Light Wielder (Fire & Metal, #2) — Chapter 22

Chapter 22

ACKER

Her eyes dismiss me without a backward glance.

Completely unfeeling, she stalks toward the archer, stepping purposefully as the soldiers continue to bow in succession.

They fucking adore her.

Gone is the girl I stole from Alaha.

At first glance, everything about her appearance is the same as when I’ve watched her sleep, but now awake, its more: facial features sharper, body honed to perfection. I always found her beautiful, but now she’s something else. Something I can’t quite identify. Alluring, maybe? Divine.

The word feels like liquid as I roll it on my tongue, so damn close yet not enough. She swipes her braid of hair over her shoulder imperiously and I swallow the excess moisture pooling in my mouth.

I’m compelled to keep watching as she stops in front of the archer standing before us. They’re speaking too low to make any sense of what they’re saying, heads dipped close as they whisper, but the archer looks over at Wells before pointing to the gulf, to where our ship has been taken over by Maile soldiers. Jovie follows his stare before turning back to continue the conversation. Whatever he says makes her smile and he grins back at her.

Up to this point he’s demonstrated as much personality as a dead fish, but now he’s acting like he’s made of sunshine and happiness. Get the fuck — Standing off to the side, just beyond the archer’s shoulder, I catch sight of Messer.

I’d forgotten about her pet.

He smirks. He’s been watching me this entire time.

I’d been too enthralled by my Match to notice him. His eyes slink to Irina at my side, before flicking back on me. Back to Irina. Back to me.

He lifts a brow. “That’s … a choice,” he smarts.

A dumb one, he means.

And yeah, I know.

Jovie’s heads snaps toward him and she barks, “What did I say?”

His shrug isn’t the least bit repentant.

Sighing, Jovie turns her attention back to us, as if just remembering why she’s here. She briefly looks at Irina, before taking in Wells and Olivia, avoiding me completely.

I never fully let on to Jovie what I’m able to sense through the Bond.

She was always good at hiding her emotions, but it didn’t stop me from being able to feel them. Like right now, as she walks toward Olivia, there’s not a glimpse of the unease she’s disguising so well. The sense I get of her inner turmoil isn’t strong, with the mangi stones smothering the connection of our Bond, but an echo of the tightness in her chest still filters through to me.

There’s a note of affection in her voice when she says, “Liv.” Her eyes fall to the round belly Olivia is cradling, paying no mind to the way Wells leans closer to his Match defensively. “I was worried you weren’t coming, after weeks without any word from you.”

“I’m sorry,” Olivia says. “I wasn’t given time to send a message before we left.”

Jovie nods in understanding. “How was your journey?” she asks. “The baby?”

Olivia runs a hand across her stomach. “He was very active while we

were on the ship.”

“He?”

“Well, Wells thinks it’s a girl, but I’m not convinced.”

Jovie glances up at Wells’s towering figure, a hint of a smile playing on her lips, before she looks back to Olivia. “Men think they know

everything.”

Olivia laughs.

“Listen,” Jovie continues. “I’m sure you’re in need of rest, so let’s cut to it: why are you trying to sneak into Maile after you’ve turned down all of my invitations?”

Olivia looks at Wells and he nods, encouraging her to answer. “I’m here to seek refuge for my husband and child. That is all.”

There’s a beat of silence as they hold each other’s stare, and I’m just realizing how familiar they’ve become. Olivia won’t speak against me, but she’s not going to lie to her friend, either.

A swift assessment of the soldiers visible nearby tells me everyone is balanced on a delicate edge. All of their eyes are on their princess, their leader, as they await her instructions. Jovie wears leadership well. There’s an air of confidence about her that wasn’t there before. An authority in the way she holds her head, her stance sure but at ease.

She’s … magnificent.

Wells’s suggestion that I should make amends with my Match comes to mind as I take her in. He believes I should get on my knees for the woman who betrayed me and beg like a dog for her help. Seduce her if you have to, is what he’d said. I’m not above it. It’s basically what she did to me, letting me fall more and more in love with her all the while having every intention of stabbing me in the back.

If I believed it would work, that seducing her would save my people, then I’d more than enjoy getting on my knees at her bedside. I’d make sure she’d beg me in return, to make her come with my mouth between her legs, for release. I can practically feel the heels of her feet digging into my shoulder blades, her hands fisted into her bedding as she caves to her base urges. I’d turn her into a fucking mess.

I can’t imagine a sweeter revenge.

Her head snaps toward me, eyes flashing with anger before she’s able to mask it. The blaze emanating through my chest from her side of the Bond makes me grin. She can’t hide the connection anchoring us together, regardless of the mangi stones she’s wearing. The pull of the tether is too strong, too demanding to ignore. A single thread of magic stretching the mere feet between us that’s been vibrating since the moment we saw one another.

It’s stronger than it ever was before. Even then, I could never discern when she slipped into my thoughts versus when I was just thinking about

her of my own volition. My years of training as a child, learning how to shield my mind, are worthless against her, as are the mangi stones when we’re this close.

She stalks toward me, and the smell of wildflowers wafts over me on the sea breeze, nearly crippling me. “Get on your knees,” she orders. To punctuate her point, she makes the demand again, voice eerily calm as she

says, “Kneel.”

I have no reason not to acquiesce.

One knee hits the hard stone, then the other, and I tilt my head back to maintain eye contact with her. A pin could drop, and it’d be as loud as the sound of a witch’s brew exploding in the silence. This is a show of power, to demonstrate how tightly she holds the reins here, and exactly how little I control in comparison.

And fuck me if I’m not struggling to stave off an erection.

There’s a flicker of satisfaction in her eyes before she looks to the woman beside me. “And you, Irina,” she says. “Why have you come here?”

“We came—” I begin, but Jovie cuts me off.

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

She doesn’t even bother to look at me in her reprimand.

It’s a casual rebuff meant to put me in my place. I grit my teeth, clench my fists. Partially in a bid to keep my mouth shut and partially to stop myself from acting on the impulse to punch Messer right in his smug face. I can see him grinning at me again from behind the archer.

“Acker told me we were coming here to speak with the queen,” Irina says with a haughtiness that surprises me, given her weakened state. “As for the reason, you’d have to ask him.”

“Did your husband not coach you on what to say?”

The term she uses for me does not go unnoticed.

Irina sways slightly in place. “My husband does not give me orders.”

Risking Jovie’s ire, I dare to interrupt: “She knows nothing of my intentions.”

Jovie cocks her head to look at me, hazel eyes bright in the sunlight.

“Then what is it you seek?”

“An alliance.” I have to give her credit for not balking at my answer. “I am sure you’ve heard by now that the joint forces of Roison and Alaha are nearing our capital. I have come to petition Maile for aid.”

“Aid? As in … from my men?”

I hold her stare. “Yes.”

A grin begins to grow on her face as she lets out a small laugh of incredulousness. She looks over her shoulder at the archer and Messer, smile blooming to fullness, and I’m beyond envious that they’re the recipients of it.

By the time she faces me again, her smile is gone. “And what in all the gods’ names gave you the idea that I’d ever send my men to fight in a war I want nothing to do with? Idiocy or arrogance?”

“Neither,” I tell her. The stone wharf is beginning to bite into my knees, but I don’t dare move, knowing to do so will reveal my discomfort. “It’s a war you’re already embroiled in—”

“By your command,” she clarifies. “You ordered the Strou to attack my territory along the northern border, did you not?”

This is going to be a tough sell. “You’ve refused to let our allies cross the gulf.” Maybe seduction won’t suffice in persuading her, but maybe my misery can. I’d offer to stay on my knees for eternity if it would save my people. “Choosing sides is the same as choosing conflict.”

“Your father can’t possibly approve of you being here.”

I give a slow and measured shake of my head. The soldiers flanking us visibly react, discomfort evident in the shift of their feet and shoulders as the news travels down the line in hushed whispers.

“The Alaha have switched sides,” I tell her. “Wren and my father have struck an accord.”

She lifts a single brow. “You’ve received first-hand knowledge of this

alliance?”

“Yes.”

This, above all else, begins to thaw the ice in her eyes. “Why would Wren switch to the losing side of this war?”

I hesitate and I can practically see her shield going back up. “I’d feel more comfortable sharing what I know in private.”

The archer steps toward her and touches her arm to get her attention and she pivots to speak with him. Messer leans in to listen, his eyes shifting between the two of them. Their whispers are once again too hushed for me to overhear When Jovie looks at me again, her expression is shuttered once more.

“Stand.”

I unfold to my full height as she saunters closer. Her hazel eyes look up at me, calculating, so different from the wide-eyed gaze of the girl I fell in love with. Tension pinches her brows and I follow the lines down the straight of her nose to her pursed mouth. So severe in the bright daylight.

But I know what she looks like when she thinks no one is looking, in the dead of night when all of her ice melts.

“I’m sorry,” she says, sounding anything but. “I can’t help you.”

“Are you prepared for when Chryse or Wren come for you? Because they will. They’re as power hungry as my father.”

She isn’t swayed. “If the situation should arise, I’ll handle it.”

I take a step toward her but am immediately halted by the creaking sound of a bow being stretched to its limit. In the span of a breath, the archer has readied an arrow and has it pointed directly at my face.

“I wouldn’t,” she warns.

I lift a brow. “Perhaps your queen will have a differing opinion to yours.”

There’s a low chuckle from the archer. By the matching set of smiles he and her pet are both wearing, I have a feeling I’m not going to like whatever she says next.

“Haven’t you heard?” Jovie asks, her tone taking on a condescending lilt. The archer’s gaze lingers on the side of her face with reverence as she continues. “I am the queen.”

My mouth parts in surprise. I share a look with Wells and he seems as baffled as I am.

Olivia is the first to break the silence. “You’re the queen?”

Jovie nods.

“And that is your royal attire?” Irina asks.

Messer chimes in, a mocking glint in his eyes. “Her crown is being fitted.”

It takes me a moment to find my voice, but when I do it comes out like gravel. “Since when?”

There’s not a drop of uncertainty or hesitation in her features or stance, and it mirrors the lack of emotion emanating through the Bond. “My mother relinquished her title to me a year ago.”

“Why?” Irina challenges.

The way Jovie’s gaze brushes over my wife is the same way a tiger would glance at a gnat before dismissing it.

She directs her next words to Olivia. “I’ll have a selection of healers ready once you’ve settled, so you can choose a midwife. They’ll be able to check on the baby.”

“You speak as if you know our decision already,” Wells says.

For the first time since I’ve laid eyes on her, Jovie offers him an honest smile. “You’d be a fool to do anything else but stay.”

Wells can’t hide his surprise. “You’re just going to let us into your city without an oath in place?”

“Are you telling me you have ill intentions toward me or my people?”

“Ah, no,” he says, blinking owlishly. “I am not.”

He doesn’t so much as look at me as he falls silent. Everyone awaits their queen’s final judgment. Wells may not be here with ulterior motives, but he still poses a potential risk to Jovie if Olivia’s safety was at stake.

“We’re in need of another lamplighter,” she says. “Fire elementals aren’t as common here, but there are also a couple of blacksmiths if you would prefer to continue your forging.” Then her gaze finds me, and her words turn as sharp as knives. “I’ll have your boat moored and stocked by midday the day after tomorrow. I’ll give you a couple of nights to rest before you return to your fight. Against Roison, Alaha, or your father. I don’t care.”

Her gaze encompasses Irina, too, indicating that this directive is for the both of us. Irina is unhappy and she’s determined to make it known. Her nails dig into the flesh of my forearm. Clenching my teeth, I grab her by the wrist and move her hand back to her own side. My grip isn’t hard enough to leave a mark, but there’s enough pressure to warn her to keep her hands to herself.

Jovie doesn’t miss the silent battle of wills between us, but she flicks her gaze toward Wells and Olivia. “Put them in one of the empty cottages on sailors’ row,” she tells her lackey, the archer, who motions to a handful of his soldiers.

Determined to leave in the same way as she came, without a backward glance, Jovie stalks past, the smell of wildflowers once again washing over me.

I’m not willing to let her get away with it this time.

I release Irina, stepping out of line to call out toward my Match’s retreating back. “And my sister?”

Stopping in place, Jovie turns to look at me, gaze assessing. “She wasn’t sure you’d care to see her.”

I’m taken aback by her answer. I assumed Beau’s position here would be as a resource. A tool for Jovie to use. It never occurred to me that she might be wary of facing me. The oath I swore only protected Jovie from my rage, and did not include my sister. I could have sent sentries after her, put a bounty on her head. After all, she conspired behind my back and chained me to a chair. But as angry as I’ve been with her for her treason, she’s still

my little sister.

“Please tell her I’d like to.”

Maybe I had hoped for validation or support from Jovie of some kind, but I’m sorely disappointed when she doesn’t reply. She simply turns and leaves, Messer following close behind. A puppy trailing after its master.

A voice comes from close behind me. Too close. “Step out of line again, and I’ll kill you quicker than you can blink. Do you understand?” the archer challenges.

I understand completely, but the sound of hooves on paved brick holds my attention. At the end of the wharf, Jovie’s figure on horseback cuts up the city street, strong and confident as she picks up speed, her hair snapping in the wind. A black eyun flits overhead, tracking her movements. It’s wingspan ten times wider than the last time I laid eyes on it.

The tether in my chest aches the further away she gets.

Wells’s voice is effective in breaking my concentration. “That’ll be

seven pence, my dear.”

“She made him kneel!” Olivia protests.

“The bet was whether or not Jovie would wound him,” Wells says, folding his arms and nodding, satisfied. “And she did not. Therefore, you owe me seven pence.”

“But she did.” We all look at Irina, and her voice comes out hollow when she continues. “She hurt his pride.”

Olivia is damn near giddy as she looks up at her husband. “Pay up,” she insists.

Wells opens his mouth to further argue, but the archer, Jovie’s lackey, puts the matter to rest by saying, “Just pay the woman what is owed.”

I can’t help but grin.

Who needs pride anyway?