Chapter 83: Paint it red
Chapter 83: Paint it red
Misarya pulled back slightly, her lilac eyes wide with sudden, gripping panic. "What do you mean?"
"I don't like the idea of sending you back to your father," the Dragon King said, his voice a low, steady rumble, though his jaw was locked tight. "I hate it. But if I must, to keep you from Voriak's blades... I will."
"I pray it doesn't come to it," Misarya whispered, her voice trembling. She surged forward, burying her face deep into the warm curve of his neck, her hands gripping the thick leather of his tunic as if she were terrified he might vanish into thin air. "I don't wish to be apart from you."
The King closed his eyes, exhaling a heavy, ragged breath as he wrapped his massive arms around her. He gently caressed her back, his large hand smoothing over the linen of her tunic. He didn't want to be apart from her either. The mere thought of placing her on a horse and watching her ride away from the plains felt like someone was reaching into his chest and crushing his lungs.
But as he held his trembling wife, a dark, terrifying realization crept into the back of his mind.
What if this was it? What if he had to intentionally break her heart by sending her away, stripping her of the only place she finally felt safe? Perhaps those were the tears that would irrigate his kingdom. The prophecy demanded her sorrow, and sending her back to the high courts, far away from him… Her suffering, apparently, was entirely tied to his own. Making her suffer like that would be an agony worse than death for him... but perhaps that was the exact, devastating sacrifice the gods demanded of a King.
Ikarion pressed a desperate kiss to her temple, holding her tighter. He wasn't ready. Prophecy or not, he was not ready to let her go.
By the following afternoon, the tension in the camp had seeped into Misarya’s very bones.
She was walking near the edge of the velvet tents, carrying a basket of dried sage and bandages for the healers, trying to keep her mind occupied. Azeth trailed faithfully at her heels, his massive black head low, sensing the erratic, anxious thrum of his mistress's heart.
"Careful with those, my Queen. You wouldn't want to crush them before you pack them."
Misarya stopped in her tracks. She turned to see Maya leaning casually against the wooden post of a supply cart. The Askari girl had a thick, folded woolen traveling cloak draped over her arm, a smug, venomous smile playing on her lips.
"I am taking these to the healers, Maya," Misarya said coldly, keeping her chin high. "I am not packing them."
Maya let out a dry, mocking laugh, pushing herself off the cart. She walked slowly toward Misarya, her dark eyes flashing with cruel triumph.
"Oh, you don't have to pretend with me," Maya purred, running her hand over the thick wool of the traveling cloak. "I am one of your appointed companions, remember? The King's vanguard approached me this morning. They told me to begin gathering the Halendarian silks and preparing the carriage. Your entire valley entourage is on standby to leave the plains at a moment's notice."
Misarya’s breath hitched. She knew Ikarion had mentioned it as a last resort, but knowing he had actually issued the official orders behind her back made her stomach churn.
Maya stepped closer, her voice dropping to a vicious whisper. "Didn't he tell you? Or was he too busy trying to figure out how to rid himself of you before the real war starts? A King cannot march to battle dragging a weeping, barren burden behind him."
"Watch your mouth," Misarya warned, her voice dropping to a dangerous, commanding register she had never used before. She stood her ground, her Halendarian ice freezing over. "I am the Queen of the Askari. And I am not going anywhere."
"The King doesn’t want you here," Maya spat back, stepping directly into Misarya's personal space, pointing a finger at her chest. "Real Askari women stay and bleed for their men! You just run home to your papa the second the blood starts to spill—"
"I said enough!" Misarya shouted, the sudden, explosive valley fire breaking through her composure. She slapped Maya's pointing hand away with a sharp, forceful strike.
Maya stumbled back, her eyes going wide. But as she saw a group of newly-militant Askari women and off-duty guards turning their heads at the shout, Maya’s expression instantly shifted.
The Viper played her part perfectly. Maya let out a dramatic, breathless gasp, clutching her wrist and falling backward into the dirt, looking up at Misarya with wide, feigned terror.
"Please!" Maya cried out loudly, ensuring the gathering crowd could hear. "My Queen, I was only following the King's orders to pack your things! You don't have to strike me!"
The crowd immediately began to close in, murmuring in hostile, suspicious tones. They saw their Halendarian Queen standing furiously over a cowering Askari woman. Misarya opened her mouth to defend herself, her heart hammering against her ribs, completely overwhelmed by the trap Maya had just sprung.
A low, vibrating rumble shook the dirt beneath their feet.
Misarya didn't even have time to yell a command. Sensing the pure, unfiltered distress and rage rolling off his Queen, Azeth snapped.
The massive black wolf bypassed Misarya entirely, moving with the terrifying, blinding speed of a wild predator. Before anyone in the crowd could draw a weapon or even scream, Azeth lunged.
His heavy jaws clamped directly down onto Maya’s raised forearm.
The sickening crunch of bone and tearing leather echoed through the camp. Maya threw her head back and let out a blood-curdling, agonizing scream, her fake victimhood instantly replaced by very real, mortal terror as the beast violently thrashed its head, painting the dry earth red.