36
Hours before Heartfall, Vander has a dress delivered that is barely a dress at all.
It’s clear, liquid fabric that does exactly what he intended. It shows every one of my markings, and my sword tucked against my spine. Thicker fabric barely covers small places, hardly keeping me decent.
I stare at myself in the mirror, at all the silver, glimmering through the gossamer. For as long as I can remember, I’ve avoided looking at my naked body. It’s been a source of shame. Of sadness. Of fear.
Now I look. I look, and for once, I am not disgusted. I might not have had enough to eat for many years, but I am strong. This body has gotten me this far. I am capable, and maybe Vander is right. Maybe these silver markings are not a curse.
Because I’m silver, just like my dragon. Just like my sword. And they, I
think, are magnificent.
Maybe I could be too.
I take a steadying breath, running my eyes down my dress again. Down my skin. I am not wrong, I think to myself. I am sky-touched.
And everyone in this castle is about to know it.
The festivities are about to begin. The estate is full of attendants who are running around, putting the finishing touches on the decorations. The gates, usually closed, are now wide open. Dragons and other majestic creatures have started landing outside them, making the ground lurch every few moments.
I walk into the stables, careful not to get my heels in the mud.
Raker’s head is hanging down, his wrists shackled above him. “Tell me that awful music is going to stop,” he growls, referring to the violinist who’s been practicing for the last hour. I think it sounds lovely. I roll my
eyes.
“Of course you don’t like music.”
His head snaps up. “I don’t like—” His eyes widen, then narrow as he takes in the sheer dress.
“What the fuck are you wearing?” he demands.
I lift a shoulder, and the fabric shifts. “It’s a dress,” I say through my teeth.
He frowns. “All I see is you.” He says it like that fact is horrifying.
I lift my chin, refusing to let him make me feel anything but beautiful right now. Anything but strong. “Vander gave it to me. He said everyone would like it.”
“Did he now,” he says slowly, deep voice rumbling. Even chained, he sounds fearsome. I might be afraid of him if I hadn’t known him for weeks.
“Yes. Not everyone finds me as repulsive as you do.”
His lip curls in disgust. Something flashes in his eyes, something I can’t read. “Is that it? You’ve become enamored with the immortal?” He laughs, like I’m a fool.
I don’t even deign to answer his question. I just take a step forward, watching his gaze slide up my dress, up my body, until his eyes meet mine.
In a flash, I produce my sword. I dig it into the ground between us and sink to his level, both hands clutching the hilt.
I don’t know how this works, but I have a feeling Raker does. He’s had his sword longer than I have. He has royal training.
“Swear on my sword,” I say. “Swear you will help me reach the end.”
Seeing the map in Vander’s castle has shown me just how precarious this alliance is. Raker could betray me at any point. I need an oath.
I was right. He doesn’t look shocked at all. If anything, he looks bored.
He lifts a brow. “Someone learned a new trick.” Fury rises. He manages to always make me feel like a fool.
I lean forward, until I’m just a breath away from him. “Someone is chained to a gods-damned stable wall. Swear on my sword.”
He just blinks. “Don’t trust me yet? I’m wounded.”
“You would be dead if it wasn’t for me.”
“Same to you, Aris.”
“Swear it.” Spit flies with the intensity of my words, landing on him. He looks at me with nothing short of contempt. Then, his gaze shifts to my hair.
It’s down, loose waves to my waist. His frown deepens.
He leans forward to say right into my face, in a voice that is brutally quiet, “This might have worked, Aris, if you didn’t need me. You won’t survive the rest of the way without me.” He says it like it is fact. He says it like an insult. He looks me up and down in a way that has me burning with anger and shame. “I’ve never sworn upon anyone’s sword, and yours will not be the first.”
We stare at each other for a moment longer.
“Fine,” I say, rising and pulling my sword out of the muddy ground. I clean it on his armor, making him bare his teeth at me. “You’re not the only one I’ll be asking to swear on my sword. After tonight, I might not need you at all.”
Then I turn around and leave him chained to the fucking wall.
Vander Evren knocks on my door minutes to midnight.
He’s wearing silver armor that matches his hair in its brilliance. Up close, I can see delicate lines carved into it, ancient symbols and sweeping designs. He gives me a quick glance that doesn’t linger.
“Perfect,” he says.
I’ve never been called such a thing in my life. He offers his arm, and I take it.
The music is getting louder as we stroll down the empty halls. Everyone is already inside. Vander told me to wait until he came to my door, to make the best entrance. I’ve been hearing footsteps, quiet voices, and attendants for hours. Apparently, the festivities will last well into the morning.
Nerves flurry through my stomach.
“Immortals … they marry, then?” I ask. He nods. “Do they … do they take oaths? On their swords?”
Vander does something completely unexpected—he laughs.
“Oaths are sacred,” he says matter-of-factly.
“So are marriages,” I say, remembering my parents’ own. They didn’t swear an oath. There was no ancestral sword, or weapon, to swear upon.
He tilts his head at me in curiosity. “Most are not” is all he says.
I can hear all the strings of the song now, a violin weaving together with other instruments I don’t recognize. It’s like a glimmering pulse, making
my own heart quicken as we get closer and closer to the ballroom.
“Don’t be afraid,” he says.
“I’m not,” I insist quietly.
He snorts. “I can hear your heart racing. It’s a bit concerning.”
I clench my jaw. Sometimes I forget how different immortals are from us.
How much more powerful. And I’m about to put myself in the middle of a room filled with the worst of them. I’m about to show them the secrets across my skin. I’m about to rely on them to make it to the end of the quest.
We reach the main doors, and my chest locks up. What if I can’t do it?
What if I came all this way only to fail?
Vander looks over at me. “The entrance is important. Many heirs and heiresses have entire demonstrations to show their worth.”
My eyes widen. “I—I don’t have anything planned,” I stammer, nerves spinning, making me feel light-headed.
He lifts a lazy shoulder. “You’re arriving on my arm. That’s enough.”
I take a breath as we both face forward again. I straighten my spine. I might not feel completely confident, but I must look it. “You think highly of
yourself.”
“Yes,” he admits. “But I’m also right.”
The doors open.
And everything goes quiet.
We’re standing at the top of a long marble staircase, leading into a grand ballroom. Below, hundreds of hungry, glimmering eyes are on us. Most are widened.
Even the music has stopped. With a sharp look from Vander, the musicians start again.
I stiffen. “Everyone is looking at me like they want to kill me,” I murmur.
He makes an amused sound. “No, just some of the women. Most of the men are looking at you with a very different purpose.”
My cheeks heat, and he smiles. He reaches down and lifts my chin, so my eyes meet his. “You are silver. Marked by the gods themselves. They should be doing nothing short of going down on their gods-damned knees.”
I swallow. It almost hurts. “I don’t see you kneeling, immortal,” I say.
His smile grows. “Soon enough, human,” he says. “Soon enough.”
Then we start down the stairs.
I’ve never seen so many beautiful people in my life. These immortals are dressed in their very best, an array of dramatic fabrics that melt into a sea of
glimmering color. One gown is made up of giant rose petals, the edges beaded in lilac, the rest slightly sheer. Another is made of purple gossamer that glows ethereally, as if made with those star-woven fabrics from the Traveling City. Another immortal has only a band around her chest and a flowing skirt—expertly illustrated metallic paint upon her body covers the rest. Yet another dress is made of high metal chain mail cut into an elegant form. Another is made up of a mosaic of shining onyx dragon scales.
The fabrics are like a map of Starside, showing the rarities from every corner. It’s not just the women—some of the men are also dressed ornately.
Vander was right. All of these are statements, outfits crafted from rare materials to show worth and wealth, like the guests themselves are weapons to be desired and claimed.
“These are all heirs?” I say, frowning, remembering the family trees.
Vander shakes his head slightly. “No. But they’re all nobles. Heirs and heiresses are preferred matches, but there aren’t enough of us. Other nobles might have something advantageous to offer. Relics, perhaps. Mines. Skills in war.”
I snort, earning me a horrified look from a woman in a dress made from the scales of what must be a rare, luminous fish. “So marriages are just
alliances.”
He looks over at me. “Precisely.”
When we reach the bottom, he takes my hand and bows. Just like we practiced.
The rest of the couples give us room. There are whispers, and I hear pieces of them.
Silver, they all say, staring at my markings. Staring at my sword.
Human.
Silver human.
Vander and I circle each other, two hands touching, then switching. Soon, the others start to dance around us. It’s dizzying, all this color everywhere.
There’s an emerald-green dress made up completely of gemstones. An orange one that looks like the flames of a phoenix. A blue dress of ice, the water flowing in waterfalls beneath a frozen layer. Another is violet, with cap sleeves and diamonds stitched into the fabric. The women twirl, their dresses moving with them, looking like flowers in a living bouquet.
Dancing is different with music. It’s beautiful. So very beautiful. Every part of this is like a dream.
Crystal orbs of light are strung across the room, in long glimmering strands, floating above, knotting together to create chandeliers in some places, forming constellations in others. Flecks of silver light like shredded stars float around the dancing couples, like a celestial snowfall.
Glorious. This is all beyond any of my wildest imaginations for what a Starside ball might look like.
In this room, for just a few moments, I am disconnected from the rest of the world, and all my problems. They all melt away in a mesmerizing flurry of light and magic and music. I feel every step, every twist, every strum of the song. I look around, memorizing everything, promising myself I’ll never forget.
For those few minutes, I’m not just surviving, I’m living. I’m enjoying.
I’m smiling.
When the song ends, Vander’s expression turns serious. He pulls me in for the last move and whispers in my ear, “Now your game begins. You
have your list?”
I nod. It’s all in my head.
“Good. Remember to look at the crests. Get your invitations, Aris. Your quest depends on it. I’ve done all I can, for Stellan.”
Then he’s gone. And I’m alone.
So, it begins.
The fear of not finding another partner vanishes when I immediately spin into another’s embrace.
His crest is clear on his suit. So is the blade at his hip.
Heir of House Ashcroft. They have a sprawling estate in the south, surrounded by woods. He killed four of his siblings in duels to win his sword.
There are four heirs on my list. Four houses that stand between here and
the Land of the Gods.
His is one of them.
“Human,” he says, marveling at my hand. At the heat of it. His gaze lingers on my body. “I haven’t had a human in a while.”
I don’t know whether to retch or reach for my sword.
Remember your purpose, I tell myself. I’m supposed to find out what he wants.
“Perhaps we can remedy that,” I say, trying for my most flirtatious smile.
I think he’ll see right through me. That he’ll read the distance I’m keeping
between us more than my words, but he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. He pulls me close to him, and I swallow.
“Perhaps we can,” he says. “You’re on the Questral. You’re silver. You might survive the change to immortal, should you drink the cup.” His eyes drop to my chest. “I’d like to have you before and after … See the difference.”
Oh my gods I want to vomit, but instead I say, “Help me reach the end, then.”
His eyes glimmer. “You want an invitation to my estate, human?” He laughs. His eyes slide down my body again. “Perhaps I’m inclined to give it to you.”
That’s when I realize that he doesn’t fear me … He just wants me. He doesn’t think I’m truly capable of causing any damage … My access to his
house doesn’t bother him.
Good.
“Find me at the end of the night,” he whispers into my ear, his pale hand
stroking down my dress. My skin crawls.
Then I’m spun away, into another grip.
The heir to a great mine—but not a Great House. He’s polite enough, but his steps aren’t smooth, and I find myself almost losing the rhythm of the dance. When he spins me, I look around, searching for my targets.
I find one across the way. House Harlow. His crest is recognizable— covered in stars. I turn back to the immortal, smiling, slowly leading us in the other heir’s direction. By the time the song ends, I spin, shamelessly cutting another woman off, landing in my target’s arms with a gasp, as if I really didn’t mean to.
If he sees through my strategy, he doesn’t show it. His smile is warm.
Unlike the other two, this immortal holds me with the gentlest touch.
He’s tall and handsome. His skin is light brown. His eyes are kind.
The facts about him and his house flitter through my head. Only child.
He inherited his sword. His house is protected by a goddess, given a temple built on its grounds.
“You are very beautiful,” he says, his eyes on my face instead of my body. I smile, genuinely.
“I’m very human,” I say, because my looks don’t compare to any of the immortals around me.
“Yet, here you are. With these markings … with this sword.” He gazes at my shoulder, and the blade behind it, before finding my eyes again. “I’m Magnus. What is your name?”
He’s the first to ask it of me. “Aris,” I say.
At that, his eyes light up. “An ancient name. A strong one.”
“Is it?”
He nods. “It’s fitting. Tell me, Aris. What do you seek from the quest?”
He doesn’t assume I want immortality, not like Lord Ashcroft. “I want revenge,” I say.
His face goes solemn. “Against the gods.”
I blink, shocked. “How do you know?”
His smile is sad. “Why else would you be here? Who else has caused
such destruction?”
“Destruction?”
He looks around, as if the gods themselves could be among us. “In this, humans and immortals aren’t so different. The gods rule above us all, with an iron hand. They use us for their own bidding. We’ve lost many because of them.” I know. I’ve now seen proof of it.
“And you never tried to overthrow them?”
His smile grows, reaching his eyes. “Your courage is refreshing. But … perhaps misguided. Anyone who has ever tried to face the gods has been killed, along with their entire bloodline. Or … worse.” What’s worse than death?
My throat tightens. It might put more fear in me if any of my family was left.
He studies me carefully. “I can see you’re firm in your conviction.”
“I am.”
“And you’ve made it this far.”
“I have.”
In a flash of crystal, he unsheathes his sword. It’s clear and glimmering, like the ones in the Traveling City. The light is slightly different, though.
More white than silver. Slowly, he kneels before me. There are gasps around the room as everyone watches. He doesn’t seem to care, or notice.
He grips the hilt of his sword in both hands, the tip scratching the floor.
“You are welcome at my home any time, Aris of Stormside,” he says.
“Consider this your invitation.”
I blink. My eyes don’t leave his as he rises to his full height. Clumsily, I reach for my sword … and press its metal to his. A jolt goes through it, as the invitation is given.
I sheathe it, unbelieving. I actually did it. I got at least one.
It was almost … too easy.
It’s hard for me to trust anything. Anyone. Especially an immortal heir I just met.
He must see the questioning in my look, because he says, “Any human with more courage than an immortal has a friend in me.”
He bows before stepping away. The song ends.
I’m thrown into another dance.
Seven partners. Each with various degrees of conversation. Some are kind and gentle, if not a little shy. Others try to touch me far too many places. Some aren’t heirs. Some are heirs of houses I don’t need.
I seek out the ones I do. I smile at them until they come to ask me to dance. I make my interest known. There’s no time for nerves or wariness.
I’m here for alliances. I’m here for the quest.
But—for a few more stolen seconds … I enjoy this.
The glittering fabrics. The spins, all coordinated, all perfectly executed.
The music, the food, the laughter.
I love it.
It is selfish, it is foolish, but I like these sparkling things. I like this glimmering, enchanted world. This is momentary, this is not my home, but right now I revel in this experience; I drink up all of it.
I genuinely laugh at something that my partner says, before a song is over. A bite of disappointment pricks at me, that our conversation has finished, even though he’s not one of the alliances I need. He gently spins me away, smile still on my face, and I crash so roughly against a chest that my breath is stolen from my lungs. I fall backward.
A massive hand catches me by the front of my bodice. Callused knuckles smooth down my breasts, long fingers gripping the fabric, pulling me back up.
Right toward a devastating face that has become far too familiar. My eyes widen.
“Don’t look so disappointed, Aris,” Raker says.
He’s not in the mud-crusted armor I last saw him in. No, he’s not in armor at all. He’s in formal wear that he must have stolen. And he’s clean.
He must have bathed.
My rush of surprise is smothered by anger.
I can hear the whispers. Feel the eyes on us. I can’t let anyone know that anything is wrong, or he will ruin everything. I plaster a smile on my face and let him take my hand as we blend into the movements.
The demon knows his steps. He must have been watching for a while. We circle each other, my eyes sharp as the blade on my back. His glare is cutting.
It’s like a duel. Instead of metal, our hands meet between us.
“How did you get in here?” I demand through my teeth as he spins me around. He dips me back with an ease that makes me breathless, and that’s when I see one of the guards in the corner. His head falls to the floor.
I gasp as he pulls me up, right into his chest. “You are going to ruin my plan,” I spit, worry bleeding through me. I shake my head, a lock of my hair getting in my face with the movement. “Everyone is looking at you.”
“No,” he says, his grip tightening on my waist and hand. His eyes slip down my dress, then meet mine again. “They’re not.”
They’re not.
I swallow, his words skipping down each vertebra of my spine like a rock thrown onto a river, casting ripples. That’s what he’s doing. The way he’s looking at me, eyes searing in what might just be anger but might also be something else, makes heat spread through me, nerves alighting at his touch. Especially when he carefully tucks that loose lock behind my ear.
“Why are you here?” I ask, my head spinning as we continue the dance.
“And how?” He’s been chained to a wall for days. The last time I saw him,
the shackles were still locked.
At his silence, realization sets in.
“You could break through those chains this entire time, couldn’t you?” I demand, thinking of all the times I hand-fed him. He must have enjoyed that in his twisted, horrible mind.
Why allow himself to be chained in the first place?
He ignores my second question. “I’m here to watch you play princess,” he says, eyes full of dark mirth. “I can see you were enjoying yourself …”
He tilts his head at me, and his gaze sharpens. His voice turns cruel. “Are you that desperate for attention? Do you like having eyes on your bare skin?”
I glare at him. “Not yours,” I snarl as we move as one.
He grips my hand tighter, veins going taut like they do when he holds his sword, swallowing my fingers. He glares back at me. “I’m not a simple fool, distracted by something so ordinary as a woman’s body.”
Ordinary. My hold tightens on his shoulder, my nails digging in, which I hope is painful.
“So, none of these women have caught your attention?”
He blinks. He looks completely serious when he says, “There are other
women here?”
Ridiculous bastard.
This is going to end the moment Vander spots him. The moment people realize the four immortal guards securing the perimeter are all dead. He’s ruined it. I take a look around, at this beautiful room, at this beautiful place, at the music.
I can feel his gaze following mine. I hear his huff of disdain.
“Beautiful things do not belong to us,” he says. Us. Humans. Questral challengers, fighting for drops of magic.
“I know,” I say, meaning it. “But I like to look anyway.”
Only then do I realize he has slowly been moving us toward the door. No one else seems to notice. Vander Evren is on the other side of the room, attention completely fixed on a woman in a stunning gold dress. He looks enraptured. And furious. His knuckles are white against his goblet. I almost smile, seeing him so angrily transfixed. I want to see more of this woman who has completely captured his notice, but Raker drags me into the hall.
“What are you—”
Before I can say a word, Raker has me in his arms, and there’s the slam of doors behind us. We’re in a crimson room.
I slip from his hold and am about to knee him in the groin when he grips behind my leg and spins me so my spine hits the wall.
“Cute,” he says, glowering down at me, his hand still curled beneath my knee, pulled in an angle against his body.
To anyone walking in, we would look like a couple. A couple doing anything but glaring at each other, baring our teeth at each other.
“What are you doing?” I growl.
“He is parading you.”
I scoff. “Do you think I care? Do you think I have any remaining
shame?”
“You should.”
“Why? I’ll be dead soon anyway, right?” I say, throwing his own words back at him.
He doesn’t like that. His eyes narrow. He leans in, opening his mouth to no doubt insult me further, but then he pauses. He ducks slowly, nose nearly touching my jaw.
Then, he goes rigid. “I can smell him all over you,” he snarls. His eyes are alight with nothing short of fury.
“If I didn’t know better, I would say you were jealous,” I counter.
“Good thing you know better,” he growls, our lips just inches apart.
We’re both breathing too quickly, both fuming.
Just at that moment, the doors fly open.
It’s the heir of House Harlow. Magnus. He must have heard my protests.
Or maybe he saw me get shoved into this room. His hand is on his sword.
He’s here to defend me.
It’s almost endearing.
Raker will kill him without a second thought. And though I have no interest in him whatsoever, his is the only oath I’ve secured. Also, he did seem halfway decent, which seems to be a rarity in this castle.
We don’t need the entire ball up in arms.
So I do what I think is the best solution.
I take Raker’s face in my hands and pull his mouth toward mine.
His eyes widen.
Widen.
We have almost been ripped apart by demons. We have survived a deadly mist and bog, crawling with beasts. We have gone days without food or water. We have faced countless dangers.
Never once have I seen Raker seem this terrified.
His arm juts out against the wall, stopping my lips half an inch from his.
He bares his teeth and glares at me.
Stubborn idiot.
My lips slip down his neck instead, and I feel him tense beneath me.
“Pretend,” I whisper against his skin, and if anything, he stills even more.
But he doesn’t back away. No. He moves closer.
I groan, pretending but also not being able to help myself, as I breathe in the fresh smell of his incredible, intoxicating soap. I’m going to need to ask him what’s in it, if we get out of here alive. Whatever it is, it’s my favorite.
I blame the soap for what I do next—which is to lean in very slowly, making my intent known. Waiting for him to pull back. When he doesn’t, just like in the underground under the fire demon’s influence, I press my lips against his throat and suck against his pulse.
Fuck. His soap is like a drug. I want more. His heartbeat races beneath my tongue. In anger, I’m sure. I hear a sharp inhale, and ready myself for Raker to rip away, to take a step back. To not, in fact, pretend.
But then his hand touches my spine, ever so slightly, pulling me toward him like a beckoning and I shamelessly taste him, stroking his heated skin with my tongue, nipping and sucking, until my head is spinning. Heat floods through me. This is too far. I pull away, miming, but not touching, not anymore.
Until I feel his fingers curl tighter around the back of my knee. My leg is still up. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Maybe it’s the wine. Maybe it’s the glittering dizziness of this night. Maybe it’s the soap? But I arch my back against the wall, leaning into him just the slightest bit.
He leans in too, caging me in. Pressing himself against me, right between
my legs. And that’s when I feel it.
He’s hard.
My eyes fly back up to his. He’s pinning me with his gaze, as if daring, just daring me to say anything. I don’t. All I do is slowly drag myself against his considerable length, blood roaring at the friction, at his size, as both of us take a shared breath— Steps sound across the room, and the doors close again.
Raker moves so quickly away from me that I have to grasp the wall for purchase so as not to slip down it.
Halfway to an insult, I freeze, then gently peel my arms away from the sticky wall. They’re covered in crimson.
“Who would paint right before a ball?” I ask, frowning down at the dark red all over my dress and skin, the same red coating the rest of the walls and the hand Raker used to keep our lips apart.
“That’s not paint,” Raker says, staring at his palm.
Our eyes meet in an instant.
“Huh,” Raker says. He almost sounds impressed.
“What?”
“Vander Evren is a bloodbane.”
The click of a door has us both turning around.
Vander is standing there holding the head of one of his guards, the one that Raker so cavalierly slayed. “And what do you know about bloodbanes, human?”