Page 114 of Clash of Storms
Amadea flinched as if she hadn't heard him enter the room, which was unusual. Stellan's lips pressed grimly together. The outcome of the battle at Krafla was eating at her.
The room was encircled with mirrors, spelled to reveal a specific section of the world around them. There were no windows in the court, but through the mirrors they could always watch. And Amadea had been doing a lot of watching in the past few days, unnerved by the manacle that trapped her in this form.
"Dea?" he prompted.
"I can feel Fate blowing its chill breath across the back of my neck," Amadea whispered, wrapping her arms around herself. "Grandmother said I would birth my own destruction, and here I stand, bound by this wretched thing into this cursed body."
She glared down at the svartálfar-forged manacle.
"Confronting Árdís and Rurik was a misstep, but we are both still alive. We can regroup." He gathered her in his arms, and Amadea clung to him. They'd shared a womb all those years ago, twin souls who'd never let another come between them—whether that was a child, a mate, or a parent. She understood him in a way he couldn't describe. "This isn't our end. I swear."
"They heard what he said, Stellan." She lifted her head. "I watched their faces when Sirius named me Reynar's murderer. If this gets out—"
"It won't."
"You don't know that."
"It cannot get out when there is no one left to speak of it."
Their eyes met, and she nodded slowly.
There'd been twelvedrekiguards in that room when Sirius made his statement about whokilled the king. It was the sort of rumor that could have destroyed them from within. Killing those witnesses deprived them of some of their most loyaldreki, but sacrifices had to be made. He'd done the right thing.
"Roar, Balder and Andri are the only ones who remain alive. They will not breathe a word of it."
"Everything is collapsing down upon us," she whispered. "Two of your sons betrayed you. All three of my children fled. Traitors, the lot of them. I cannot trust anyone. Only you."
"Only you," he repeated, clasping her upper arms. "Dea, forget it all. We will deal with it the way we always have. The court will never know the truth. It's time I ended Sirius, and then we still hold Andri. He will never see the sun again. Rurik will be forced to meet us on our own terms. In our own lands. We will be ready for him."
"I hope you're ready now." She turned to a mirror beside the one showing Rurik's volcano. "Because Rurik's left Krafla. And he had several others with him. Rurik is coming. I can feel it. Are you prepared, Stellan? Because this ends as soon as my son and daughter arrive, one way or the other. And without Sirius, you will have to face Rurik yourself."
A brief knot of discord twisted within him—the prince had more than held his own during the battle—but he met her eyes. "I know. I have a little something in mind for when the prince and I come face-to-face once more. Be at peace, Dea. It's time to end this. No matter what I must do."
25
Pain washed through the world, rendering him mute.
Sirius swayed in and out of consciousness, his shoulders screaming as the chains wrenched his arms behind him. Every time he slumped forward, the blinding stab of agony would haul him back out of the darkness.
The right side of his face was a mess of heat and swelling. The loss of vision on that side staggered him. All his life he'd been one of the most dangerous males at court, but this rendered him weak on one side. How could he fight with his field of vision cut in half?
They'd hauled him before the court to show the clan what became of treachery. He could recall laughter and Roar digging a boot between his already broken ribs. For the first time in his life, he'd found himself on his hands and knees, crawling before his father and aunt. Crawling, where once he'd strode. Bound and gagged. Crippled.
The only ones who didn't laugh were the drekling and the handful ofdrekiwho'd once been loyal to the king. He'd looked up and seen dozens of eyes in the audience, hard and flinty as they surveyed him. How many times had it been a drekling brought to their knees before the court and sentenced to die? Once or twice, he'd managed to deflect his father's rage when it came to drekling, and he'd allowed the king's loyaldrekito escape when he'd been set to hunt them, but it had never been enough. He saw that now.
And all he could think of was Malin.
Of the fear she'd felt as a drekling within this court. The failure that sat upon her shoulders, because she could not be what her father—the court—wanted her to be. She was perfect as she was, but she'd been convinced she needed to be more if she wished to fit in.
And she wasn't the only one.
What would the court have been like if he'd stood against his father? The queen? Could he have inspired others to stand? Could he have been the wave that swept all others along in its wake and rose to crush theZilittuintruders?
What could he have done if he'd reached out to Rurik and seen his cousin as an ally, rather than a competitor? Together, what could they have achieved?
I had the power, but I didn't dare wield it.
Thiswas power. Not the scraps of it he'd been tossed by his father. This was where his ambitions should have lain.
