Page 94 of A Kiss of Flame
And Wren… she had left them behind, Elodie and Roland, Anselm and Olivier, Hestia and Lynette… all of them. She had fled with Finn and…
Great light, they needed to go back to Pelias. Elodie needed her. The Aurum blazed inside Elodie and it would burn her away, destroy her. Perhaps it already had done so.
The sound of weapons being drawn surrounded them both and she heard Finn breathe in deeply, taking a moment to ground himself. She could almost hear his heart, like an echo of her own. It pounded in her chest, a frantic staccato beat.
But he didn’t panic. That was her Finn through and through. Wren glanced up at him for reassurance and froze.
Something was wrong with him. Every instinct, light and dark, everything she was, screamed it at her.
A multitude of coloured light fell around him from the high stained-glass windows which soared up the walls of the cavernous chamber in which they found themselves. Blues and purples, every shade from the palest to the depths. They illuminated him and Finn held his head erect, his features utterly impassive. His eyes had changed. They were still blue, but the blue-flame of shadow kin eyes she had seen during the spell which brought them here. They hadn’t changed back but kept that unnatural brightness. He looked like a statue, a pale carving sculpted by a master’s hand, not like a living breathing man, but cold and inaccessible. He still wore an Ilanthian tunic and sash from the embassy, as did the men surrounding them, though his were of a far finer quality. All men, she noticed. All dressed as he was, all stone-faced and hostile. They bristled with swords and spears, a wall of weaponry which turned on the two of them.
And then Finn spoke.
‘I am Finnian, son of Alessander, of the line of Sidon. I am the lost prince of Ilanthus, hostage to the enemy Asteroth. I am the one chosen who was forsaken, the one foreseen to wear the crown. I am called home. I demand an audience with his majesty.’
There was a hushed intake of breath as everyone absorbed that statement.
Not Finnian Ward, Wren thought. Of course he wasn’t Finnian Ward, not here. And certainly not Finn. Not her Finn. She had trusted him, a member of the line of Sidon. Even though he had warned her…
‘Let them pass,’ said a cold voice, hardly more than a murmur, but it echoed around the room as if the acoustics of the room itself had been designed to carry it. A voice used to power and obedience, she realised. A voice that did not suffer fools or disobedience in any way.
The guards snapped back to attention, weapons still bare but pointing to the far off gilded ceiling now instead of at the new arrivals. As if two people arriving in a whirlwind of shadows was nothing more than an unexpected turn of events here.
Before Wren could get to her feet, Finn seized her arm and dragged her up, propelling her across the black marble floor. No hint of gentleness now. No sign of who he had been.
There were people everywhere, staring at her, all dressed in the rich silks and satins of Ilanthus, that now familiar sweep of a sash across their bodies. The women kept their heads bowed but Wren could feel them examining her. The glow of power off some of them was muted, but unmistakable. The air reeked with their magic, though none of them wielded it openly.
It was the royal court, she realised. They had arrived right in the heart of the royal court of Sidonia at some kind of vast assembly.
And Finn walked through it, ignoring all the eyes upon him. They let him. No one tried to stop him. He walked to the steps beneath the raised throne and then stopped.
Wren couldn’t help herself. He still held her wrist in a grip like iron, pressing the bracelet into her skin where it sizzled and burned.
‘Well? Back again, Finnian?’ the king asked and Wren forced herself to look up at him.
He had more of a resemblance to Leander than Finn, cold and hard, pale as ice and made of sharp edges. No wonder Leander was the favoured son.
But Finn met his cool gaze without wavering. ‘Hestia told me of your offer, which I accept. I bring a prize with me.’
King Alessander turned his attention on Wren and she wanted to shrink back, to fall to the floor and let it swallow her up.
‘A prize?’
‘The living embodiment of our dark goddess, called forth by the blood of your brother Evander, Father. The Nox incarnate.’ He jerked up her arm, displaying the bracelet. ‘Her power bound and contained. At our mercy instead of the other way around.’ To hear him say it like that, to utterly betray her secrets and lay them bare before the whole of the Ilanthian court, was too much.
She tried to pull free but he didn’t release her. He didn’t even react. It was like he was another person now.
He is, the Nox whispered, that now familiar laugh cutting through the words. He is the prince of Ilanthus, heir apparent in his brother’s stead. He is the new crown prince. He is your master and our slave. He is become what we made him, my little vestige, you and I.
Its amusement echoed around her head until she wanted to scream.
But she couldn’t say a word.
‘Princess Wren of Asteroth,’ said the king and smiled. ‘What a pleasure. As our son has served as a hostage in your capital for so many years, you may now return the gesture. Well done, my boy. We are well pleased. We have waited far too long to welcome you home openly.’
He held out his hand and Finn released Wren. It didn’t matter now. There was nowhere she could go. She shrank back, cradling her arm and staring as he sank to one knee at the foot of the throne, taking the offered hand so he could bow his head and kiss the royal ring in a show of fealty.
‘Too many years, Father,’ Finn said, no trace of emotion in his words. He rose elegantly to his feet, moving with the grace she knew to be an innate part of him but which now seemed alien and strange. ‘Too long lost among our enemy and waiting for the right moment.’
