Page 77 of Angel in Absentia
Clea stared. “You’re saying—”
“They want this, and not as a ruse. The goddess of healing and light, their own Lodain queen, has conquered the force of darkness that terrified them most. The Warlord of Shambelin, perhaps the most fearsome Venennin they know, now worships at your feet, and they’re eager to have you consent to his supplications and ensnare him forever, body and soul.”
Clea gaped at her, horrified. “I’ve said nothing of the exchange of hearts,” she whispered.
“They’ve come up with that all on their own. They’re celebrating tonight like a wedding celebration and fully expect you to withdraw with him after the festivities and seal his allegiance with your body, a body, apparently, so revered and prepared only for such an occasion as this one, where its offering would convert a most fearsome foe into an ally.”
Iris watched her with raised brows, and Clea released something between a whimper and a groan. She exhaled tiredly. “The only purpose of purity is sacrifice.” She recalled those words that Ryson had once imparted on her himself. “I suppose there is little mention of Idan. I thought they used to favor him.”
“Idan doesn’t hold their future in his hands,” Iris replied.
“A Venennin can’t provide them with an heir,” Clea said, shaking her head. “Venennin bodies aren’t capable of sustaining life. A Venennin has never carried a child to term.”
“Venennin women, no,” Iris said. “A Venennin man with a Veilin woman, I assure you, is perfectly capable. Do you know how I know that with so much confidence? Because it’s been thoroughly discussed in the halls and in the streets. You’ve put yourself in quite the position. Now, any public offense against him will not be seen as brave resistance but a shirking of your duties as the Heart of Loda.”
“No matter,” Clea said stubbornly, standing to her feet once confident the paint had dried. “It works even more seamlessly into my plan. He will hear these rumors too and perhaps believe them. He can’t touch me until I heal him anyway, and healing cannot happen by accident. It’s intentional, and in this case,would even be painful. You keep acting like I’m going to trip, fall, accidentally heal him of thousands of wounds, and then tumble into his bed.”
She and Iris exchanged meaningful glances. Iris was dressed for the celebration too in shades of blue and gold, a compliment to her long red hair. The shading around her eyes now only highlighted the skeptical look she offered.
“Please give me an option that doesn’t incur some kind of risk then,” Clea said, both as a challenge and as a plea.
Iris sighed in defeat and shook her head, an answer understood by them both.
They left the bed chamber and made their way out through the castle, escorted, in tradition, by city guards. At the head of the city square, a great platform had been raised above the cobblestones, framed with carved arches and long blue and white drapes that swayed in the wind.
Traditional tunes were played under the heat of the afternoon sun as she made her way to the raised platform and beyond rows of silent tables with food and drink from the summer harvest. The citizens, by tradition, had fasted since sundown to represent the darkness of the Great War, and would soon enjoy the bounty of summer under the eyes of their royalty.
Ryson was already there, standing tall and composed in silver-laced black.
Their eyes met as she approached, the entire crowd quiet as he offered a hand and she took it, allowing him to guide her to her seat.
They sat side by side as the feast and celebration began.
Laughter broke out in small bursts, cautious but growing louder as tension worked its way out of the crowd. Bowls of honeyed grain and spiced root stew were passed around. Musicians played old songs of their people.
For a moment, Clea felt the illusion of peace settle into her bones. They sat side by side, Clea extremely aware of the glances of her people. She remembered being a child at these festivals, glancing up at her parents as they whispered to each other in a private setting amongst a crowd.
Minutes passed in silence, and Clea wondered briefly if this was it. She wondered what Ryson was contemplating beside her and if she should say something. In imagining this scenario, she had forgotten all about the strange privacy of it. She stiffened when he leaned over after a while and whispered, “Princess,” somewhat suspiciously.
She glanced at him, already feeling like she’d been caught in a scheme but trying to maintain her composure.
His face was close by nature of the seating. He was relaxed in the chair, propping one elbow up where she sat in formal fashion. “Are you up to something?” he asked.
Already exposed, her eyes flickered over to his and searched his face. This early on and he was already suspicious. She was convinced that if she said no, he’d only grow more so. She hadn’t expected to have to lie so soon.
He looked her over carefully, a small smile making its way across his lips as he propped his head up into a clawed hand but said nothing more.
“You’re at a celebration, not a war council. Are the claws necessary?” she asked, needing to distract the focus from her.
He stretched his hand between them. The silver melted seamlessly back into the silver tracings on his skin so that his hands simply looked dipped in the substance. The motion reminded her of a cat retracting its claws. Even relaxed, he was in many ways cat-like, not overly warm with a constant tinge of mischief.
“Forgive me. Public, social events, put me on edge. I’m afraid these often mirror my mood. Is that better, Your Highness?” he asked. “Or now that I am officially king, should I regard you by another title?”
“You took the city; you already were king by conquest,” she said, dismissing his words and realizing that she should act more placating and welcoming in alignment with her plan. She’d underestimated how early he’d accuse her of anything untoward, and how annoying she’d find him so instantly.
“Oh, I get it now. You’re torturing me off the throne, not inviting me to it,” he replied, and she looked over at him, confused.
“You knew,” he said, “that having me attend this ceremony and embrace the royal responsibilities would bore and horrify me so terribly, I’d be inclined to relinquish rule altogether and leave your people be. To be fair, it is quite clever, and working quite spectacularly.”
