Kryndor's Bride part 11

XOR VARKON

I roll my wrist for the umpteenth time this morning as I prepare to leave my chambers. It's still sore from yesterday's exertion.

Ceryn side-eyed me as she had been all night. She knows what I did to the royal. How I maimed him.

She knows better than to speak of it.

She works on her studies, having woken up at dawn to dutifully sit on the cold floor and keep up with her work. There's a perfectly suited table, yet she insists on sitting by the window.

"Why do you not take the table?" I ask her for the umpteenth time.

Usually, she softly smiles before returning her attention to the window. She doesn't know that she's the only person who gets away with ignoring me.

Today, she finally answers me. It is as if she has finally found me–a Xor–worthy. She's so incredulous, and she doesn't even know it. It's amusing. I think that's why I never correct her insolence.

"I like to look at the stars," she says. "There are no stars in The Underhold."

Indeed, there are no stars underground. It's a wonder of life that often goes overlooked by topdwellers. I cannot remember the last time I marveled at the stars.

"Do you admire them because they twinkle like your jewels?"

"No," she replies. "Because they're just as beautiful as all the fine things in life, but they can't be purchased by the wealthy. Stars belong to everyone."

"Do you wish you were like the stars, Ceryn? Do you wish you could never be purchased as I purchased you?"

She chuckles. "With all due respect, Xor, if you insist that you purchased me, you must also admit to your terrible appeal. Because in all the biographies Mael made me read, I didn't see anything about a Xor that had to purchase a concubine. Mayhap charisma came easier to your forefathers."

"Ceryn!" I shout her name, though there is no anger in my heart. There is only amusement that I find myself masking because I refuse to admit how much I enjoy that tongue of hers.

How badly I want to tangle it with mine.

I glance around my chambers, seeing how it is slowly transforming. The female closet is now stocked. Parchment litters my floor. And there's a two-step staircase at the base of the bed to help Ceryn climb atop. Seeing it tightens my stomach. It makes me want to grab another coral and beat that noble within an inch of his life for humiliating her–and perhaps punch myself a few times to snap me out of this possessive haze.

"I am off. If Mael needs me, she will know where to find me."

"Very well. Goodbye…Xor."

She hesitates, and I wonder if it's because she wants to address me differently. I haven't given her my name yet.

On my way to the grand library, I cross Ravore. He greets me, setting four fingers to his chin.

"I was just thinking of you," he says as he matches my quick strides.

"Oh? Should I be concerned?" I reply, tugging at my armlet, which has been digging into my bicep. I have grown out of it and will need another before the metal cracks. This will set the veilkeepers into a frenzy because this armlet has been worn by my forefathers for generations, and Xor has had this predicament before.

Yet another vrelling problem on my platter.

"Today is the day, isn't it? You'll meet with the senators to decide the fate of the trespassing bastards from the lowly Vak'thral House."

"That matter was settled yesterday. House Fyrak has extended their apologies and sent us livestock and fire crystals."

The fire crystals are precious. They are forged deep within their volcano and used for the best weapons, telescopes, spy glasses, and religious ceremonies. The Vak'thral closely monitor their production and rarely trade it.

I was surprised that they extended such a precious commodity, but it appears that House Fyrak has admitted defeat now that I took Ceryn into my chambers. There is nothing for them to harp about now that my heir will be here soon.

My blood boils at the thought of filling Ceryn with my seed.

Ravore huffs, discontented by the lack of bloodshed. He's as reckless as ever.

We enter the grand library, where I've got a pile of petitions to read. There's conflict across every kingdom. Everyone has lost their minds this summer.

Two hordes in the wildlands are at the brink of battle, many of The Underhold's mines have been shut in by the earthquakes, and Glintspire's markets are tormented by increased gangs and robberies.

Ravore walks between the towering floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. For all his avid reading, he is none the wiser.

He finds a book and leans against the window, flipping through its pages as I lose myself in my work. After a few hours, I glance up and find him in the same position. Legs crossed at the ankles, hands cradling the book. I don't think he has ever held anything–or anyone–more carefully than he does the pages.

Sometimes, I wish I could read my brother's mind, but it's for the best that I cannot. There is much darkness in there, and I've got enough darkness in my life already.

"Ravore," I call his name. "I need you to clear the library."

"This again?" he glares, snapping the book shut. "Why do you do this every time, Varkon?"

The library is empty save for us. He always gets a bit more daring when it's just the two of us.

"Yes," I reply simply.

"You and your trust issues."

He is right. He can read me as I read him. I trust no one. It is one of my haunting flaws. An internal conflict that has kept me a lonely man.

It is exhausting to always expect betrayal.

"I am not her, you know," he says. "You need to let the past go."

"Get out," I growl, teetering at the edge of control. My fingers dig into the wooden desk, keen on flipping it over. Goddesses know that I've been hellbent on tearing down my palace lately.

"Relax, for vrell's sake," he says before returning to the bookshelf. He's too loyal to these books to leave them scattered around.

He exits, and I follow him to lock the door. Then, I walk to the end of the library. I set my hand against the wall, pushing against a panel. A secret door engages, sliding open.

I enter and walk around a spiral staircase, my eyes adjusting to the dim lighting.

I keep walking until I'm facing two Seers. They stand in utter silence, gripping prayer beads as they guard the most important door in the kingdom.

"Kryndor."

"Open the door," I order.

One Seer produces a key and opens the heavy metal door behind him.

I enter the room, lit by Glintspire crystals that have been glowing for generations. The only thing in the small room is a plinth marked with hieroglyphics and a precious stone resting atop.

I approach the stone as the door closes behind me. I grab it, feeling the power brimming inside it and watching electricity crackle across its surface.

Hunger claws at my stomach and all my frustrations come roaring back. For a split second, I feel bloodthirsty.

The foundation stone has a way of warping men's minds, making them lust for power. This is why I deny Ravore's request to see the stone. He would undoubtedly fall to its allure.

I drag my thumb across the rocky surface, applying pressure until my skin is pricked and my blood is smeared on the surface. The stone quickly absorbs it.

Thunder crackles outside. I wonder what will come next. Will another earthquake rip The Underhold apart? Another rainstorm? Or will it be a dryer, where rain is sucked from our lakes and rivers and into the clouds as it rains backward? Will it be a soul storm that drives men insane with its hallucination-inducing bursts of light?

I stare at the ancient foundation stone with hatred in my heart and apprehention in my gut. This stone is a Xor's burden. We have been activating it since the kingdoms rose, bringing storms from the pits of hell to Kyndor's surface.

It is a necessary evil, but I find no pleasure in my duty.

I set the stone down and call for the door to be opened.

"When is the next torra?" I ask the Seers.

Hazy white eyes, nearly blind from old age, stare at me. These Seers have stood by this door for forty years, serving my father and now me. I swear that sometimes I can see their eyes in the stormy clouds overlooking Kryndor.

"You must return twelve days from today to reactivate the stone, Xor. The Goddess has asked you to come at night."

I nod. "Then I will."

And another storm will terrorize my kingdoms again.

With my mood soured, I leave the library.

Seers can see things beyond this world. My father would have them read his fortune, and often times, the predictions were right. The Seers knew his firstborn–me–would be a son and that his queen would die birthing his third son. He never warned my mother of her death.

I've never cared to ask the Seers to read my fortune. It is a curiosity that only the weak and fearful seek to fulfill. I don't fear fate.

My youngest brother once went to a Seer, and what was foreseen made him abandon his title. The last I heard of him, he was a horde king in the wildlands, unreachable corners of Kryndor that are forasken.

On my way past a lounge, I spot a particular small figure.

I backtrack my steps and subtly stand behind a pillar to spy into the lounge.

Ceryn stands before six glowering young noblewomen and one elder.

What is she doing here? She should be studying with Mael in a private library.

"Come again, my lady?" rasps Ceryn.

"You do not belong. Look at your hands and feet. They are scarred from labor." The elderly noblewoman says the word like it should be condemned.

"You were bred for cowardice and sickness because your ancestors only know the darkness of The Underhold. A House is only as prosperous as its noblewomen. How could you, a 'sura born in a ditch, represent the noblewomen of Kryndor? The Goddesses will never allow your thin blood to mix with House Arkon."

The noblewomen look at Ceryn smugly, a couple of them chuckling behind manicured hands, their bracelets and rings flashing.

Ceryn bows her head and examines her hands, which are indeed scarred. Her hands are dry from the salt of the Ocean, and her nails are maimed from mining. Common features among lowdwellers.

Ceryn freezes just as she did yesterday.

I grunt, taking a heavy step forward. Irritation clogs my throat. I am displeased to step in and shield her yet again because she is too weak to counter the nobles' barbed wit.

I should not feel disappointed. Because, after all, Ceryn only promised me an heir, a womb. She did not promise me spirit.

"And what of you?" comes Ceryn's suddenly hardened voice.

My attention is piqued. I stay against the pillar and watch closely.

"Must I condemn the wrinkles on your skin, stark veins, thinning hair, and frail bones? It's not your body that makes you a noblewoman, but your grace and kindness that balance the cruelty of men. Or am I wrong, my Lady? Are you and I equally unfit? Two 'sura in this great palace?" 

There are no more laughs or smirks now. Only mute anger as a commoner strips these noblewomen's air from beneath their wings and sends them pummeling down to Kryndor. They have outed themselves as ungraceful women, foaming at the mouth with jealousy and greed. Lower than a lowdweller, because they are more close to being beasts than people.

I smirk. I seem to keep underestimating my little concubine. She's got many surprises in that tiny, clenched fist of hers.

"Lady Ceryn, please excuse my tardiness!" Shouts Mael as she runs into the room, clutching her skirts.

The noblewomen retreat in a fit of mutters. Their dismay is so potent that it mixes with their perfumes and scented oils.

"What happened in my absence?" asks Mael, glancing between Ceryn and the topdwellers.

"Oh," Ceryn says, clasping her hands. "Nothing at all."

I am surprised by this twist.

Ceryn makes moves that I'm sure not even a Seer can foresee.

READ PART 12>

A/N: Next chapter: We will discover the mysterious "ceremony" that Ceryn will have to participate in! And there will be come physical contact🔥😛

The next book in the series will be about Varkon's youngest brother, who rules a horde in the wildlands–a king in his own right and dominion 😉