Chapter 13

UNA

I'd tried to sleep and failed. Once I was changed into my nightdress and covered in my green velvet robe, I'd been pacing the room, trying to wear myself out.

The coals had burned down, but there was still an ethereal blue glow barely lighting the room. It should've been soothing, but there was simply no way to calm my nerves.

I'd taken off my velvet robe so that I could climb into bed, only to realize my chemise revealed my body quite clearly. I then slipped my robe back on and slid beneath the white Meer-wolf fur atop King Goll's bed.

As soon as I laid my head on a down-stuffed pillow, my senses were assaulted with the heady scent of Goll beneath these covers, on this pillow. I pulled another pillow from the pile, but they all smelled like him.

Eyes squeezed shut, I attempted to block out his distinct scent that seemed to wrap around me as tightly as the furs. My mind went directly to our ride into the night sky, his entire body surrounding me, his arms holding me against his hard chest, between his thick thighs.

"Ugh," I protested to no one, throwing off the fur because now I was sweating. "I can't sleep in this robe."

I rose, tore off the robe, and tossed it over the closed trunk. That's when I first heard a new sound among the drunken revelry outside. Feminine laughter.

"What in all the heavens?"

I crept to the tent flap and opened it the tiniest bit. From here, I could clearly see one of the many campfires the wraith fae caroused around. I recognized one or two from the Culled sitting around the fire as well as Soryn. And upon their laps were light fae women!

It couldn't be!

But there was no mistaking their opalescent wings shining by the firelight, almost as brightly as the wraiths' silver-ornamented horns. It was the women's scantily clad dresses, dipping low at their breasts and slitting high upon their thighs that told me where they'd come from.

I was no fool. There were many brothels in Issos these women could've come from, but I'd never in all my life thought they'd betray their own people and sell their bodies to our enemies. The enemy who'd just beaten us in the war.

My heart skittered faster as I searched the firelight for Goll, wondering what woman would catch his eye for the night's celebration. He'd told me we wouldn't consummate our union here, so he must be finding his own wench to celebrate with tonight.

He wasn't amongst them. My gaze stopped on Soryn, who had a buxom dark-haired fae in his lap. He was telling a story I couldn't hear to the others when the prostitute turned and straddled him, kissing him on his neck. He stopped what he was saying, drank down his tankard of ale, dropped it to the ground, and stood with his hands cupping her bottom. The wraith fae laughed and cheered as he stalked away and into a nearby tent.

I stepped back from the opening, not wanting to see Goll if he was with one of those women. This felt like jealousy, but that was absurd. We didn't have a real relationship. I didn't even know him. But even so, by all the gods, he could have some decency and not sleep with another woman the night of our moon-binding.

Storming back to the bed, I crawled underneath and pulled the top fur up to my chin, staring at the tent's door, wishing he'd return so I could tell him what I really thought of him.

"I hate him," I hissed into the air, blinking back the stinging tears of my laughable and humiliating state.

To be forced into sexual servitude to produce his heir and used whenever he saw fit while he paraded around as master of the world, sleeping with whomever he liked. My blood simmered beneath my skin, rage covering me in a sheen of sweat.

No, there was no way I would sleep tonight.

I must've dozed, but something woke me. Not the sound of wild laughter and carousing, but the opposite. It was quiet except for the sound of a beautiful male voice singing.

Unable to help myself, I donned my robe and slippers then opened the tent flap. Meck and Ferryn were still right there on duty, not saying a word as I stepped outside and listened.

"Who is that?" I asked.

"I don't know, Mizrah," answered Meck. "The celebrations have mostly died down."

"Can I get a closer look then?" I gestured toward the firelight not far away.

Meck and Ferryn shared a look but it was Ferryn who said, "Yes, my lady. Follow me. We can move close enough for you to see."

The woods were steeped in shadow, the few circles of campfire giving off the only light. They'd used wood rather than coal outside, it appeared.

I stepped closer to the voice that had lured me from my tent, easing quietly to the circle of wraith fae who sat enraptured at the song.

The wraith fae with a broken horn was singing. Goddess save me, what an unearthly beautiful sound coming from his mouth. It was a strange juxtaposition. For this male had been the most hideously scarred of all the wraith fae I'd seen here, and the only one with a broken horn. He was ugly in appearance, and yet his voice was heavenly. Like the goddess had bestowed on him a special gift to make up for his scars.

But the goddess wouldn't bless a wraith fae. It would have to be Vix or one of the wraith gods. I found myself pondering this strange trail of thought while soaking in his words in demon tongue, trying to decipher the story he wove into song.

We stopped well outside the circle of warriors around the fire but still close enough to see and hear better. I noted none of the light fae prostitutes were in this campfire circle.

Leaning close to Ferryn, I asked, "He sings about home, yes?"

He nodded, glancing down at me. "This is a favorite of the wraith fae. Keffa is what's called a skyldenbard."

"What's that?" I didn't recognize the demon word.

"Our song-master. Keffa was once revered across all of Northgall as one of the best."

"Once?"

"He's been in prison for many years by King Xakiel. But Gollaya set him free." Ferryn's brow creased as he watched the singer. "Though I'd never heard him sing myself, he's legendary according to the fae here."

"Bards are important to wraiths?" I asked, rather surprised at this.

Meck seemed amused as he answered, "Of course, they're important. Keffa has a way of singing that speaks directly to the heart." He paused, watching Keffa thoughtfully. "His song is like when magick comes, filling you with that blinding euphoria."

I'd not considered my new magick very special. It didn't feel the same as before. But there were moments, like when I soared into the clouds behind a hawk's eyes, that the magick burned brightly through my veins. That was when I remembered what it was like to be a powerful light fae.

"Don't you need a song for your heart, Mizrah?" asked Ferryn.

It was an innocent question, his gaze calculating like he truly wondered at the answer.

"I suppose you're right. We all need one."

Keffa's voice rolled softer and deeper with a melancholy timbre as he continued in demon tongue, singing of a son lost to war and a mother still standing at the door awaiting his unlikely return.

Tears pricked my eyes at the thought. I'd only ever seen King Xakiel, and then Gollaya and his army as the enemy, giant monsters who needed to be annihilated. And yet, the soldiers probably had no more right or will to deny the call of their king than the Lumerians did when my father, and then Baelynn, had called them to action.

There were mothers, wives, and sisters who'd lost on both sides. War was the true villain, the real enemy. And one I was able to defeat by giving myself, my life, to the wraith king. In that moment while Keffa sang a lovely song of his homeland, I determined to make the best of this new life. It wasn't what I would've chosen for myself, but it prevented the greatest of evils from killing more light fae. As well as the dark. I was coming to realize they weren't quite as different from us as I'd always believed.

My neck prickled with awareness, drawing my attention across the fire to my right. Goll leaned against a tree, half concealed in the shadows, his arms crossed, his eyes on me. They glowed more gold by the firelight. As always, he didn't look away when caught watching me. No. He looked his fill as if it was his right.

Who was I fooling? It was his right. He could do whatever he wanted to me. If I protested, he might return me to Issos and pick up his sword again against my people.

Why was I not furious at this? At the way he'd trapped me into this unwanted new path, into his path. The only anger I felt right now was at myself. I couldn't tear my gaze from him, and I couldn't cut him with a disdainful rejection.

No, instead, I soaked in his gaze, basking in the icy fire burning a trail down my body and slowly back up. His face was a mask of stony indifference, but those eyes devoured me, one small, greedy bite at a time.

A roar of cheers and thumping of fists to chests—wraith fae applause—jerked my attention back to Keffa. The bard bowed his head in thanks.

"More!" yelled Pullo, the younger Culled warrior with a broad smile. "Another, Keffa!" He nudged the young Culled warrior Tierzel who'd guarded me back in Northgall. A shy fellow.

Others chimed in, urging him to give them another song. He raised a hand to quiet them and sang in a livelier tempo a song that told of boyhood friends growing into strong warriors. I smiled as Pullo and Tierzel clapped to the tune, smiling with joy.

When I was finally brave enough, I looked back to the shadow to find Goll. But he was gone.