One Thing Missing
One Thing Missing
Naomi
The once quiet, empty, echoing corridor connecting the spacious rooms of Fraser’s more private areas of his massive palace are now absolutely alive with activity. I trip over a fox, who squawks in panic and leaps out of my way before getting trampled, which is in his or her favor, seeing as I’m not stopping. My cloak flows out behind me like wings, which feels fitting for the situation at hand. I’m still wearing my clothes from yesterday, still fit to travel, which was the plan up until a mere hour ago, when Wren alerted us that he’d found them.
Skye immediately spirited to Ian and Oakley’s location, not knowing if she’d find their bodies mangled or flattened like pancakes that failed to rise. She left with the stark knowledge that they were dead–because how could they not be? We both bore witness to Fraser’s final act of mercy. That blade is still in the landing room, or whatever he calls it, and the blood that poured from Oakley’s heart is only just beginning to dry.
I spent the last half hour pacing the library, alone, trying to decide how in the Goddess’ golden kingdom I am going to be able to talk my way out of this after returning my cousin’s and his mate’s bodies to their families.
Now, I’m looking at Oakley, who’s wide eyed with confusion, as she's carried away by a trio of fox shifters in their human forms while Fraser watches in disbelief.
He covers his mouth with his hand and looks directly at me, a hallway full of scurrying, overly excited foxes between us. He tilts his head through the doorway opposite of where Oakley just disappeared in a motion to follow him. While my mind is screaming to go to Oakley, and hopefully, to find her with Ian, who will–if the Goddess sees fit–be in as good of shape as she is despite all odds, my body turns and follows Fraser almost against my will.
He holds open a door to a starkly empty, but impeccably, clean room. I duck under his arm, annoyed to catch the scent of clean linen and something deeper, something smoky and woodsy, before crossing the room to stand against the far wall. The space between us is an ocean, and it needs to stay that way.
He shuts the door with a snap, turns the lock, and leans his weight against it, his arms folded over his chest.
“What in the fuck is going on?” I hiss, pacing along the wall.
“I alerted Wren, and he sent his scouts into the valley.”
“I’m aware of that!” I run my fingers through my hair, loosening and pulling apart my braid. Fraser watches my hair fall over my shoulders from afar with intention that simmers to the marrow of my bones. “How the fuck are they both alive?”
“I have no idea,” he replies steadily, almost absently. “Your guess is as good as mine. Skye mentioned the two of you gave the girl an incredibly potent healing draft before you came here, and I’m willing to bet that had something to do with it, if it’s magic of the kind that can bring someone back to life.” He unwinds his arms and lets them fall to his sides, his fingers clenching into tight fists. His right hand squeezes until his knuckles turn white, and for a moment, I imagine that dagger in his hand again–and how easily he sunk it into Oakley’s heart. It wasn’t his first time, but he’s thinking about it now, and the look behind his eyes….
I let his words settle. Did Isla’s tears save Oakley from what should have been certain death? Or was it something more? Something written in the prophecy that started this entire fiasco? I try to remember the words but it’s useless. All I know if that Ian walked off that ledge and died rather than let Oakley go into alone, and… Sometimes the Goddess honors that sacrifice with a second chance. I’ve… heard the stories whisper down the generations of my family. It’s not impossible that She intervened.
“Have you seen this before, someone like Ian essentially sacrificing themselves for their mate?” I ask, suddenly dizzy.
“I’ve seen plenty of that, but not in this context, no. I know as much as you do.”
“Then the entire lot of us knows nothing.”
His gaze lands on the window directly above my head, which is little more than a silver of stained glass protecting us from the outside world. This palace has very few windows, but his area, which I believe was carved out eons ago for his earliest ancestors, faces the incredible valley where Ian just signed his death warrant. Now, the first glimpses of morning light begin to glow beyond the glass, and Fraser’s shoulders rock, then slump. “It’s over. The full moon passed, so that’s it.”
“What happens now?”
“Nothing.” He paces away from the door to a new spot against the wall and slides down until he’s seated on the cold ground, his legs splayed out in front of him. His shirt is unbuttoned enough for me to see chiseled muscles and a soft hint of dark hair against his golden skin. “It’s done. Ian won’t be consumed by his beasts past this point.”
“You’re sure?”
He nods, hugging his knees. “You can all leave me alone now. Forever.”
I huff a laugh, but his eyes hold mine in a chokehold.
I should say something. Ask a question, one of the millions I have. I should pepper him for an explanation to the sure death and sudden resurrection of what used to be to very normal people.
I should probably… thank him.
“Fine,” I huff. I stalk toward the door, passing him within inches, unlock it, and storm back into the hallway, letting it close with an echoing crash. I lean against it for a moment to catch my breath. Just being in his proximity is like running one of those tortuous drills Sterling has been so into lately. Fraser infuriates me. That’s why. He’s a cocky, teasing know-it-all with a fang-toothed chip on his shoulder because he’s three thousand years old and has the ability to shift into a dragon.
That’s all.
I catch his scent throughout the corridor like I’m walking the path he’s been pacing since the foxes returned.
I find Skye in the formal dining hall speaking to Wren, who looks elated, all things considered. She looks up at me as I ascend the curved stone staircase and follows my progress to her side. “Did you see them?”
“Just Oakley. She’s totally intact, somehow.” I swallow my shock and turn to face the fox king, or whatever the hell he is. “How is that possible?”
“I don’t know, honestly,” Wren says with assurance that makes me see red.
Is no one taking this seriously? This miracle, this strange magic I can sense that no one else can, like the valley where he toppled head over heels has its own electric current that somehow, for whatever mysterious reason, seems to only call out to me, begging to whisper its secret into my unwilling ears.
Skye touches my arm in warning. I’m sure my eyes are the color of fire right now. “Brilliant. So we’re all meant to just go back to our daily routines like we didn’t see Ian purposefully jump over the edge of a cliff and careen over thirteen thousand feet to sea level and somehow survive. Or am I truly the crazy one?” I snarl.
“You’ve been up all night, and the moon is full, which is always draining for you. You should go to bed,” Skye says pointedly in her robotic way that has my powers riling with frustration.
“I’m not tired.”
“Well, I am, but I can get Oakley back to the Deadlands in one go if I leave now, before the sun rises,” Skye cuts in, turning her flat, trained smile on Wren. “Naomi will need a day or two until she can travel. The full moon messes with her powers a bit.” She slowly turns her gaze to me, and I scowl. “She could miss her mark and end up in Maatua, if her current state of emotions gets the better of her. The moon at peak fullness doesn’t help.”
Wren has no clue what she’s talking about, but she’s unfortunately correct. To Wren, I say, with restraint, “Thank you for your help.”
To his credit, he looks incredibly uncomfortable when he nods and turns on his heel, hurrying up the staircase with foxlike grace.
Skye grabs my arm and tugs me toward an archway along the wall, which leads into another corridor, then another, and eventually, we reach the kitchen.
My gasp rings out through the room, but it is eaten by the roaring fire.
Ian cups his hands around a bottle of whiskey and meets my gaze with tired eyes.
“You little prick,” I hiss, tugging out of Skye’s hold. “Did you even think what watching you hurl yourself into death would be like for us?” Tears sting my eyes, but I hold them back. I try, at least. “What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking about Oakley,” he says without missing a beat. “Just Oakley.”
Skye looks down at her hands before tucking them behind her back.
“Are you okay?” I ask him, and it doesn’t feel like enough.
“Shockingly, yes. I feel better than I have in months. I can feel my wolf again.” He lifts the whiskey bottle to his lips and takes a long drink. He winces as the liquid burns his throat, and I realize how much I could use a drink, too.
Skye breaks the uncomfortable tension starting to seep into the room. “I think it would be a good idea to take Oakley directly to my house in Moonrise. Alex and I can act as a buffer between her and the more aggressively suspicious members of our family. Kenna should take a look at her–at you both. But I can’t spirit that far with both of you hooked to my powers.” She eyes Ian. “You’ll need to stay behind for a day or two.”
He grips the bottle, and I expect another furious outburst, but then he relaxes. “That’s fine. I understand.”
“You’re truly all right, then?” I ask. Every emotion in my body conflicts, turning my senses to absolute mush. I want to scream at him for being so reckless. I want to fall on my knees and weep for joy that one of my favorite cousins–because I will never admit I’ve always felt closest to him–is still alive. I want to stand facing the corner of the room in silence while untangling every single thought clogging my mind. I’m not entirely sure what I want. To burn something? To use my powers on someone?
As if summoned by those very powers, Fraser walks into the room looking worn. Ian rises when he says under his breath, “Oakley is stable. She’s totally fine. Wren’s healers have assured me of that.”
“Can I see her?” Ian asks.
“Yes, please do.” He motions to the door he just walked through.
Ian is gone in an instant, leaving the bottle of whiskey behind. Skye begins to follow but stops, turning to me. “I’ll leave with her in an hour.”
“I’ll plan to leave for Moonrise later tonight, when the sun sets again,” I say.
“Try to sleep between now and then, please. Fraser, make sure she rests.” Skye glances between us before slinking away, matching Ian’s footfalls.
I find myself once again in the company of a dragon.
I reach for the bottle of whiskey and drink as much as I can in one go. It’s awful, bitter and spicy. My stomach attempts to reject it, but I choke it down, letting the alcohol bloom through my veins. He watches me set the bottle down with a clunk and smiles to himself. “Drink more. You’ll sleep better.”
“Whiskey doesn’t taste right to me.”
“What libation do you prefer, then? Wine? I have plenty.”
He does, and it’s good. I’m tempted because I doubt I’ll be able to fall asleep otherwise. I nod, and he moves toward one cabinet in particular, fetching an already uncorked bottle and two pewter mugs, just like the first time we sat in this kitchen drinking until my mind felt blissfully fuzzy.
“I don’t want you to get the impression that I drink my sorrows away,” I say.
“I didn’t get that impression.” He pours the wine and sets a mug in front of me.
I take a sip, then another. Maybe it’s the whiskey starting to thrum through my veins. Maybe it’s the wine loosening my tongue. Maybe it’s the fact that after this, I’ll never see this man again, but I say, “I don’t know how to explain any of this to my family.”
“Do you have to?”
“I’m expected to because I’m…. My older sister, Fallon was born to be the Firestone Queen of Eastonia, but then she met her mate.” I wave a hand in dismissal. “He’s the King of KiloKilo.”
“A wizard, then. Interesting.” He drinks his entire cup of wine and then refills it.
I stare at him, wondering what he knows about wizards and if KiloKilo was part of the great war that forever changed our world, but I decide not to ask. Not now. Maybe not ever, if this is truly the last time we speak.
“She plans to abdicate. She hasn’t done it yet, and while my mother will rule Eastonia until the day she dies, which could be sixty years from now, the pressure has now fallen on my shoulders. I have a duty to my family and kingdom to ensure the safety of our people. But how safe can they be if magic like what happened to Ian and Oakley still exists in our world?”
“It’s not your responsibility.”
“Of course it is.”
“It is not. You’re not responsible for the outcome of every single curse and affliction that befalls your people or your family. You are one woman. You’re already living a–” He cuts himself off abruptly.
“I’m already living–what? A lie?” I chuckle darkly.
But he doesn’t laugh.
“What do you mean by that?”
He refills my cup and rises, pressing the cork back into the bottle. “I knew many women like you, before the war.”
I expect him to continue, to call me emotionally closed off and quietly unstable. Possibly mean, which in some cases, I’d deserve. My family calls me blunt, sharp, and sometimes frightening because of what some would say is a total lack of empathy.
They have no idea how much I truly feel and how it affects me. I don’t practice my smiles and carry my emotions on my sleeve like Fallon. I don’t have a laid-back bone in my body, like Sterling. I’ve always felt like I’m different somehow, like I’m missing something that could make me whole, and I can’t put my finger on what that is. I have everything in the world at my fingertips, except that one mysterious thing.
“Firestone women,” he adds, but his voice is closer, and by the time I realize he’s whispered the words against the upper rim of my ear, he’s already gone, and I’m alone, cupping my empty wine cup between my hands.