Page 42 of Andreas

He had warned her not to pursue the rebels, but if she did not do this, then how would she take vengeance for her son?

Gulping down her rising fear, Areanel forced herself into a posture that resembled calm poise. If Aerileas had planned to punish her, then so be it. His spies had worked fast. Too fast. But why hadn’t he joined the meeting himself? Instead, choosing to pray to the Elvadora. Did his devotion and faith really take precedence over his kingdom?

Areanel picked up her pace. ‘It was only a matter of time, Ada; the renewal of the treaty will allow us the opportunity to investigate and find the rebels who dared cross our border.’

‘Vennedove is not within our borders; it lies on the edge of the Gods’ Land, which I have explicitly forbidden you from entering without permission,’ his tone dropped to an icy rebuke until he was speaking through bared teeth. They passed through another hallway littered with palace aides, who bowed in acknowledgement before returning to their work and scurrying away. It didn’t matter; he ignored them all the same. ‘And you did not have my permission, did you?’

Areanel recognised his fury, but she would not bow her head. That was what he wanted; he wanted to see her weak and subjugated so that he could punish that same supposed weakness. She knew her father too well.

Instead, she quickened her steps until she was in his line of sight, meeting her father’s eyes—almost identical to hers—with an unwavering stare of her own. ‘No, Ada. But—’

‘But nothing!’ His hand shot out to grab her upper arm in a grip that was sure to leave a bruise. A chorus of sharp, inhaled breaths, then the hurried shuffle of feet, made Areanel acutely aware of the open hallway.

Not here! Palace aides or not, she wanted no one to witness this side of her father. ‘You disregarded a direct order. Again!’ The sting of freshly clipped nails digging into her arm increased with each word. ‘Did you learn nothing from last time?’

‘Ada,’ she hissed in pain. She didn’t know what to do. Appease him with an explanation? No. That wouldn’t work when he was in this mood.

‘Enough!’ His voice rose and echoed against the walls. Heads that had been intentionally turned away snapped in their direction. The passing palace aides, lords and ladies openly gawked at them, seeming to forget who they stared at, before quickly turning away when Aerileas’s burning glare trained on them.

‘You are done making excuses, and I will not hear them.’ The vice-like grip fell from her arm as her father practically shoved her out of the way and continued walking.

When had he gotten so cruel? The male who turned his back on her now was not one she recognised. A memory of a furrowed brow. The gentle touch of fingertips stroking wet hair away from her face. A loving, caring smile stretched wide across a proud face—those were the memories she clung to. That was the father she longed to see again.

Areanel’s breath shuddered. When had he become so callous? Clenching her hands to stop herself from reaching up to rub that sore spot on her arm, Areanel took a few deep breaths. She’d thought she was prepared to meet with her father. She’d known it would be tiring, that they were bound to fight, but this was something else entirely. She was still scared of him. After all this time, almost two decades later, she still feared he would once again sentence her to that dreadful place.

There were moments when he was kind… but they felt few and far between.

The looming presence at her back was the only thing that had her pushing that fear down and following her father once more. Quickly glancing over her shoulder, Areanel noted how the five Soldazt—her father’s personal guard—trailed them, hands on the weapons dangling from their hips. They were wary of her, didn’t trust her not to strike her own father down.

Well, that went both ways. She didn’t trust them, either.

‘Now I have to fix whatever it is you think you’re doing,’ Aerileas continued to reprimand her. ‘You knew doing this would force my hand, didn’t you? Foolish girl! Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Everything I have planned will be ruined. Because. Of. You,’ his voice began to rise again in time with his frustrations as they drew closer to the towering doorway to the throne room.

As they entered the vast hall, Areanel noted how quickly his expression had changed. She missed seeing the happy, proud smile he used to give her when she was younger. She would have even settled for the solemn and concerned look he had given her when Aurora was born. Had it only been two years? How had he changed so much, in so little time? Now, when she peered at him, he wore a mask of indifference and apathy. He was no longer her father but the Great King of Andrea.

‘It’s okay,’ he muttered under his breath. His knee-high black boots echoed around the hall, muffling his words as he spoke to himself. ‘I can fix this.’

Areanel could practically see the way his mind worked, like watching the inside of a clock. Cogs whirring. Dials turning. Hands ticking. He was silent as he worked through all the possibilities, and she wondered if she shared his thoughtful expression as she considered strategies.

His eyes flicked back and forth. ‘Your brothers will deal with the politics. Those damned leeches on the council will try to use these negotiations for their own selfish desires.’ Aerileas’s steps remained sure and purposeful as he made his way across the hall, but Areanel wondered how he could be so distrustful of his own men.

Areanel didn’t mention his hypocrisy. It was he who appointed the council, he who had decided on the treaty in the first place, and he who used that treaty to negotiate terms that benefited him alone.

Instead, she stayed quiet as they approached the steps leading to his sovereign seat. The only sound was the soft thuds of their feet. Before ascending the stairs, Aerileas came to a stop. Resting one knee at the foot of the stairs, he bowed his head and folded a fist over his heart, sending a prayer up to the enormous statues looming above his throne.

The statue of the God of Life—Edre the Eternal—stood proud, its rendering so life-like that the artist was said to have been granted godhood.

What a ridiculous sentiment! As if the Elvadora would gift a mere mortal with the power of the gods when they hadn’t even interfered when someone had taken Areanel’s son. She had begged and pleaded, and still… nothing.

Areanel stood silently, studying the statue as she waited for her father to finish his prayers. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Edre’s statue was carved into the very stone of the mountain, her hands engraved with such detail that it gave the impression that she could reach forward and pluck someone at any moment. Positioned below her protruding belly, her robe wrapped around her arms, chest and legs, but her pregnant stomach was in full view, intended as a symbol of her power and vitality. A circlet of stars adorned her head, symbolising her birth. Born from an exploding star, she was one of the first gods. An old god who created life and ascended the others to godhood, creating what the people came to know as the Elvadora.

The God of Death, Andas the Ageless—Edre’s twin—was born from the very same destructive star. Her statue stood just as grand and just as impressive. Commissioned by the same artist, its detailed precision led to the rumour that the artist was a Seer who’d laid eyes on the gods themselves, and that was why they’d been tasked with creating such monuments.

The statues’ features were identical in every way, right down to the circlet of stars enwrapping their temples, but to represent Andas in all her true glory, the artist had chosen to dress her in armour. She stood stoic and large, in a similar pose to her twin, but the hilt of a sword was clasped between her hands, its point driven into the ground behind an empty coffin intended for Areanel’s mother. Areanel remembered the day her father had ordered the removal of the smaller statue—erected for his predecessor—so that he could place a coffin for the late queen. She did not know whether that was meant to be romantic or a reminder, for her mother lay at Andas’s feet because of Aerileas’s will.

Areanel had felt as though Andas’s statue watched with vengeful eyes when the soldiers tore down the statue of the first king, certain she would strike them down at that moment. But she hadn’t. The statue had stood still. Immovable.

She should have known then that the gods wouldn’t interfere in mortal affairs.