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

Chapter 26

C HAPTER 26

NADIR

I pick up a chair and hurl it at the window with all of my strength. It smashes apart, landing in a pile of splinters, but it has no effect. Still, I stare at the wreckage with a sense of grim satisfaction.

I’ve been at this for days. Ever since I saw Lor in Zerra’s mirror. I’ve screamed myself hoarse, demanding to be let out. My magic is powerless against the walls and windows of this room, simply dissipating or ricocheting off the surface, so I’ve resorted to less elegant means.

My room is a scene of destruction, like a forest decimated by termites. No one has tried to stop me, and I suppose it’s because nothing I’m doing has the slightest effect. And even if it did, where would I go? Zerra said we’re in and around Ouranos, which means nothing to me. Can I get back home on my own? What I know is that I’m not getting anywhere trapped in this room. I have to find Lor. If my father gets his hands on her . . . he will make sure she doesn’t escape again.

With the last chair lying in pieces at my feet, I scan the room, searching for something else I can use. The door comes and goes, which is very disconcerting. It appears in different places whenever someone enters to bring me food, though it’s been a few days since that happened. Thankfully, I’ve made it last, though I’m reaching the end of that, too. Zerra is punishing me for my disobedience. She called me Herric. Something tells me this is all so much worse than I originally thought.

A flash catches the corner of my eye through a window, and I spin around.

Red lightning fills the sky far in the distance. It sparks and cracks across the pristine blue, illuminating fluffy white clouds with blood-red streaks. I’m momentarily stunned until my brain catches up.

“Lor,” I croak. There’s no other possibility or explanation. I won’t accept one. It has to be her.

But I’ve destroyed everything around me—the bed, the tables, the chairs, the wardrobes. Not that any of it has been of use. I consider how hard it would be to drag the bathtub out here.

Out of frustration, I run for the window, hurling my body at it, using my shoulder to pummel the glass. And then I lose my mind, punching the surface, left, right, left, right until my knuckles bleed. I scream for Lor, frustration and rage oozing from every cell.

Blood smears against the glass, and then . . . a hairline crack forms. I stare at it in disbelief, blinking a few times.

A sacrifice. That’s what Zerra said. My blood? Or rather . . . my suffering.

I punch the window again, my hand screaming in agony as more blood paints the surface and more cracks spread. I think of how the wall crumbled when Zerra threw me against it. Finally , we’re getting somewhere.

I continue punching the window until my hands are numb with pain, but I’m making progress.

I back up to the far side of the room and run at the window, wincing as I collide into it with my shoulder. But more cracks form, spiderwebbing out like a million tiny lifelines.

Fuck. Yes.

Again. I run for the window, using my other side to give my shoulder a break. Again. More and more cracks form. Eventually, it has to give. I pick up a sharp splinter of wood and carve a long gash into my arm before swiping it over the glass as the cracks continue spreading.

“Hey!” comes a voice. Tia stands in the doorway, staring at what I’ve done. “You mustn’t do this,” she says, like we’re discussing the weather. I glare at her, and she must see the resolve in my eyes because something spasms in her expression.

“Come!” she yells behind her, finally displaying a sliver of emotion. “The prisoner is escaping!”

She keeps shouting for help, and I’m out of time.

So I back up and launch myself off the far wall, running in a blur towards the window, using all of my weight as I spin up my wings. The glass gives way in a shatter, and I’m almost too surprised to react. Especially as my wings blink out a moment later, my arms and legs windmilling as I start to plunge.

Shit. Shit. I try to spin up my magic again, but it’s gone.

I plummet down, down, and then crash, leaves and branches scraping against my skin. I come to a juddering halt, landing on something both soft and hard, accompanied by the crack of branches. Stunned, I stare up at the sky for several long seconds, realizing a bush cushioned my fall.

Lor’s magic is gone, the sky littered with white clouds and an endless carpet of blue. I tamp down the swell of fear that threatens to choke me. What happened to her?

It takes me a moment to extricate myself from the tangle, and I land on soft grass with one knee planted to the earth. I inhale several long breaths, trying to focus. My body aches, my wrist throbs, and my hands are a bloodied mess. I open my fist and close it again, grunting at a lash of sharp pain. I’m sure I broke something, but it was worth it because I couldn’t stay trapped in that room a moment longer.

Finally, I look around me, taking in my surroundings.

It’s peaceful, everything smooth and perfectly rendered. There’s no other way to describe it. The grass is eerily perfect, with every blade the exact same height and shape. The bush I crashed into is made of thick green leaves that look almost real, but the color feels off. They’re green, but not a green you’d ever find in nature. Every leaf is perfect like they’ve all been cut from the same idealistic pattern of what a leaf should look like.

Slowly, I stand up and listen. I hear the gurgle of a stream in the distance and the tweet of a bird here and there. A dragonfly, larger than my hand and in every color of the rainbow, flits past me with a soft buzz.

Off in the distance, I think I hear soft voices mingling in the cadence of numerous conversations. Slowly, I put one foot in front of the other until I reach a line of hedges, again all perfectly made like I’m inside a child’s dollhouse. The voices grow louder, and it almost sounds like a party. The clink of glasses is backdropped against gentle music and floating laughter.

“Oh, hello,” a voice says, and I turn to find a stunning High Fae female watching me. She’s wearing a loose grey silk dress, has deep brown skin and long silver hair, and looks like she must hail from Tor. If I’m not mistaken, she’s actually the spitting image of Queen Bronte.

“Are you new here?” she scans me from head to toe. “You seem a little young.”

I open my mouth, unable to respond, as she steps closer and peers at me. “You must be Garnet’s son,” she says, her eyes growing wide.

Garnet. The name stills the blood in my veins.

My grandfather’s name was Garnet, but . . . surely not. She thinks I’m my father.

“You really don’t look old enough, though.” She’s still studying me. “Nevertheless, you’ll probably want to see him. Come on. We didn’t know you were coming, but sometimes that happens. One of you just drops in.” She searches behind me, and I turn around to see what she’s looking for. “Where is your bonded?”

“I . . . was just looking for her,” I say. That causes a wrinkle to form between her eyes before it softens away .

“Oh, I suppose it’s possible she ended up somewhere else, but that is unusual. No worries, she’ll make her way here eventually.”

I’m not sure why I lie about who I really am other than if someone discovers I’m not supposed to be here, they’ll throw me out. And I suddenly have a strange, bone-deep urge to see the man I know only from stories and paintings.

“Will you take me to see my . . . father?” I ask, and I don’t have to fake the ballooning emotion that swells in my chest.

“Sure. Come this way,” she says brightly, leading me towards a gap in the hedges framed by a marble arch.

“What were you doing out there looking for me?” I ask.

“Oh, I heard you fall,” she says. “I always like to be the first to greet our newcomers. It can be quite disorienting.”

“Thank you,” I say, because after that shitshow with Zerra, encountering someone kind feels like a cool breath on a hot day.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“I’m Greye,” she says, her eyes crinkling at the corners with her smile. Greye. I remember the name. She was a queen of Tor many centuries ago.

We enter what looks like a party. The hedges border dozens of white iron tables surrounded by plush armchairs where other High Fae sit enjoying wine and food. I see Fae representing each of the realms, all marked by their distinctive coloring and features.

I’m in the Evanescence. That I knew, but now I’m where the descended go, surrounded by the kings and queens of Ouranos’s past. My first instinct might be to panic that I’ve died, but this isn’t how it works, right? I haven’t ascended yet, so this can’t be my resting place. All I can assume is that when I broke out of Zerra’s palace, I landed in a different part of the Evanescence.

Greye weaves us between several tables as I feel the weight of many curious eyes. She says hello to a few onlookers, tapping their shoulders lightly as their gazes burn into my back. She doesn’t introduce me to anyone, which is probably for the best.

In the distance, I see a table surrounded by several people with black hair and varying shades of brown skin. I feel a weird shift in my heart at the sight. I know those faces. I’ve seen them all rendered in oil paintings that I used to study when I was a boy, wondering if any of these ancestors could have shielded me from my father’s hatred.

There’s Verde, the third king of the Second Age, and Iris, the queen after that, my great-great-great-great—I’m not sure how many I have to add—grandmother. She’s the first to spot me, her dark eyes finding me in the distance. They narrow imperceptibly before they open wider. She taps the arm of the man next to her, and that’s when I see him. After studying his portrait for more hours than I can count, I know him. Wearing a black shirt and pants, he looks just like my father with his dark hair cropped short.

My grandfather looks over, and confusion crosses his face. He was expecting his son. And while I do look a lot like my father, it’s clear he knows that I am not Rion. Garnet, the former Aurora King, presses himself up to stand as I slowly approach. I must look insane right now. I’m covered in blood, my feet are bare, and my clothing is in shreds .

“Nadir?” Garnet says, and I blink.

“Yes,” I say. “You know me?”

“Of course I do.”

He nods as he approaches, and now everyone around the table watches me. I run a hand over my head, suddenly feeling self-conscious under the scrutinizing gaze of my ancestors. I feel judged, weighed, and found lacking, though I’m not sure why.

“Why are you here? Where is your father?”

I look around the clearing, noticing several other people staring at us now.

“That’s kind of a long story,” I say.

“Then come with me,” my grandfather says. “I know somewhere we can talk.”