing of his throat stops me.

“Ashley seems to be growing stronger and more confident by the day. I must ask, do you feel she could become willing to serve in the ritual?” My heart tightens at the thought of Ashley overhearing this. I glance over my shoulder before I can stop myself, as though she might appear from the shadows. Since this morning, the air between us has changed entirely. Talk of the ritual now hangs heavy, simmering beneath every glance and every silence. She looks at me differently now that she knows. I see it in the hesitation in her eyes, in the way she turns away whenever the conversation drifts too close to what I did. What I awakened. And gods, this single day has felt endless. Every time I’ve tried to speak of it properly, she finds something else to occupy herself with. Her hands. Her food. Eira. Anything but me. I cannot bare the thought of this strange distance, this half-presence growing between us. This version of her standing near enough to touch while feeling impossibly far away. Yet the cruelty of it all is that this pain belongs solely to me. I created it the second I kissed her. But I will do my best to restrain my thoughts, my heart. I will not take what is not offered.

“I have made it my duty to ensure she does. If we continue the way we are going, then I don’t see why not. I simply pray there are no bumps in the road.”

The King hums and adds more flower clippings to his basket before fixing me with an amused look. “I didn’t take you for a praying male, Captain.”

“I’m not, Majesty, but sentiment.”

*

Flying has always been the one thing that feels right. I’ve loved it since I was a boy, much to my parents’ irritation. They never knew what to do with me. There were no rules, no history for winged fae — not before me, not since. They’d take me to the playground and while others tumbled down the slides, I’d climb to the highest point, spread my wings, and leap. My mother would scream, thinking I’d break my neck, until I’d flare my wings just before hitting the ground and soar off laughing. Her screams only growing louder. Flying was one of the things I missed the most during my time in captivity. So, I welcome the mission to journey to the prison lands. We head south for several hours, Ardyn letting out shrill chirps at passing creatures until we descend. Stretching across the plush greenery, surrounded by quaint thatched houses, is a fortress. A towering castle of glinting stone. The grounds are alive, full of birdsong and ripe apples. Brown banners wave in the breeze atop flagpoles bearing the Obsidian Hold crest. A metal shield split into two halves. On one side, a dragon, etched in the other, a sword driven point-first into stone. Unlike the other territories, there are no words curling beneath it. Obsidian doesn’t believe in slogans. They let their work speak. They also have no entrance rite — your conduct will reveal your character in due time, they say. We land at the gates and at first sight of us, the guards draw their axes but quickly drop them and fall to one knee. Long braids adorned with leather twines and metal clasps hang down their backs.

Wren Senior bursts from the great charcoal doors, his black cloak rippling like a storm behind him. “As grateful as I am to our King for providing for my son at the palace, I am not fond of surprise visitors in my territory, Captain. Neither do I particularly like beasts on my property.” He sneers down his long nose at Ardyn, who pecks at something in the grass. I would rather not have to deal with the likes of Wren and his insufferable family, but the Prison Lands are under his jurisdiction, so it is customary to make ourselves known. Many had been certain he had a part to play in Theron’s plans, but his family were found innocent. I was unsurprised. He does not engage in such overt crimes. He does his dirt in secret. A dangerous ruler for such a land where the people are good and hardworking. King Herod had plucked him from a brothel as a boy, raising him in the palace to serve the court, but his survival instincts have never quite adjusted.

“Speaking of, how is Wren Junior doing in his training?” He toys with his leather cuff, searching my eyes.

“He lacks motivation,” I reply flatly. “We are here for the Barkus. We will be gone before you know it.”

Wren’s eyes widen at the mention of the Barkus. I’d expect no less; he smells opportunity like blood in the water. No doubt already plotting how to twist this into leverage.

“What could His Majesty possibly want with it?” He asks, cocking his head to the side like a raven.

“Classified,” I say, turning as Nyk swings onto Ardyn’s back and we charge into the air, leaving Wren’s muttered curses behind us.

Sweat slicks my brow. Below stretches miles of molten rock and spewing lava. Poisonous fumes fill the air, forcing me to wrap our lower faces in a veil of smoke to filter our breathing. I weave around the erupting rocks, scanning the volatile land we know all too well. As teenagers, Nyk and I were sent on a mission to stop The Barkus after it infiltrated the Ember Court temple, unleashing a massacre. The dangerous thing about this creature is that it doesn’t use brutality unless it’s cornered; it uses words. Poisonous speech. Its tongue reveals the truths you already fear, dragging the darkness you hide into the light. The bloodbath we found that day wasn’t from the beast; it was from the priests turning on each other.

When we pass over a cluster of lava pools, I spread my hands. Black smoke reaching out to study the fumes and store the sample within my fingertips for later. A sharp whistle cuts through the hisses of steam. I glance up, then follow Nyk’s line of sight. The Barkus lounges against the side of a crumbling mountain, its beady, pitch-black eyes glinting with hunger. It’s smaller than I remember, no more than a few feet long, with gnarled skin. Two long branch-like arms drag its stump-shaped, legless body across the rock as it crawls closer for a better look at us.

“Quilo’s boys.” It shrieks, clapping its twigs together. “I’ve been waiting for you both. I’m still right where you left me. Nykholas, your face has healed well, gorgeous. Not as gorgeous as Eira. Oh, what a shame she doesn’t love you, who could love you? You should have been a high priest after all. Though you couldn’t remain celibate even if Kaed’s life depended on it, could you? What a silly little thing to be governed by.”

It bares black teeth we know too well. I think back to those fangs sinking into Nyk’s face as we tried to restrain it. My hands clench into fists as a growl escapes my throat.