Page 115 of The Stolen Throne
He taps a gnarled fingertip against the arm of his throne, considering us with a gaze edged in something I can’t pin down. But his curiosity and maybe the need to impress Eidolon has him leaning forward slightly. “A trinket, you say?”
I nod. “One she believed you have.”
Trysolde’s throat works under the taut skin there, and the look in his eyes darkens to more than suspicion. Instinct has me wanting to back away, but I hold my ground. At the same time, the room dims slightly.
“And what trinket is that?” Trysolde asks in a voice that dares me to say it out loud.
“An amulet made of black glass.”
48
Underneath It All
I don’t know what I expected, but it isn’t for the king to laugh. A humorless, penetrating bark of a sound, revealing teeth blackened as if lined in tar. The few people in the room move to circle us.
As if we’re the threat.
Do they not see the state of their sovereign?
Yes, at first glance, he appears bursting with good health, almost too pretty to look directly at. But it’s like evil is wearing a Trysolde skin suit.
The daylight dims even more. I keep my focus on the king and hope really, really hard that Reven is the one doing that thing with the light and it’s not the Shadows…or something else.
“An amulet?” Trysolde says through his sour laughter. The king’s gaze lingers on Reven a moment, then moves back to me. His eyes narrow suddenly as his shoulders hunch over. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
All it takes is that one small gesture—the way he rounds his back, folding protectively over himself—and I know. He’s wearing the amulet now. He lied to his queen about getting rid of it.
His goddess is here. With him.
My own goddess remains silent.
“I know more than you think.”
Trysolde scoffs. “So do I. For instance…” He points a gnarled finger. “I know he is not Eidolon. And you are not welcome here, young Queen of Aryd.”
Every one of his men slowly straightens, and I know they are readying for a fight.
Despite my pounding heart, I bend a haughty look of command, one I know Grandmother would have clapped her hands to see, over this pathetic, power-mad imitation of a king. “I’m not leaving without it.”
His lips curl back. “Then you aren’t leaving alive.”
At his nod, the men circling us attack. But it’s Vos’s ice, not shadow, that shoots through the room, freezing at least three of them where they stand. A familiar whistle shoots by me as Horus emerges from a side chamber behind the throne and runs past, bow and arrow already nocked again and firing. But more of Trysolde’s people emerge, too. By the sounds of fighting behind me, I know the others made it inside and are taking care of them.
In the midst of the fighting, I walk slowly toward the king, who is cowering in his throne now, face ravaged by hate and fear.
“Your queen wants her bondmate returned to her.” I have to raise my voice over the sounds of fighting. “And I will have the amulet hidden beneath your clothes.”
At the mention of Istrella, Trysolde’s expression ripples. If I hadn’t been around Reven so much, I don’t know that I would have caught it. Caught the flash of the true face, the true heart, of the king. This man is so altered that he’s lost himself.
But he still loves Istrella. Underneath it all.
Reven is at my back as I move forward. The shadows remain undisturbed around me as I continue to approach the king, and I’m hoping that means he’s holding them in reserve until we really need them.
Out of the corner of my eye, Trysolde’s warden comes at me, getting close. But Hakan takes him down, holding a wickedly curved dagger to the man’s throat.
The entire chamber goes quiet at that moment, and I have to assume my friends took care of their business. The way the king is watching me, like he’d slit my throat and drink the blood that spills, I know I shouldn’t remove my gaze from him, even to ensure that all the threats have been neutralized. I hold out a hand. “Give it to me.”
“If you want it, you’ll have to pry it from my stiff corpse.”
