CHAPTER 27
SORRY TO KEEP YOU ALL WAITING,” Toven said, stepping forward and shaking hands with Canning. “General Tremelo took an interest in my heartspring.”
Behind her, the door closed, and the guard locked it.
Briony’s eyes moved quickly over every woman in the room, standing behind an occupied chair like a serving maid. Every gaze was cast down, but she recognized several of them.
Behind Canning’s chair was Jellica Reeve, whom Canning had boasted only days ago about using his elixir on. A woman named Octavia who had always been quiet and kind in school stood next to Jellica, behind Lorne’s chair. Where she had been full-figured in school, she was now skin and bones. Across the table from them, Cecily Weape, daughter of a high-ranking Eversun, stood behind Collin’s chair. Something in Briony broke when she remembered that Collin used to send her love notes at school.
Other faces came and went in her memories, failing to attach to names.
On the table were several opened bottles of wine, herbed vegetables, and a full roast pig complete with an apple in its mouth.
She quickly adjusted to the idea of “dinner,” and lifted her eyes to the men in the room.
“Well, the general has always been known for his exquisite taste,”
Canning said, eyeing her.
Toven quickly moved to the open chair, facing Canning at the other end of the table. Taking note that Toven was one of two top dogs in this room, Briony followed behind him and quickly took her place against the wall, behind his chair.
Toven picked up his empty wineglass and extended it out to his side, waiting. Briony stared at it.
“Do keep up, Rosewood,” he said snidely.
The men chuckled, watching her.
Then a woman with strawberry-blond hair stepped forward from the wall behind Liam, reached for a wine bottle, and met Briony’s eyes as she filled Liam’s glass.
Briony jerked forward, following her lead and filling Toven’s glass. The men’s eyes glittered at her, while Toven simply stared forward, away from her.
Once his glass was full, she set down the bottle and stepped back, glancing at the blond woman in thanks. When the woman smiled back at her, Briony’s mind rearranged like tumblers in a lock.
It was her maid from Claremore Castle. The one whom she had saved on the day of the attack—the day Rory died. The one who had led Cordelia and her down the stairs and who had run when Cordelia stayed behind to find her.
Briony swayed on her feet, her heels tilting under her ankles.
The strawberry-blond woman looked down at the floor again.
It was some comfort, Briony supposed, that there were no winners that day. If she’d hid like Anna wanted, she’d have been found. If she’d been a few steps faster down that passage and missed the cave-in, she’d still have been captured, like this young woman was.
Briony glanced her over, finding a silver collar around her neck, instead of gold. There was obviously a difference there—but what did it mean?
Toven lifted his glass. “To Mistress Mallow. May she reign forevermore.”
The room chorused, “Forevermore.”
“And may her enemies,” Toven continued, and turned his head to give her his profile, “be nevermore.”
The men laughed and sipped their russet-colored wine.
And all Briony heard was the echo of her country’s name in both statements. There was a window ledge behind her, and she leaned back on it, letting the breeze move her across her shoulders and taking the weight off her
too-tall heels.
Conversation spun quickly after that.
“Your father back yet from across the sea?”
“Lorne, do you have that painting I was asking about?”
“—new batch of elixir soon?”
“She was gagging for it, I tell you—”
Briony tried to follow the speakers with her gaze, but the men kept glancing at her. Across the table, Jellica Reeve shifted on her feet, swaying forward as if her body were tied by a string to Canning’s chair. Her eyes were dilated, gaze hot on the back of Canning’s head.
Briony’s brows drew together.
“Her pox has cleared beautifully, Toven.” Lorne’s voice rang out over the table, a sparkling smile on his face as he appraised Briony. “She hardly looks like she had it.”
“Well, of course,” Toven hummed. “I couldn’t let my property look so tarnished, but I assure you, the boils and puss were disgusting.” He glanced over his shoulder at her in distaste. “You tired? Can’t stand straight?”
Every eye turned on her. She pushed up from the windowsill, realizing that none of the other women were leaning.
“No, sir. Just not used to my shoes, sir,” she mumbled.
Toven’s eyes flashed at her while the table erupted into laughter.
“Oh, Rosewood,” Liam said with a grin. “You can have a break from your footwear. Come sit on my lap.”
The men howled. Toven sipped his wine, set the glass down, and cleared his throat. “She will do no such thing.”
The laughter dissipated at his tone.
Liam rolled his eyes. “Stones, why even bring her if we can’t have a little fun?”
Toven drummed his fingers on the tablecloth. “I’m having fun, that’s all
that matters. Lorne? Will you do the honors?” He nodded to the pig in the middle of the table. “I’m starving.”
Lorne stood with a smirk and produced a carving knife. Briony listened to the men chat while the women approached Lorne one at a time to take a plate to their escort. Cecily Weape retrieved Collin two servings, and he thanked her with a pinch to her backside. Jellica Reeve almost dropped Canning’s plate, her hands were shaking so badly, but Briony noticed that it didn’t seem to be fear driving her. When she set the plate of food down in front of Canning, she hovered, her fingers curling, almost reaching to him. He smirked up at her and said, “You may go.” Jellica whimpered and stumbled back to her place behind his chair.
Briony moved around the table to Lorne’s side when it was her turn. She could feel him watching her as the conversation continued, eyes raking her body.
“She looks pampered, Toven,” Lorne said, twirling his knife. Briony’s heartbeat quickened as he began spinning the blade on his thumb. “My heartspring gets so weak after I drain her; dry skin and tired eyes.” Lorne’s gaze dropped over Briony’s neck and chest. “And no other kinds of marks, either. You must not be having that much fun.”
The table laughed. Briony glanced to Octavia, standing ghostly behind Lorne’s chair, peeling an orange for him with her eyes glued to his knife as it spun.
“You know how much I paid for her,” Toven drawled. “Of course I bathe her in milk and lavender every night.”
Canning laughed. But Lorne’s eyes were darting across Briony’s skin. She drew in a slow breath, wishing she could go back to Toven’s side of the room.
Quick as lightning, there was a glint of metal, and then Lorne was a breath away, his knife between her skin and the green strap of her dress. He tugged on it.
“She’s an Eversun, Toven. She only needs to lie on her back.” His crisp white teeth flashed at her, his breath hot on her face. “Besides, I always heal them afterward.”
She froze in horror as the knife cut through the strap, her heart fluttering wildly and her eyes wide—her dress slipping down her chest— The knife zoomed away from her skin, spinning through the air to pierce the stone wall as Lorne jumped backward.
Her strap repaired itself, and she turned to see Toven’s hand outstretched, hot rage simmering beneath his cool facade.
“I’m not sure how many more times I need to say it,” he whispered, and the room was barely breathing. “That heartspring is mine. Her mouth is mine, her magic is mine, her skin is mine.” His teeth bit through the words, and he met eyes with every person at the table before saying, “You will not touch her, under any circumstances. I purchased her. I do what I please with her.”
Her skin tingled where she could still feel the ghost of Lorne’s knife. Her breath was shallow as she watched Toven glare at them, still as a statue, until he was satisfied that he was heard.
“Now bring me a plate. I said I was hungry.”
Briony took the plate and hurried to the other side of the room. As she set it before Toven, she reached to refill his wineglass, too. An arm snaked out around her waist, and she was suddenly tugged into Toven’s lap. She stifled a gasp and righted herself, sitting sideways across his thighs. His left arm slipped around her back, steadying her with his palm against her left hip.
Toven picked up his fork with his free hand and turned to the table. “Now, what were we talking about?”
Briony tried to concentrate on anything but the firmness of Toven’s thighs beneath her. She’d never sat in a man’s lap before. It wasn’t proper for any unmarried young woman to do so in public, much less the daughter of the king. She’d been close to a man’s body like this when she was unchaperoned with Didion, but they’d only kiss and clutch at each other while standing.
Now it wasn’t just the feeling of Toven’s thighs through the silk of her dress, but also his hand steadying her. The brush of air across her naked back.
Conversation slowly flowed again, tension high in the air after Toven’s outburst. When Cecily refilled Collin’s plate, he pulled her into his lap as well, nuzzling his face into her neck. When Briony next glanced up, Octavia was in Lorne’s lap, his fingers twirling her hair absently while he talked to
Canning about betting scores. Guilt boiled in Briony’s gut at the thought that she and Toven had changed the tone of the evening.
Her gaze drifted to Jellica again. While Canning made no move to bring her into his lap, she stood barely a pace behind him, her body shifting and lip pulled between her teeth in what Briony would call desire. She reached for Canning’s shoulder and then dropped her hand, as if remembering herself.
Finn was the first one to offer his heartspring a bite of cheese. Then suddenly the strawberry-blond woman had a glass of wine in her hand, laughing at everything Liam Quill said as she sat in his lap.
To Toven’s right was a muscular Bomardi with rich bronze skin whom Briony thought was called Kleve. He’d been in in final year at school when she and Rory started and had been kind as far as Briony could remember. He looked rather displeased about the entire evening, sipping quietly from his wineglass, while his heartspring, a dark-skinned woman Briony didn’t recognize at all, stood still as stone, eyes a thousand miles away.
Then sat Collin, whom Briony could hardly look at without feeling ill as he forced Cecily to kiss him at the dinner table. Between Collin and Canning sat a man whom Briony thought was the successor to Gains’s place in the Ten, though she didn’t remember his name.
From her left, Finn reached forward for his glass of wine, and a black gemstone ring caught the light. And like a bolt of lightning hitting the sky, she suddenly realized why these men had dining privileges like this.
They weren’t just old friends from school. They were the successors.
Cohle, Carvin, Trow, Gains, Locklin, Quill, Twindle, Hearst, Kleve, and Gidrey—those who stood in line to the Seat—passed their place in line to one person of their choosing on their death or abdication.
She glanced at their right hands. Dark gemstones gleamed back at her from their middle fingers, like Toven’s. Even Finn, who had previously been successor to his father at fourteenth, was wearing a ring that symbolized the Ten. He must have moved up. Lorne’s ring had no gemstone encased in it.
She itched to ask Toven about that.
These eight men were all on the line, somehow. In fact, if she matched each known successor to a position on the line, she would probably find that
the two other successors not here were women. She would have scoffed if she could, knowing how much Bomard looked down on Evermore for relying on male-born primogeniture. Now look at them. Some of their mothers or aunts may be on the line, but the second generation was certainly a boys’ club.
“Toven,” Canning called across the table, his cheeks flushed from the wine. “Since we won’t be getting a taste, tell us a bit about the princess in the bedroom?”
A guffaw burst from someone, and then the table went silent. Briony’s face grew hot, and Toven’s throat click as he swallowed.
“What do you want to know?” He lifted his wineglass, draining it. Her heartbeat drummed against her ribs.
Behind Canning, Jellica had tears rolling down her face that Briony couldn’t understand. Jellica’s hands were squeezed tightly into fists, and her chest and neck were flushed.
“I seem to remember she was aloof in public, but fiery in private.”
Canning smirked at Briony, and she remembered the way he’d stolen her for a dance at the state dinner. “Is she just as blazing in bed?”
Laughter clattered against the spoons, and she lifted her head to find every eye on her, hungry with lust or cruel amusement.
“In the beginning,” Toven said finally, a low hum through her back. “Now she knows how to relax.”
She felt a shiver at her shoulder blades, spreading outward and sinking into her skin.
“What’s her cunt like?” Lorne asked, biting back a smile.
“Delicious.”
There was stillness, and Briony thought perhaps Toven had said the wrong thing. Because it wouldn’t be necessary to...it wouldn’t be something that he’d...that they’d— “You go down on her?” Collin asked, voicing her concerns with a grimace.
“Well, if she’s misbehaving I don’t bother,” he said, as if he’d been asked about the weather.
“That’s what the elixir is for, Toven,” Canning said with a laugh.
Behind him, Jellica whined in her throat. Canning beckoned her forward and sat her across his lap. Briony’s stomach churned as Jellica finally calmed once she was touching him. Canning shushed her, almost kindly, and whispered, “Just a bit longer.”
Briony hid her disgust as Jellica pressed her face into Canning’s neck and began to kiss his skin desperately. Jellica was on the elixir at this very moment. This is what it did, Briony realized.
“We get on fine without the elixir,” Toven said. “It’s so much more satisfying to have them moaning and begging for it all by themselves, don’t you think?” Toven’s hand lifted off her hip and reached for a curl, twisting it lightly. “That rush of Sacral Magic is so much sweeter that way. No offense, Canning.”
Canning’s lips twitched without smiling. Jellica was writhing in his lap, pressing herself closer, kissing his skin, and trying to get her fingers under his collar. Almost lazily, Canning pulled her hands off his buttons and pushed them into her lap.
“But you have used the elixir?” Canning asked. There was a challenge in his expression.
Briony felt every eye on them, the men and the women. All but Jellica who sobbed against Canning’s neck, as if she’d die if he didn’t allow her to touch him.
“No. Rosewood doesn’t need it,” Toven said conversationally.
Liam picked up his glass and said grandly, “Oh, that we might all be blessed with Toven Hearst’s sexual prowess.” His eyes glinted.
Toven breathed deeply against Briony’s ribs. “The stones bless us all with different skills,” he said dryly. “I’m sure you and your heartspring will find your own rhythm, Liam.”
The table chuckled lightly, and Liam glared at him. Liam’s heartspring was a man. Briony had heard rumors in school that Liam preferred men, but he was always quick to deny it and quick to anger over it.
Toven sipped his wine as Liam opened his mouth to retort— “We’d be honored to have Miss Rosewood partake next week,” Canning said. The room went quiet. “Seeing as you won’t be sharing her, we’d love to
have a glimpse at what she’s like.” Canning ran his tongue over his teeth.
“On the house, of course.”
There was a tense pause. Every eye flickered between Toven and Canning. Toven tilted his head, and she could feel the breath he drew before replying.
“That’s kind, but quite a waste. Like I’ve said, we get on fine without.”
Toven ran his hand up her hip, over her rib cage, and Briony’s body froze at the sensation before she could mask it. She glanced up at Canning; a slow smirk was curling over his face.
“No need to be shy, Toven. You know what happens in this room, stays in this room. I want to see her gagging for it, like you’ve described in such detail to us,” Canning said. It had an air of finality. He snapped suddenly, with an idea. “And it doesn’t need to be a waste. You could sign up for the
arena next week!”
Briony had no idea what that meant.
Toven set down his wineglass. “I assume that’s why Miss Reeve is currently gnawing on your neck?”
With a laugh, Canning softly instructed Jellica to leave his lap and return to the wall behind him. She whined, pressing herself closer. He kissed her cheek and gave her a push.
“Yes, you’ll see me in the arena tonight,” Canning said. “Jellica will give me a bit more strength, won’t you dear?” He turned over his shoulder and blew her a kiss. Jellica shivered, her hand running over her skin.
The men started trading stories about the women in their laps or women in the past, as if they were all back in the boys’ dormitories. The laughter started again. The man to Canning’s left, Gains’s successor, told a particularly nasty story, and he bounced the woman on his lap in a crude imitation of it, jostling her until she spilled her glass.
Briony tried to focus on the women, the exits, the sharp cutlery—anything but the vileness happening in her father’s old dining room. Or the way Toven’s hand stayed in her curls, threading and twisting softly.
One of the women passing out fruit and sweets smiled demurely every time a wandering hand squeezed her backside or drifted up the side of her
thigh, and Cecily looked as if she might be sick as Collin turned her to straddle him in the chair.
Briony felt acid in her throat, burning away at her lungs. Toven had told her that behind locked doors, things were worse. She braced herself for the evening to spiral further. Not even the slow rub of Toven’s thumb behind her ear could distract her from the tightness in her chest.
The men were talking over one another, louder and louder. She felt Toven laugh when Liam made a joke, bellow when Finn dared Canning to chug the rest of his bottle, chuckle when Kleve left to grab more wine from the attached serving room. As her eyes followed him out, they landed on Collin pushing on Cecily’s shoulders, urging her down to her knees.
She gasped, choking on the air. No one batted an eye. One more glance showed Cecily’s shaking fingers unbuckling Collin’s trousers. Her face was pale but resigned, as if she saw no other option.
Briony couldn’t breathe.
“Who’s against you in the arena tonight, Canning? Not Carvin, I hope,”
Finn said.
“No, Carvin takes a break this week,” Canning said.
“After what happened to Hardstark last month, I’d be hesitant to get anywhere near Carvin,” said Liam.
Briony’s ears pricked at the mention of Cordelia. She looked away as Cecily took Collin out of his trousers, bile rising in the back of her throat.
“Cohle was too ambitious,” Canning said. “He should have known Hardstark would be husked.”
Her eye twitched. Her shallow breath felt like ice in her chest.
Husked. Cordelia had been husked—all her magic taken, used up, with no
promise it would ever return.
Briony squeezed her hands into fists.
A glass shattered—a spray of crystal shards across the dinner table, fruit and cheese exploding outward and bouncing away. The men scattered to their feet, and a pressure released in her chest as Toven stood with her, spinning her body away, his hand outstretched to cast protections.
Collin’s fist was bloody where his glass had been just a second ago.
Looking down at his hand in amazement, Collin flexed his fingers. Cecily
crawled out from under the table.
Briony breathed deep.
Her magic.
She’d just let her magic loose in front of the successors to the line.
