Chapter twenty - five - I have to leave

Lorcan and the General reverted to the barracks as soon as the meal was over, leaving me alone with the queen and the seamstress she'd promise to beckon in such a short space of time.

With the seamstress scowling at me to stand straight, I can't stop staring as the queen lounges on a settee of the hall-like room, plush with orange cushions, gossamer curtains almost yellow once the oil lamp casts light onto them.

By now, I notice it's all like the theme of bright colors that are Emberwell, bright, fiery, and warm.

I look at the seamstress, straightening out my arm then the queen. "What will the dress be like?" I ask as she swirls her goblet to the side of her.

"A surprise." She grins. "Noctura ball, everyone is notified to dress in colors of the fire. It's in honor of the lights that the aisle of elements will project." Taking a sip from her wine, she points at me. "But you, darling, will dress in something that will enthrall anyone who walks through the palace doors."

Enthralling? I never thought the day would come where the queen treated me far better than most. "Why are you being so kind to me?" My voice skeptical. It's not as if my father spoke of her as if they were once friends. "I'm only a trainee, not even a true Venator yet."

She lowers her goblet, her smile sharp. "Am I not allowed to be kind to my warriors, Naralía?"

I blanch. "No, of course, you are. It's just—"

"I know how much Nathaniel adored his children," she interrupts, and I attempt not to wince at that knowledge of my father and how I missed him. "I'm only returning the favor for his youngest, who seems passionate about the role of a Venator."

The scoff wanting to burst out of my mouth is impeccable when I know passion means nothing if I'm working with a thief—a dragon, a shifter, an... idiot.

Nodding slowly instead, I glance at her neck, and then my lips bend into a smile. "That's a wonderful pendant. I couldn't help but notice it."

Her hand clasps over it as she tilts her head, and swallowing the nerves, I add, "Is it a family heirloom?"

"No," she answers in a curious drawl. "More like a gift given to me."

Darius is really making me steal something that was a gift to her... Solaris, I wish to hit, punch and kick him.

"I suppose it must be important to you then," I say, the words trailing off at the end as the seamstress mutters for me to stop fidgeting again.

The queen's lip twitches. "It's quite frankly useless to me."

A light oh parts from my lips, puzzled by that answer. "May I ask why you wear it then?"

"I wear it the same way you are wearing those crystals in your hair." She gets off the settee, waltzing over to the other side of the room as her gown sweeps behind her.

In thought, I trace my fingers over the crystals. Mine aren't useless to me. They're Freya's. But the queen seems to have brushed that question off in her own way.

Once setting her goblet down, she turns and comes towards me, unclasping the pendant from her neck. "This pendant, Naralía." She moves it between her fingers, gold shining over her almost ebony skin. "Holds a certain history to it."

Nearly entranced, my eyes flicker around the pendant and the three rivers atop a compass pointing north.

The Rivernorths.

Perhaps her acts of kindness are a cover for what might have happened. Remaining calm even if I knew already about the history, I act unsure. "With the treaty?"

A light chuckle. "More than that." She retreats to where she'd set her goblet down, placing the pendant around a neck mannequin.

And at that it takes five seconds for me to scan the room, I can't guarantee she'd remove the pendant again, and it's too much risk to do anything—

"Hold still!" The seamstress hisses from her bent position by my knees.

I scowl back, but the queen, taking no notice, says, "You know of the wars before the treaty, don't you?"

I snap my head up at her as she grabs her chalice and turns to walk back to me. She raises her hand, motioning for the seamstress to depart. The seamstress courtesy's, propelling a glare over her shoulder at me before ushering out of the hall.

Forgetting that, I answer with, "Yes." I stand slightly taller on the stool against the queen, yet no height can match her power stature. "The Exaree witches and shifters against the sorcerers."

I'm reminded of my talk with Leira, what led me to flee from the tavern, and the eerie words she'd told me.

"The sun blooms again, for she has found her moon—"

"A witch and a shifter always go hand in hand," The queen tears my memory of what Leira said, earning herself a cock of a head from me. "Once a witch bonds to a particular shifter, they're allies, confidants, and helpers, which is why the Sorcerers never stood a chance, not even the most powerful."

An exhale blooms from her lips, sad, distant even. Leira mentioned that shifters helped the witches, felt emotions from others. However, she'd not said they were the type to bond. And the queen... seeing her now explain this, I consider how she despises shifters, has an army of Venators at her disposal to get rid of them while a witch is to be hanged or burnt at the stake if they dared use their magic.

"Are you a sorceress?" The question sounds so absurd once I ask it, but the queen only chuckles, flitting her gaze downward.

"I am... though one without power."

A wave of shock pours over me. For a while, I'd never known what the queen was, why she'd lived this long, knowing that she couldn't be just mortal, but her answer opens more questions, wonders, and curiosity.

Why is she without power? Did she fight in the war? Had it to do with the Rivernorths?

But my questions remain intact as she looks at my arm. "My, what scar you have there."

I bring it to my chest, an instinct to hide it even if I were standing in front of the queen.

She doesn't look bothered or wonders why I'm hiding it as she asks, "How did it occur?"

A shaky intake of breath has me turn my arm to gaze at the deep red mark from my palm up my inner forearm. "A dragon," I say quietly.

"Shifter or—"

"Full," I respond before she can finish. Hiding it was never the answer. Illias doesn't. He's at peace with his hand but mine? The longer I stared at it, the more I think of the day my father died. It may be a distant memory; I can hardly picture the dragon anymore except for the way it stood in front of me, silent, staring as if I was something to it. But I still can't accept that day.

"Well," the queen breathes, straightening herself. "Now you are here training to make sure that never happens again."

I bow, letting my arm drape to the side, keen to still hide it. "Of course, your majesty."

She raises her chalice, a flicker of a smile that almost seems furtive before she says, "As you know, we protect those who do not bear the flame..." And drinks from it.

***

The following morning, I rush down the stairs, fiddling with my hands in front of me while reciting the Venator motto, "we protect those who do not bear the flame."

A phrase I should focus on and not have the thought of how I'm to steal off the queen.

Saying it once more, I drop onto the last step and stop, slowly drawing my brows together once spotting Lorcan and a few Venators coming out from the weapons room.

"What is going on?" I stroll up to Lorcan, eyeing as Venators pass me holding spears and chains.

"Sightings of dragons have been reported up north," he says, bringing my focus back to him. He sighs a deep sound that sends sparks of emotions through me. "I have to leave for a few days."

A weight presses on my chest, and it's as if someone pushes me back with a flash of when my father used to say the exact words.

"Look after everyone for me, Idris," he'd say when I'd hide in the corner of the cottage, staring as my brother would nod back, hiding any emotion he might have felt.

Turning my head in the other direction, I blink rapidly. "For how long?" I croak out, forcing myself to look at him.

"We hope to be back before the ball—" he begins, but another man, flipping a knife as he saunters past, calls for him to follow.

Lorcan's expression is tentative as he looks over my head then at me. "Goodbye, Nara," he breathes it out like he knows he doesn't want to leave, and I understand this is what a Venator does, what we all have to do at one point.

"I have to leave, Lía," My father's words push through once more when he'd lower himself to his knees so that he could meet my height. "Try not to get into too much trouble." He'd chuckle with all the brightness in his heart, ruffling my hair.

"Try not to be too adventurous while I'm gone," Lorcan says, and I blink again as I focus on his lips, stretching into a smile and one I can't reciprocate.

He leans in, but I turn my cheek just as his lips brush my skin, and he lets them linger there—my breath heavy with the resemblances of the past and now. Lorcan must think I didn't want a kiss, that I didn't want anything as he rears back, and I don't look at him as he walks off.

But that's far from the truth of what I wanted.