THIS IS THE LAST CHAPTER FOR TODAY! I WILL POST MORE NEXT WEEK :) !
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Arya knew Malich couldn’t fathom losing her a second time, so as they danced, she held his gaze, allowing him to commit the moment to memory. Close by, Ihsan dances with Navi. A hint of jealousy flashes in Arya’s eyes before she straightens out her features. She returns her eyes to Malich, suddenly remembering where she is and whom she’s with. His returning gaze is a wounded one.
Malich broke their gaze to find his brothers. They’re already staring back at him, smirking and eyeing him curiously. They must have seen the look she gave Ihsan and would gladly provide Ihsan with the resources he needs just to be a thorn in Malich’s side. Malich shows no reaction however. His shoulders are square, his chin is up, his movements are all graceful and he appears to have no reaction at all. He’s always the picture of kingly perfection no matter what’s going on around him.
“Will it ever be over?” Malich whispers to her.
“Will what ever be over?”
“Your feelings for him, your wantinghim…will it ever end?”
“I don’t know,” Arya shrugs.
Malich sighs. Her indecisiveness aggravates him to no end. She wonders how long he’ll tolerate it before that thin string tethering him to patience snaps. Arya is no fool. A male like Malich Jarrah gets what he wants, and if he doesn’t, he may attempt to do the right thing for a while and wait her out, but eventually he’ll sooner cut her out of his heart like a cancer than continue to suffer.
“Do not keep me waiting much longer.”
“Whatever happened to giving me time and space? We had that conversation literally ten minutes ago,” she sighs.
“I am not a patient man and everything must have an expiration date or we will all be blowing in the wind, waiting. I’m not the sort you keep waiting.”
Arya starts to reply, but her words get caught in her throat as Malich bows to her, finding an excuse to be elsewhere. As her eyes trail him to several nobles Kahlem appears before her, picking up where Malich left off.
Arya’s startled but she never loses her feet, swaying and twirling in time with all the others. The song ends and Kahlem escorts her over to a group of nobles, introducing her to each of them as if he actually cared for her. Arya isn’t fool enough to believe this was anything more than some veiled attempt to undermine Malich.
Kahlem’s mask slips a little showing how intrigued he is that the Goddesses would choose Arya as Queen. “Queen?” He examines her reaction, smirking to the nobles around him. “A Queen wouldn’t have as colorful of a mouth as you do. I’ve seen it myself.”
He attempts to undermine her as Queen as well it seems. Rather than deny the accusation she makes a joke out of it. “You won’t get any arguments from me there,” Arya chuckles, “But the Goddesses of light appear to have a sense of humor.”
The nobles erupt into amused laughter, but they aren’t laughing at her as Kahlem had hoped, they’re laughing with her. “And you plan to marry beneath your station?” He asks. The words are deliberate. He wants to point out what a marriage to Malich would be, how insignificant Malich is in the eyes of every noble Kahlem has in his pocket. How weak or incompetent she would be to choose such a union.
Rather than shed light on their recent separation, she looks all of the nobles in the eye and says, “I think we all know Malich Jarrah is only low in title. He controls the Redlands, he controls the deadliest army within the planes, and now, thanks to his majesty so kindly giving him back his birthright rightfully clearing his name, he has a controlling interest in the Summer Court, not to mention this beautiful palace. He may be a prince in title, but I assure you all, he is a king in every other way.” Kahlem bristles. He knows she’s right otherwise he and his brothers wouldn’t be working and scheming so hard to make Malich appear less. Wanting to deepen the wound she’s inflicted further she continues, “If my memory serves me correct, it wasn’t until the lies of a commoner made prince Malich a traitor to the crown, that the true king, King Simeon Jarrah, whom you representuntil his return, favored Malich as King. When will that be exactly?”
Clenching his teeth, Kahlem asks, “When will what be?”
“When will your father be returning, or has he been indefinitelydetained? I should like to meet him when he does.” Arya flashes her pearly whites at the visibly shaken surrogate King. Her words are just as deliberate as his and the implications of her words will stick in the minds of those nobles for the foreseeable future. Few dares to point out he isn’t actually king, but since he pushed, she pushed back, and oh what a mighty blow she struck.
Kahlem storms off with his brothers in tow. She now has the nobles’ full attention and uses this rare moment to position Malich as best she can within his family’s court. It won’t happen over night, but it’s a start. Someone needs to undo the cycles of lies Kahlem and his brothers have been feeding to the royals about him.
The floor is hers with Kahlem and his scheming brothers looking on from a distance while she steals the spotlight. She searches the crowd and finds Malich nowhere to be found. He’s probably brooding in his office. She hates when he’s angry with her. She hopes to be done with this whole thing once and for all, same as him, but it isn’t that simple. She’ll have to choose and she can’t. No matter who she chooses, someone will hate her for it and she doesn’t want to lose Ihsan or Malich.
As she mingles with the nobles a familiar sound catches her attention. Throwing stars. Her eyes search the terrace and the garden beyond. No one is there. As the sound comes closer she closes her eyes, tracking their movement. They aren’t aiming in her direction. They’re aiming across from her. She opens her eyes to follow its trajectory and finds their target. Her heart sinks. She has a split second to decide what to do. She could show one of her cards and out her abilities, or she could let Malich die. Unlike Mekhi, he hasn’t spent as much time training the way his soldiers have. He didn’t recognize the sound.
Cursing the Gods, Arya tore off her skirt revealing the white riding boots and pants underneath, closing her eyes and pulling at the fabric of the world. She winnows directly into the path of those throwing stars, unsheathing the swords she hid at her back, and deflected each of the throwing stars. Malich gasps. She wants to turn to him to make sure he’s okay, but hundreds of soldiers bearing no crest to signify whom they belonged to stormed the terrace.
Malich’s guests all clamor for the doors only to find them locked. Soldiers from all of the nobles in attendance take a protective stance, forming a barricade between the approaching army and the nobles. They run out to greet the approaching soldiers and Arya finally dares a glance at Malich. He’s looking down at his stomach and she follows his gaze. Blood pools through his white tunic. Arya rips open his shirt and reveals seven stab wounds. From what she can tell they are all in quick succession. This isn’t the work of throwing stars. This is something else. With a bloody finger, Malich points to a retreating figure.
Arya winnows in front of the retreating figure and he stumbles backwards. Several more men hidden within the nobles on the terrace unsheathe their swords, surrounding her.
Her eyes scan the nobles until she finds one smiling back at her. Malich introduced him as Chernobyl, Duke of the Summer Court. She committed him to memory and stared the man who stabbed Malich repeatedly in the eye. “I only want him,” Arya told the others, pointing to him with one of her swords. “Lay down your weapons or die a traitors death.”
One by one they lunged, their swords clanging against the metal of Arya’s creating sparks. Arya rattled off her moves in her head as she struck. She backed into something and whirled around ready to fight, but it was only Mekhi. He took up position at her rear and together they fought off the unknown assailants, until they lay a bloody heap on the terrace. Malich was back on his feet now, healed and from the looks of it, pissed off.
He stalked out into the mass of soldiers in the garden, sending lightening bolts through several at a time. He stuffed his lightening down the mouth of one soldier until the lightening reappeared, clawing out of the soldier’s eyes and ears before he exploded into red mist.
To Arya’s right, Ihsan reaches up with his shadows, grabbing hold of the soldier’s feet, and wielding another shadow as a sword, slicing through them all. A second group of soldiers appear behind them, their footsteps alarming Arya to the danger at their backs. She whirls around to face them.
Even if she could warn them, it would be too late. For the first time during battle, fear grips her. A fall here would destroy Malich, it would destroy Ihsan and it would destroy her. That was the plan all along...
These nobles aren’t here to meet her. They’re here to witness the fall of the Red King. Word of his defeat would spread throughout the planes and his grip on the world…the grip his brother’s feared,would come undone.
Arya glances at all of the nobles with the smug look on their faces, safe away from the siege taking place in the garden. This army was a collective effort and they all participated in it. All of them. The soldiers they initially sent out to fight the army in the garden now joined the army’s ranks, donning grins.
Fury fueled the fire inside her and her blood began to boil. She could feel white-hot flame growing inside her and called to it. She didn’t know how, but she knew it wanted to be unleashed the way her bloodthirst wanted to be unleashed if kept in check for too long. She didn’t know what would happen when she released the anger roiling up inside her, and she didn’t care as long as when it was done these soldiers lay dead.
Gripping the hilt of her swords she stalked towards the soldiers at their back. White flame shot from the hilt to the tips of her swords and the army before her faltered. They were afraid. They should be…
A few of the soldiers began to backpedal, but it’s too late for them. They will all die this moon. Winnow…slice…winnow…amputate…winnow…decapitate. The white of the front of her clothing is painted red and the fire on her blade only makes her strikes more surgical. It sizzles when it slices, followed by the smell of burning meat. Still more soldiers appear. At this rate Arya and the others will tire out before it’s over. They’d either be captured or murdered by the scheming nobles.Bastards.
The sound of leather flapping against the wind catches her attention. After driving her sword through yet another soldier’s neck she looks up. Drakor. She smiles at her cranky new friend and reinforcements. He isn’t alone. Staring at the nobles now, her smile turns sinister. Twelve dragons, Drakor being the largest, drops down beside her. The enemy soldiers begin to retreat but she has no intentions on letting them leave. Stepping beside Drakor, grinning like a Cheshire cat towards the nobles Arya kisses the dragon along its neck and gives the command the dragons are waiting for, “Ignis!”
All twelve of them rear back and breathe fire, engulfing the army before Arya, while more alumni soldiers roll off their backs to join the fight. It’s over in minutes. An entire army of at least a thousand soldiers lay dead in Malich’s garden. The garden grass, its many fountains and statues are all either charred or painted red with blood. His garden is now a graveyard.
Still covered in blood, Arya stalks to the terrace where the nobles stand. She’s ready to slice into every last one of them, but Malich stops her. He holds out his hand to stop her approach and she steps back. This is his home and his name they’re attempting to ruin. Staring them down like naughty children he addresses them. “You’ll have to do better than that I’m afraid. I am the deadliest man within these planes for a reason and you are all officiallyon my shit list. Get the fuck out of my palace before I add your bodies to those of your fallen soldiers.”
Arya blanches. How could he just let them go?He could kill them now and be done with it. She searches Malich’s eyes for answers as the nobles scramble, taking their lot with them and quickly leaving the palace.
“Mercy? They should pay with their lives!” Arya seethes, her furious eyes locked on Malich’s. He simply sighs, waving her off and sits down in a chair on the terrace staring out at the carnage left in his garden. The brutal force of a man looks all but diminished, unusually small, and spent sitting quietly in that chair. Suddenly Arya’s fury evaporates replaced by worry. She’s never seen Malich like this before. He looks utterly defeated even though he’s victorious. “Strong and silent is not what you need to be right now.”
“They’re never going to accept me,” he sighs. His gaze is far away and the light that usually burns in his eyes has dimmed. Fixing me in his gaze he offers a small smile. “I don’t know why it’s taken me this long to see it. Kahlem’s poison is bone deep in this Court, and my parents…” Malich’s voice trails off as he dives deeper into thought, forgetting the conversation altogether. It doesn’t last long. The fire in his eyes return with renewed vigor. I know that look. It’s the look of a Red King determined to bring his brother and his entire Court to their knees. “You should leave and get cleaned up. A Queen shouldn’t be covered in as much blood as you are.”
He doesn’t bother scolding her about using her abilities; he has no authority there. That ship sailed when she was crowned Queen. She can wield herself as she wishes.
Mekhi and his soldiers return from escorting frightened nobles off the grounds. He’s wearing a smirk. Malich notices it at the same time I do. “Several of the nobles expressed an interest in private councils with his highness prince Jarrah,” he informs Malich launching into a full-blown smile. “Here’s a list of all who wish to attend.”
Mekhi hands Malich a list and as he reads it his lips curl into a triumphant smile. Everyone in the Redlands knows not to cross Malich Jarrah and now the nobles know it too. They only caught a glimpse of the might he could wield, and it was more than they imagined.
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