The Blood King - Chapter Seven (Patreon)

Nymira

I tense in the dark, quickly pulling away from the stranger who touches me with familiarity. My frustrations mount as I squint trying to see, but I am unable to because of my weakness. It is pitch black, and I am as helpless now as I have ever been. I can’t sense him, see him, or smell him. It makes me panic, but I refuse to show it.

“Who is there?” I ask.

My voice comes out strong, and I am proud of myself for showing no fear. But the voice laughs, the sound soft as he pushes my hair away from my shoulder. He’s behind me, and I didn’t even hear him move.

“I asked you a question first,” he says, just as I turn to face the darkness his voice carries out of. “Your captors are dead, and I have gone as far as healing you, regardless of what you are. Why do you cry?”

I immediately notice his choice of words.

“Regardless of what you are.”

“Why would what I am prevent you from being decent?” I snap.

Silence drifts back to me, and when he speaks again, he is further away.

“I am not usually so patient when my questions remain unanswered,” he says. I fight the chill sliding up my spine as his tone changes. It drips with dangerous intent, and as much as I want to remain defiant, my instincts bow to his will.

“Those men…killed my only family,” I say.

Silence.

My skin grows warm as the air rises in heat, and I shift slightly from the discomfort. The healer may have healed me, but my body is still weak from fighting off those men and unwittingly using my abilities for the first time. 

“There are more of you?” the voice asks, breaking through my thoughts. It attempts to feign curiosity, but I see through it. There is anger in that voice. It settles in the air, weighing me down with each passing second.

“No. As you said, I am the last of my kind. The woman who spent her life protecting and raising me was murdered for it—” I gasp as I recall the last thing Peyra gave me while saving my life. She threw her cloak around me to protect me from the flames. I’ve been so numb since walking into the throne room, I didn’t register them taking it.

Tears spring into my eyes as I look into the darkness, pleading with the voice.

“The cloak I wore when I was brought in, did they dispose of it? Please, it is all I have left of her,” I whisper desperately.

“So you were raised in secret?” I flinch when I feel a hand brush over the burn on my shoulder. I whip in the direction of his touch, and he continues to speak, ignoring my plea. He is focused on my origins, I realize.

“Where is my cloak?” I ask.

My legs grow weak as the heat intensifies, and I stumble, falling to my knees. My breath is heavy as fingers drift under my chin. I am met with darkness, but I can feel him standing in front of me, the heat seeming to radiate from his form.

“You were raised in secret? Away from your tribe?” he asks.

I tremble from his tone. “Yes,” I say through gritted teeth.

He releases me, and I feel his touch along my arm.

“An Ikniri with no marks, and no connection to her kind. What am I to do with you now?” he asks.

I pull my arm away from his touch, trying my best to remain strong.

“Release me. I will be no trouble to you or the blood king. I am not an Ikniri out for vengeance,” I say.

He laughs once again, this time it is actually filled with amusement.

“The blood king? You truly know nothing of your past to be able to speak that name in the same sentence as not seeking out vengeance. Where did you hear that name if you were raised away from your kind?” he asks.

“Peyr—the woman who raised me. She was convinced he had returned,” I say softly.

The silence stretching between us is uncomfortable, especially since the air has grown so warm. It’s suffocating.

“I have answered your questions. Release me, and I will disappear, just as my people did,” I say.

“You make demands while on your knees, barely able to hold your head up,” he says, clicking his tongue in distaste.

“Word of the first Ikniri in over twenty years will spread. And I will not have released her by the time the trouble you will bring reaches. There is no place for you beyond these walls,” he says.

His voice carries further away when suddenly the doors open, and guards enter. I try to look around the room where the light reaches, but I cannot see in the shadows.

“Wait, no! Release me!” I cry out as I am dragged from the room. But I am met with a deep laugh as his voice carries with me.

“We will meet again, Ikniri.”

* * * * *

The numbness has once again settled over me as the servant moves around the room, explaining its contents to me. She walks to a wooden armoire, opening it to reveal fabrics I’ve never seen in my life, a smile on her face as she pulls each one individually, expressing to me once again what it is.

My life is no longer the same. And with Peyra’s death, I have moved from one prison to a much more mysterious one. This time, however, I have no one looking out for me to tell me whether or not this is a danger to my life.

“The east wing was the newest wing before the late king was relieved of his duties. He built it to overlook the mountains, so you have the perfect view,” she says, moving to the window. Night has long since settled over the land, and save for a few individual homes, a breathtaking landscape can be seen.

Peyra was right. The world is much bigger than I could have imagined.

I had never seen anything outside of the forests. I look away from the window to the room. I’ve never had one, let alone set foot in one. Our days were spent on the wagon. It was too dangerous for me to be seen by humans to venture inside anywhere.

I look at the mass of fabric and wood in the far corner of the room, my confusion mounting as I approach. I place my palm against it, gasping when it sinks in. I quickly rip my hand away before it is swallowed, and the servant speaks up behind me.

“Haven’t you seen a bed before?” she asks, gently.

I don’t respond, making my way to the door. It’s heavy as I pull it open, making me acknowledge how weak I am. Guards are on the other side with their backs to me, and I huff in irritation, slamming the door. I quietly lean against it, sinking into to the floor as my frustrations mount.

“I was told a tray would be sent—”

“You said late king. Is the current king his son?” I ask.

The woman’s eyes widen, and she shakes her head.

“No, of course not,” she says as if it’s the most appalling thing she’s ever heard.

“Then who is he? A usurper?” I ask, curious as to why these men felt the need to drag me to a king who would kill them instead and give me a place of refuge, regardless of my “origin.”

Once again, she looks apalled by my questions, going as far as bowing as she responds.

“No! Everything under the sun is rightfully his,” she says quickly. Her face is beginning to turn red as she protests my accusations.

“So he is a king not by blood, and yet everything is rightfully his?” I ask. She nods, keeping her head down. Her demeanor has shifted entirely from the beaming woman she was seconds ago.

“Have you ever even seen this king?” I ask. It’s curious to me that he would keep his face hidden from me. It makes me wonder if anyone has seen him.

“Someone like me would never be permitted to look upon his face,” she says, moving to the armoire. She grabs white fabric, smoothing it out as she moves to the bed. “He was gracious enough to allow us to keep our lives. Only those who serve him and his personal guard have seen his face. Even your face will remain a mystery to most of the castle. It is an honor to have been chosen to serve you,” she says.

The way she speaks of him makes him sound more like an enemy than a king.

“This is a nightgown. Will you need help changing into it?” she asks, attempting to change the subject as she holds up the thin gown.

“Do you even know who you are serving?” I ask.

Her smile dips slightly, and she lays the gown back on the bed before making her way to the door. She pauses in front of it, turning to look at me as she pulls the door open.

“You must be exhausted from everything that has transpired. A tray should be up in a moment,” she says before closing the door.

I narrow my gaze, looking around the room in frustration. The heat from the fireplace deepens my irritation. I quickly look around the room, finding a vase of water before throwing it over the flames. The fire douses instantly, and I move to the corner, lying on the wood floor.

As the silence settles in, my chest squeezes as agony washes over me. Realization sinks in. Peyra is gone, and I am in a strange place, with people who are a mystery to me. I don’t know if they are enemies or allies. I caused all of this. Only days ago, I wanted to be free of the forests—free of hiding. Now, I would give anything to ride in the back of that wagon as Peyra reprimanded me for something else I did.

I squeeze my eyes shut as more tears fall, until I am curling in a ball, trying to control my whimpers in the dark at the uncertainty of my future.