Tale of the Heart Queen (Artefacts of Ouranos #4)

Chapter 10

C HAPTER 10

LOR

A LLUVION —P RESENT D AY

I t’s hard to tell how long I’ve been sleeping when I awake. Grit scrapes my eyes, and my head pounds in a steady rhythm, making the room twist.

A tray covered with fruit sits on the table near the bed. My stomach grumbles, and I heave myself up, hobbling on aching legs. It appears fresh enough, so I nibble on a piece of something I don’t recognize. It’s vibrant yellow with a sweet but slightly sour flavor. A knock at the door precedes the entrance of a low fae servant. She has long white hair and shimmery blue skin covered in scales.

“Hi,” I say. “Who are you?”

“I’m Pressia,” she replies, dipping into a curtsy. She’s wearing translucent white scraps of fabric strategically covering her unmentionable bits. Probably the type of thing that makes swimming easier.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Since yesterday, my lady,” she says, with a confused look.

I breathe out a shaky sigh. I was worried about being so exhausted that I’d sleep for a week. I have three and a half days left and I have to find a way to talk to the Coral. It may not know where the ark is, but it seems like the best place to begin my hunt.

It’s then I notice the dress hanging from Pressia’s arm. When she catches my stare, she holds it up.

“You’re to dress for lunch with His Majesty,” she says, and I suppress a groan, thinking about our dinner last night. But the Coral may not know the ark’s location and I might need a backup plan. Which means getting closer to Cyan, so I’ll have to make nice. A talent that has never been high on my list of strengths.

Pressia waits while I shower, managing to avoid rendering it into a pile of glass. I also need to deal with the issue of my rampant magic, but for now, I’ll resist the urge to use it. Maybe once I get my hands on the ark, I’ll be forced to blow a hole in the side of the palace and run. Though, I remain uncomfortably aware of who I might hurt in the process.

When I’m clean, Pressia tends to my hair and makeup. While I’m still not used to having these tasks performed, I have so much on my mind that I allow myself to settle into it. My thoughts churn as she tugs and brushes and dusts me from head to toe. Then she helps me into the dress, which resembles a slightly more modest version of the one she’s wearing, though it still leaves my stomach, my shoulders, and a decent amount of cleavage exposed.

My first thought is to wonder what Nadir might think of this outfit before my throat chokes with a torrent of repressed emotions.

Pressia notices. “What’s wrong, my lady? Is the dress not to your liking?”

I shake my head. “It’s fine. Sorry. This is about something else.”

I try again to call him with my mind, closing my eyes and hoping, hoping , something will happen.

Nadir. Can you hear me?

No answer.

Because he’s dead.

I killed him, and if I don’t get moving, I’ll never see him again. Even if I find the ark, my far-fetched odds are stacked against me like oily, unscalable bricks.

Pressia’s answer is a skeptical look, and I’m tempted to explain that I have much bigger issues to contend with than worrying about my stupid dress, but that wouldn’t be fair.

Another knock at the door summons our attention, and Pressia walks over to open it.

Cyan enters the room, still shirtless and wearing pants made of a soft, dark blue suede that melds to his strong thighs. A low-slung belt wraps around his hips, glittering with an array of colorful jewels. His long hair hangs down, and his feet are bare. Everyone’s feet are bare, including mine. I’d think this is a ruse to keep me vulnerable, but I have a feeling it has more to do with the environment. What need is there for shoes when your world is the beach and the ocean?

“I’ve come to escort you to lunch,” Cyan says, his eyes roaming over me. Something about the expression on his face sends an itchy warning up the back of my neck.

“Why?” I ask, narrowing my eyes, and he places a hand on his chest, giving me a hurt look that lacks the flavor of authenticity.

“You are my special guest, Lor. It’s the least I can do.”

I narrow my eyes further, positive he’s full of it, but what else can I do but go along with this?

“Please say you’ll join us,” he says with a smile that feels as genuine as leather made from papier-maché.

“Fine,” I say, and he nods.

“Perfect. They’re waiting.”

“Who’s waiting?”

“You’ll see.”

I don’t care for that answer, and I make my displeasure known with another narrowing of my eyes, but it fails to make an impression. “Come along.”

We pass the guards standing outside my room and march down marble halls covered in white tile striated with hints of blue and gold and silver. Floor-to-ceiling arched windows line every available space, making it almost feel like we’re outside. Most are devoid of glass, covered with a network of lattices constructed of blue pearl carved into whorls meant to look like rolling waves. The effect is magnificent.

As we pad through the wide halls, I wonder where we are in relation to the throne room and the tank with the Alluvion Coral. Can I sneak in there tonight? How can I convince Cyan I’m not a threat and dispense with my guard?

“How are you feeling?” Cyan asks as we walk. “That was quite an impressive display last night.”

“Sorry about your bathroom. I didn’t mean to destroy your palace.”

He waves a hand as if it’s of no consequence. “It’s fine. This place has been through worse.”

I nod, and we continue walking. I can practically hear the questions he must be screaming in his mind. It’s very suspicious that I have so little control over my magic. I know that’s not normal for a High Fae of my age. Even if I hadn’t just come into my full power, I should have more control.

Cyan opens his mouth to speak, but I don’t want to answer whatever comes out of it, so I deflect his questions with one of my own. I hate always lying about everything, but I’ve spent so many years hiding who I am that the truth feels impossible. As long as no one knows too much, they can’t use it against me.

“So what’s with you and my aunt and Anemone? Doesn’t that get complicated?”

Okay. That wasn’t really what I was planning to say. Foot, meet mouth.

Cyan’s eyebrow arches as he gives me a cool look. I can’t tell if my question angers him or if he sees right through my pathetic attempts to hold on to my secrets.

“That’s perhaps a discussion for another day, Lor,” he says in a way that sounds like he’s speaking with a child who just asked where babies come from .

“Right,” I say. “Sorry.” I am sorry because that was kind of rude.

Cyan doesn’t reply as we round another corner and are greeted by a set of translucent crystal doors embedded with a design of pearlescent shells. He hauls one open and then ushers me inside. We enter a room that serves as a library and study, with shelves lining the walls and a large white table in the center.

I take two steps and then freeze, recognizing the two visitors seated at the table.

“No,” I say, and back up. This is an ambush. I’ve been tricked.

Cyan circles his large hand around my arm and holds me in place.

“Come, Lor,” he says. “When they heard you were here, they just had to meet you.”

“Heard?” I ask.

“Well, I sent a message. They’d just returned home from the chaos in Aphelion.”

I glare at Cyan and then at D’Arcy, the queen of Celestria, and Bronte, the queen of Tor, who are both eyeing me with a curious mixture of intrigue and distrust.

The Star Queen, with her pale skin, long silver hair, and eyes so dark they’re inky puddles, is draped in a silvery dress that looks like it’s been literally sewn from moonlight.

Bronte is the Star Queen’s complete opposite with her dark, gleaming skin, and waist-length hair that’s also silver but in an entirely different way. It’s like iron and layered with streaks of black, like she was chipped from the heart of a mountain rather than scooped from a falling star .

She wears a set of grey leathers that look soft and supple and obviously designed for ease of movement. She’s the epitome of a warrior queen if I ever saw one, and I already love her. Even if she’s looking like she wants to pick me up and toss me over the balcony. It’s a love borne of admiration, not warmth.

“What’s going on?” I ask as Cyan drags me towards the table. I voice my protest, but I’m surrounded by royalty, by three of the most powerful people in Ouranos, and I’m still the wild girl they stole from Nostraza and stuffed into a golden dress.

“We just wanted to say hello,” Bronte says, sitting forward, scrutinizing me from head to toe. Despite her fierce exterior, I see a softness reflected in her eyes. “Is what Cyan says true? Are you really Serce’s granddaughter?”

I nod. The secrets I’ve kept for so long have been spooling apart for months now. Pieces of cotton teasing away on the tips of thorny branches. There was no keeping the lid on this. Do I even want to? If my goal is truly to reclaim my legacy, that task is impossible without proclaiming the truth out loud for everyone to hear. Whatever happens, this was always inevitable. At some point, the mask had to come off.

“It’s true,” I say, a tight stitch releasing in my chest at the admission.

“And where have you been all this time?” Bronte asks.

With a sigh borne of an exhaustion that has nothing to do with a lack of sleep, I run through the same abbreviated version of events I gave to Cyan. I’ve retold this story so many times now that I should have it tattooed on my forehead. I understand why everyone is curious, but is this all I’ll ever be ?

When I’m finished speaking, everyone watches me in silence. I can’t tell what they’re thinking from their expressions. I look around, hoping for something to drink. When I spot a bar cart on the far side of the room covered in bottles filled with various colored liquors, I don’t bother asking. I stand up and pour myself something from a decanter of pale, bluish liquid. As I toss it back, it burns down my throat with a mixture of bitter and sweet.

“Help yourself,” Cyan says wryly, and I shoot him a glare.

“Manners would have suggested you offer us all a drink to begin with.”

“It’s barely noon,” he answers, and I snort before I pour myself another glass.

Like I give a shit.

“You reek of The Aurora,” D’Arcy says a moment later, staring at me as uneasiness burns over my scalp.

“What?” I manage to squeak out. Why is she smelling me?

“Your story, while a truly thrilling tale, appears to be missing a few key details. Tell me why you smell of the Aurora King.” She tips her head and offers me a sly look. “Or perhaps not its king, but rather one of his children? The prince? The princess?”

“As I already explained, I spent half my life there. Why shouldn’t I bear its taint?”

D’Arcy rises from her seat, all elegance and lithe movement, and strides towards me like she’s floating over the floor. She stops and sniffs, her nose burying into the curve of my throat in a move that is definitely crossing many personal boundaries .

“What the fuck?” I exclaim, jumping back. “Has no one ever taught you about consent?”

“She’s mated to someone,” D’Arcy says, facing the other two rulers. “The bond hasn’t been completed, but they’ve mated.”

“Excuse me,” I say, backing away and bumping into the bar cart before I slide left to put some distance between us. “ That is none of your business.”

“Except it is,” D’Arcy says, closing in on me. “If you’re lying to us.”

“I don’t owe you anything.”

“That’s true,” Cyan says. “But you are here in my kingdom out of my goodwill. I have no desire to harbor liars under my roof.”

I press my mouth together. I have only three days left to find the ark, and I can’t get myself thrown out of here before I do.

“Fine,” I say. “When I left Aphelion, I didn’t escape on my own. The Aurora Prince took me.”

“Why?” Cyan asks.

“Because he was under his father’s orders to return me to Nostraza.”

Okay, that’s not the entire truth, but what’s another white lie on top of this snow-covered mountain I’m building?

“And then what?” Bronte asks. I remember Nadir saying something about Tor being somewhat allied to The Aurora. How friendly are they?

I clutch my glass between my hands with my back pressed to one of the shelves.

“And then we realized we had a connection. ”

“Your mate is the Aurora Prince,” D’Arcy says, and something moves behind her eyes.

“Yes,” I whisper, emotion twisting in my chest. Is. Was.

“Where is he now?” Cyan asks.

“He’s dead.” A collective intake of breath swirls around the room.

Tears fill my eyes. I don’t have to pretend any of this.

“Liar,” D’Arcy says. “If your mate were dead, it wouldn’t be possible to have this conversation with us.”

I blink at her words. “What does that mean?”

“I mean, if your mate had died, you’d be a broken mess of nothing.” She pins me with an unsettling look, dark remorse flitting across her expression. “Believe me. I know what it’s like.”

I’m so thrown off that it takes me a moment to process what she’s saying.

“You lost your mate,” I say.

My words come out strangled because I know . I know what she means. I feel this cavernous space in my chest where Nadir has been carved out of me.

D’Arcy tips her chin, and Bronte and Cyan exchange a look. Something tells me this isn’t information she offers up willingly or often. “It was a long time ago. But yes, I did.”

I remember Nadir telling me she’s had seven different partners, and I wonder if that’s how she’s filled the void of losing her mate.

But now they’re all looking at me curiously, and I’ve just been caught in yet another lie.

My eyes narrow, and I lift my chin, trying to salvage this. “ Perhaps some of us are just stronger.” I issue the words as a challenge, hoping to force her to back down, but I’m dealing with an ancient queen who radiates power. She scoffs, and something about that raises my ire.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says, hissing at me. “This isn’t about what you can and cannot endure. When someone’s mate dies, the one left behind succumbs to the worst sickness you can possibly imagine. Pain and agony like you can’t even comprehend. I spent months screaming and wailing, wishing to die. There are entire weeks of blackness I don’t even remember, my mind and body were so broken. It took years to fully heal, and even now, centuries later, I will never be the same.”

She’s leaning towards me now, her cool demeanor siphoned into a rigid slab of steel. “So do not presume to turn your nose up at me, thinking you’re somehow immune to the worst fate a Fae can endure, girl .”

The way she twists the last word tells me I’ve yet to earn her respect, and while I want to snap back at her, I decide that sometimes I can take the higher road. It’s clear I’ve just scratched open a festering wound with my carelessness. But then another thought occurs to me. If I’m okay, then does that mean Nadir is actually . . . alive? A light tweaks in my chest.

“What? What is that?” Bronte asks, far too observant for my liking. “Why are you suddenly happy?”

“I’m not,” I say defensively, trying to smooth my face into a different expression.

“You’re keeping many things from us,” Cyan says. “First your magic, and now this. ”

“What about her magic?” D’Arcy asks, her voice sharp as a needle.

“Nothing. My magic is fine,” I say.

At the same moment Cyan declares, “She has no control over it.”

My face heats as both women’s gazes turn to me, fire burning in their eyes.

“Why don’t you have control over your magic?” Bronte demands. “And why are you lying to us about your mate?”

The wheels in my head accelerate into high gear as I attempt to devise a plausible explanation for any of this. The truth is, I don’t have one.

“I can’t tell you,” I say, and that is sort of the truth.

“Can’t or won’t?” Cyan asks.

“Does it matter?” I ask. “Know that I’m not here to cause you any harm. Atlas tried to bond with me and use my magic, and the Aurora King is after me for some reason I’ve never understood. All I know is I need to keep out of their way and try to get back to what’s left of my family.”

The words flow out of me in a rush, and I hope it’s enough to convince them to let this go, even if they don’t entirely trust me. It’s not a complete lie. I don’t mean them any direct harm, but I very much intend to steal from the king, who’s staring at me as though he’s trying to figure out what to make of me. Maybe it’s wrong, and maybe I’m a terrible person for putting my needs and desires ahead of his, but if it comes down to some stupid piece of rock or Nadir, I won’t hesitate to make that choice .

“I suppose not,” Cyan eventually says. “But you understand I can’t just let you walk out of here?”

“Why not?” I croak.

“Because you’ve been lying to me, Heart Queen. And I want to know why.”

“I can’t tell you anything else.”

“So you’ve made clear.”

“What happens now?”

“You’ll remain here as my guest.”

“Your guest or your prisoner?”

“You’ll have some freedom of movement around the palace.” He sits back and folds his hands over his bare stomach, daring me to argue.

I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin, trying not to panic.

Three days. Three days. Three days.

“How long do you plan to keep me here?”

Cyan shrugs. “I haven’t figured that out yet.”

“Will you send word to Aphelion that I’m here, at least? My brother and sister will worry about me.” And hopefully they, along with Mael and Amya, will figure out a way to get me out of here. I just hope it’s not too late.

“Sister?” he asks, his gaze narrowing. “I thought you said you had a brother?”

Shit. I forgot I hadn’t told them about Willow. Too many things are happening, and I can’t keep all of my lies straight. I wince and then hiss out a stream of air.

“Oh, yeah. We have a sister, too. She didn’t come to The Woodlands with us, though. ”

Cyan shakes his head, and I notice D’Arcy and Bronte share a look.

“I will find out what you’re hiding, Heart Queen. And if I deem you a danger to me or my kingdom, there will be consequences,” he says.

“Got it,” I answer because I’m not sure how else to respond. I believe him. He turns away, but I grab his arm.

“That message to Aphelion? Please?”

“I’ll consider it.”

I dip my chin, partly grateful that he seems to be a decent king but also annoyed that he’s keeping me against my will. Though if our situations were reversed, I’d probably do the same.

Before placing the glass still in my hand on the table, I clasp my hands in front of me. “Then return me to my room.”

“What about lunch?” Cyan asks and I repress a polluted laugh. Sure, sitting here being grilled by these three for another hour sounds like my ideal afternoon.

“I’m not hungry.”

Cyan and the others all exchange looks before he sighs and stands, walking over to stop before me. I look up into his deep blue eyes, hoping he can’t read the truth on my face. Maybe I approached this entire situation the wrong way and should have been honest with him. But sometimes I wonder if I even know how to tell the truth anymore.

“Very well. Let’s go,” he says before gesturing for me to walk. I nod at the two queens.

“It was so nice to meet you.”

Neither responds as I pass their seats, heading for the door.

As Cyan escorts me through the palace, we cross through the throne room again.

The Coral sits in its massive tank, and I eye it desperately, wondering how I’ll access it. I’m an adequate swimmer, but I have no idea what else lurks inside that tank. With those high, smooth walls, I’m not sure how I’d even get in there.

As we round the curve, I notice a male High Fae standing on the other side. He’s clutching a notebook and stares up at the Coral intently before scribbling in it.

“Who’s that?” I ask.

“Bain,” Cyan says, his tone clipped like he doesn’t want to answer me.

“What’s he doing?”

Bain looks up and nods at Cyan, who then presses a hand to his chest and bows at the waist before straightening up.

“He’s monitoring the Coral,” Cyan says before gesturing for me to follow.

“Monitoring it?” I ask as I scramble to keep up.

“He’s the Artefact’s caretaker.”

“Caretaker?”

He glares at me. “Are you just repeating everything I say?”

“Fine, don’t tell me,” I grumble as I cast another look over my shoulder. I wish I could stay with the Coral, but I’m worried showing too much interest will further raise Cyan’s suspicions.

Tonight, I’ll come up with a plan. I’m resourceful. I’ve gotten myself out of tighter jams. Unfortunately, I can’t think of anything right now. Pain builds in my temple, and I massage it, willing down the nausea swirling in my gut .

I have three more days to get my hands on the ark.

Three more days until Nadir is lost to me forever.

I can’t let that happen. I will not let that happen.

So help me—I will raze this entire fucking palace to the ground if I must.