Rise of the Seven (The Frey Saga, #3)



As I lay back in the tub, letting the warm water ease the strain caused by the morning’s events, my mind kept returning to the dull eyes of the boy who’d nearly killed me.

It had been so close. I’d been exceptionally stupid, so confident. In a matter of hours, I would be facing every figurehead in the north. I could not make the same mistake. I would have to make my position clear, leave no doubt. The banquet might be my last chance.

I sank lower into the tub, allowing the water to soak my patched-up wound. It burned horribly and I closed my eyes, letting the pain sear my memory, keeping it as a reminder of what my slip could have cost me.

A muffled click came from the door but I didn’t bother looking. “Ruby, get your fairy ass out of my wash room.”

She huffed. “How do you always know it’s me?”

I turned to glare at her over the rim of the tub. “Because no one else would hassle me when I’m naked and meditating.”

“Hmm.” She dropped something on the counter and turned to go. “I was simply bringing some things you’ll need for this evening. I have to prepare myself as it is.”

When the door shut behind her, I tilted my head back again, contemplating a display of power that would cement my place. I recalled a few of Asher’s triumphs, but most of those disgusted me. He considered his banquets a success if each of his guests left in fear, or some form of it. He used his power as a threat, constantly reminding those around him of the damage he could do. He’d explained to me privately that he had to, it was the only way to secure our rule. But I knew better. I knew because he used it against me, and I’d had no desire for reign.

Asher had known me better than I’d known myself. No matter how I played along with his games, he’d kept me under his power, showed me what he could do. When I’d strayed, he’d found ways to remind me. I could see Chevelle again, his tortured form writhing in pain. At the hand of his own father. No matter his end, I still hated Rune. He had smiled as Chevelle lay before him. Chevelle had refused to call out, but his body reacted against his will, his jaw clamped tight, muscles bucking against the stone floor.

Anvil had stepped in to save us that day, but I vowed it would happen no more. I made a show of my own. But Asher was always one step ahead of me. What happened to Sapphire wasn’t punishment for my defiance, it was a device to keep me. And it had worked. When I saw her lifeless body, getting out was no longer an option. I had to stay and overcome him, I could not have done otherwise.

My mother had known that. She had seen, even from her prison, that it was reaching a boiling point. She had thought to save me. And she had burned for it.

I sighed and rose from the tub. A trail of water ran from my feet, tracing the seams of the stone floor. I pushed it with magic, testing the new powers once more. It moved as if a gentle wind blew. I was pleased, but not quite confident enough to dry myself, so I used a towel, just in case.

Since returning to the castle, I’d moved into one of the suites. From the washroom, there was a wardrobe closet through the first door, and a bedchamber beyond the second. As I walked through, I picked up the small bag of items Ruby had left me and glanced inside. She was incorrigible. I sat it aside and sifted through the various costumes hung along the back wall. I pushed aside a dark cloak and faltered when the long white gown came into view. My mother’s wedding dress. I ran a hand over the beading, exploring the fabric, the detail.

But, no, this wasn’t the dress. It had burned when she had burned. This gown had been created by Junnie. It was a symbol. A warning to council.

Because of my mother, that white dress had become legend among the light elves. It had given the stories that indefinable something, had even made them appealing enough for the fairies to repeat. Not that I’d ever heard them. Bound as I was, the villagers would never have dared reveal anything of my past. But I had heard since I’d been back. And I understood.

Junnie had left me that dress when Council had decided to try me. They intended to imprison me, and Junnie had sent them a grave reminder.

And the crystal necklace. It had no real power, but it had frightened the council leaders unreasonably. I guessed that was a kind of power of its own. Just a token, that was all it took.

An idea for the banquet was finally forming. I nodded as I slid into a pair of black leather pants, adjusted my top to cover the wound on my arm, and laced up my boots. I would not wear the armor over my injured shoulder, so I opted for wrist cuffs and seated a light cape into the shoulder clasps fashioned after hawks. I would be a warrior this evening, and I would look the part.