Chapter 77: Seventy Seven
Valka
I pace the length of my bedchamber until the rug wears thin, panic hollowing my gut.
He knew. How could he know? When-- when had he--? No. If he’d always known, he wouldn’t have been angry that we slept together.
During the mating rite...
Had our slit palms touched then and sparked what? Memories for him? Then why couldn’t I remember it? The absurd claims he’s made, things I never could have done.
I stop in front of the mirror, staring at myself. That memory flashes again before my eyes and I try to pick it apart objectively, but it feels real. The feel of blood running down my fingers. The reek of rot and death. The grunt of pain.
Theirs? His?
Leave me for dead. Again.
My world tilts with the weight of it and I clutch the edge of the dressing table to keep from falling.
What have I done? To Lucien? Who else did I hurt? Who did I kill? Why can’t I remember more?
Come home with me...
Home? Where was home? What was he talking about? The harder I tried to remember, the deeper the claws of pain and before I could think it through, my hand closes around the vase of blue roses Lucien had sent this morning and hurl it at the mirror, shattering it along with the image of myself.
Who am I, really? Who is Valka? Where did the name Valka even come from? Was I innocent? Was I cunning? Was I cruel? What drove me? Am I the victim, or is everyone else, somehow, a victim of a situation I created?
The door of my chambers swing open and Margot pauses in the doorway, eyes taking in the mess of the broken furniture, my trembling stance and my heaving chest. She shuts the door behind her, crossing the room in long purposeful strides. "You called for me. And since you skipped Council again, I assumed it was urgent."
"Yes," I say, licking my dried lips. "Well, Mother, I--"
I do not note the word until it leaves me.
Margot clutches her fingers tightly, eyes momentarily wide.
I shake my head. "Sorry, I-- I called you because I was curious about something." I walk over to the couch, ignoring the way she still looks haunted by my calling her ’mother’. I swallow and steady myself. "Are there events that can undo a Whisper? Make a compulsion fail?"
She finally moves from the spot, joining me by the couch. She refills my cup of tea, extending it to me with a pointed look at my shaking hands. "It depends on the receiver of the command and the strength of their minds. Most thralls never break on normal, simpler minds. But a more complex, more powerful one might gain clarity in the event that they have a moment’s touch with something greater. Or divine. Or equally mind-boggling."
Her eyes of gold search mine. "Is this be about the King?"
How she always seems to know everything doesn’t faze me anymore. Not with the amount of maids in the castle who bring her information from every crevice of it. But I shake my head anyway, not wanting to tell her about Lucien. "No. I ask for myself. I’ve begun to suspect that... I may have blocked out my own memories. I now wish to remember everything, but it won’t come to me as swiftly as I need it to."
If Lucien knew everything, it was important that I found out how much I’d let on. If he was on my side. If this new interest and sudden fixation was because of Ilya or me. And what might have happened between us that had led to a fall out so bad, that I’d erased his memories completely and tried to kill him. And erased mine, too.
Well, not in that order. Or maybe it was. At this point, only Lucien and the gods knew and I hated not knowing. It felt like everyone else had one up on me.
"Then I suggest you not force it, child. Though a weapon, the mind can often be the most fragile part of us. You stand to fracture it if you push too hard and as it already stands," she leans over, tapping my temple gently. "I quite believe it may already be fractured."
I bluster, rearing back. "I’m not crazy."
She laughs. "That’s neither here nor there. I’ve never met a completely sane individual. Time to time, I’ve come to believe to survive in this world, there must be a certain insanity attached to each person. Some more than others."
I cannot tell if this is a thinly veiled insult.
"All I’m saying is, a fractured mind," she adds. "doesn’t always mean a diseased one. And if yours has taken up arms to shields you from a truth, then it’s best left uncovered."
But I couldn’t stand leaving it uncovered. I’d dig, like always, because I had to know. I had to know that... it was me. Not Ilya. That he...well. That he wanted. But I don’t tell her that. I’d sooner get answers from plucking a daffodil, muttering ’he loves me’, ’he loves me not’, than sharing my true thoughts on the matter with anyone. "What came of the meeting today?"
Her lips purse. "The same dull discourse. Though, it’s been decided that you leave for Voss on the morrow." She shakes her head. "It is often a terrible idea to leave the throne unattended so early after a coronation, but the King would not have any option of bringing you with him. Might there be a reason why?"
"Not that I can think of," I lie, because regardless of our problems, I’d sworn secrecy on the matter to Lucien.
Margot’s eyes narrow, like she hears the lie for what it is, but she doesn’t push. Instead, her lips curl into a sneer. "And in his absence, he chose Veyra to rule the Kingdom in his stead. That witch! It is an insult to us. House Nythorn is the family of the Queen. It should have been us. Me or Wyatt..."
I tune out her bickering, having enough problems of my own to deal with.
***
The temperature was so low, the climate so harsh and unyielding, we delayed riding by a day. And even then, it didn’t improve. Already, our arrival to the Summit would be late, and Lucien couldn’t hold it off any longer.
My hands are covered in black gloves, a thick, dark velvet cloak clutched tightly around my body. "Has Lucien said... anything to you of late?"
Evadne’s grey hood slips back slightly from her hair as well watch the last of the trunks and exotic gifts for the Voss King loaded to the carriages. "No. Not that he ever tells me much."
"I assumed you were close," I murmur, getting a little distracted at the sight of Lucien’s arms as he shovels underneath the carriage’s wheel, mucking out the snow. It is out of character, dirtying himself like that, and more appealing than I’d have liked.
Wide shoulders tapered to a trim waist, snow falling against tattooed, pale-gold skin, that gods awful vee that makes me want to sin, gods have mercy. His hand plunges into his hair to push it back from his face and I expel a rough breath as his muscles ripple.
I have the irrational feeling to drop my head in my hands and sigh in defeat at my warring depraved thoughts.
And I’m not the only one who’s noticed. Because every woman with eyes within the radius can see clearly and are swooning.
My lips twist with displeasure. It was cold enough to freeze all of our arses off and he thought now would be a good time to be shirtless.