Fantasy of Fire (The Tainted Accords #3)(20)

“I’m just on my way. Will you show me?”

I trail behind the young, chubby boy until we arrive at the meeting room. Do I knock? It seems too timid for my liking.

I push through the door, and a wave of noise hits me.

“Blaine! What you’re proposing is ridiculous,” comes the voice of Drummond, Arla’s father.

Someone slams a fist on the table and I finally process what I just heard. Did someone just say Blaine? Jovan can’t have made him an advisor! I gasp, knowing all too well about Blaine’s dodgy dealings. It can’t be. I feel a hand on my arm, and feel my muscles tighten in defense. I relax as I identify Roscoe, Jovan’s most trusted advisor and the father of one of the delegates, Adnan. The older man is always polite. An unusual trait for a Bruma.

“Tatuma Olina, I welcome you back. The king is most eager to see you.” He guides me around the meeting table—a great big stone circle. We pass the other advisors on our way. They stop talking and stare at me. I gently extract myself from Roscoe’s guiding arm and walk tall. Most of them appear relaxed, but there are those who still—whether in wariness or dislike, I don’t know. My heart begins to thud the closer I get to Jovan. Is he looking at me? I beg my feet not to stumble, though they haven’t since I was a child. I want to see him, but I feel sick at the same time. Is this normal?

I sigh in relief and a bit of disappointment as I see Jovan is in hot debate with the person to his left. It gives me a chance to control my racing thoughts. I always have this reaction when I first see him: a rightness, and a tingling down my spine, as though water were being trickled over me. Despite all my determination out in the hall, I can feel my resolve crumbling—just at the sight of him.

He’s as imposing and strong as ever in his chest armor. He sits in the ruler’s throne at the top of the stone circle, commanding the room without trying. I swallow as I get closer and finally see his face. The stubble on his chin is longer than when I last saw him. No doubt shaving has lost priority since news of my mother’s betrayal. His skin has the grime of travel and dried sweat. It’s likely he’s only just returned from the front line. His unwashed state doesn’t stop me wanting to touch him. My eyes move everywhere, over his shoulders, his arms, and his shoulder-length light-brown hair.

The sooner I can return to Osolis, the better.

“My King.” Roscoe interrupts him mid-conversation.

Jovan is annoyed at the interruption. But I watch with a doomed sense of sweetness as he sees me and his face transforms from irritation to relief, then settles into his usual confident—bordering on arrogant—lines.

“Tatuma, you are returned. And in one piece, too,” he says in a low voice. A tremor ripples through me. I’m close enough to see his eyes. The blue color is so vibrant; it always draws my gaze, piercing straight through me. At the moment his eyes roam over my frame. My flight suit doesn’t leave much to the imagination, though it’s not the worst outfit I’ve ever worn. The harness holds that honor.

I clear my throat. “Yes.” He raises an eyebrow at my short response. Doesn’t he know it’s all I can manage when he looks at me that way?

“And were you successful?” He frowns. I feel the men behind me shift forward to hear my answer.

I give a curt nod. “Yes. The army has been stopped for now.” I really need to speak to him alone. I turn my head to the door behind the throne. I know from my time in the two identical castles on Glacium that a smaller meeting room is situated there.

There is some celebrating behind me. But there’s something else too. An uneasiness. The advisors are unsure whether they can trust me—and with good reason after my mother’s actions. I barely take in their reaction, though. I’m locked on Jovan. His gaze is narrowed on me. I tilt my head to the door once more and restrain laughter as he understands my hint at last. A Solati could have picked up from the shortness of my responses that I wished to speak alone. It took several hints for a Bruma because they were so forthright. I found I’d largely adapted to their ways, but I supposed some traits were too ingrained in me. To the error of my people, the Bruma’s boldness didn’t mean they were unintelligent. They were just straightforward, not used to hints and subtlety. Most of the time I preferred it.

“The Tatuma and I will speak privately.” The King rises from his throne to his full height and I’m left staring at his chest. As always, it makes me feel tiny, but I don’t find his towering frame intimidating anymore. Perhaps because he doesn’t try to intimidate me this way anymore.

“Jovan, are you sure that’s wise? It would be easier to advise you if we hear the account directly from her,” an advisor says.

The man is ignored as Jovan turns for the door in a swirl of fur, weaponry, and leather.



Jovan slams the door as soon as I’ve moved through behind him.

Then, in three long strides he’s in front of me, hands at my veil. He rips it off. Did I really expect any less? The king of Glacium peers down at me. And I stand tall, refusing to be self-conscious of the way I appear. I cringe as another thought strikes me—or the way I smell.

“When was the last time you slept?” he growls. I wince and snatch the veil from him.

“Do you want to know what happened or not?” I attempt to put the veil back on, but he grips my hand and peels my fingers off the material, one by one. I let out an exasperated noise as he tucks the retrieved veil into the pocket of his tunic.