Of Thorns and Beauty by Elle Madison

Chapter Forty-Four

Shimmering black stones makes up the base of the house, sparkling like tourmaline, stones that shouldn’t even be used in this manner. There was no expense spared for the architecture of this place. The stones lead to wide windows that stretch around the expanse of the building.

The main door is a large, ornate thing with metal details that form arcs and whorls nailed into the spruce egress.

"A bit over the top," Einar tells me in an undertone.

“Says the king of a castle," I tease, and he smiles.

It takes a moment before I can tear my gaze from his lips, which only makes his grin widen.

I’m not really surprised at his excess, so like Madame’s. For an ambassador, maybe, but alchemists can name their prices. That level of understanding of the properties of each everyday thing which surrounds us is rare and valuable, so, of course, he would live in a place like this.

"I can’t say much for the man personally, but he has worked with my family for generations," he adds as we make our way toward the elaborate staircase.

It doesn’t escape my notice that he’s offering up information I didn’t ask for, and I look at him askance.

"I suppose a king explaining himself on occasion isn't the worst thing in the world.” His expression gives nothing away, even as he uses the words I hurled at him only yesterday.

“I suppose not.” I give him the barest hint of a smile.

In spite of the snow falling around us, the flurries melt on each of the steps as soon as they land. Heat radiates from each one, preventing any ice from forming that could cause us to slip.

It’s probably impressive for most people, to see things such as this. But considering my history with alchemists, the showy display only nauseates me.

Khijha takes tentative steps in front of us, her tail twitching and her ears perked on high alert.

Einar gestures with a hand for me to precede him to the front door, but he doesn't hold out his arm or his elbow, and I realize he has not touched me since the cave.

I witnessed plenty of displays of affection at the festival, so I doubt it has anything to do with Gunnar's presence. The king is an enigma, but not one I have time to contemplate right now.

He knocks on the frame, and a voice calls for us to enter. As soon as we open the door, I can see that the man is not Jokithan. His back is to us as he muddles something in a wooden bowl. His hair is a mousy shade of brown; it’s sparse and balding atop his menial frame unlike any I have seen here.

The hands at work are several shades darker than Einar's, but not as dark as even mine, let alone the other Jokithans. It must be something in his alchemy that has kept him alive this long.

But where he comes from is the least of the surprises the alchemist has in store for me. When he turns around, I take a step back. Shock stills my movements and steals my breath.

Khijha steps between us, a low growl coming from her chest.

I always knew that there was a chance I would see him again, but I assumed it would be on an errand for Madame. I wouldn't have even put it past her to invite him to the château.

I am utterly unprepared for the sight of him before me now.

A thousand images flash through my mind, each more haunting than the last. I have had nearly a decade to train my mind not to go back to that night, but his unexpected presence here threatens to slither through my defenses.

I force myself to look anywhere in the room besides his small round spectacles and my reflection in them, so different than it was then. But he hasn’t changed at all.

I can practically feel his hot breath on my neck, and I want to vomit. My gaze lands on the king, who is already looking at me with some concern. Fighting for composure, I focus on him and think of our conversation on the way in.

I can't say much for the man personally, but he has served my family for generations.

The king trusts this man against his better judgment, and I know it is a mistake, just as I know I have no way of telling him that without damning us all. Khijha’s body ripples, and I swear she grows another several inches as her lips curl back to display her metallic fangs.

I put a hand on her head, shushing her while my mind goes back in time.

Aika is maturing quickly. Each day she grows nearer to womanhood, my panic grows. I know that I cannot protect her any more than I could protect myself, any more than I protected Rose, but I have to try. I go to Madame's sitting room -- Mother, I correct myself. She refuses to be called anything else by us. Her ‘daughters’.

“Zaina, this is Dvain, Jokith’s most renowned alchemist.” Einar gestures toward the man, but his words sound far away.

Her sitting room is set up more like a throne room from where she holds court for all those who dare to win her favor.

"Whatever price you will fetch for her, I will get it for you another way." I keep my tone neutral as I approach, though sheer panic bubbles at the surface of my façade.

"You had such potential. It’s a shame you turned out to be such a stupid girl." Mother shakes her head. "And such a drama queen, at that. What I barter for your sister will be worth more than money. And honestly, it's one night. Why must you make such an issue out of every little thing?"

I am stunned into silence for a fraction of a second before fury rears its ugly head, edging out the fear I can never seem to move past with this woman.

"Little thing?" The words are barely a whisper.

Madame notices the tiniest shift in a person's emotions, and my anger is no small thing right now. She fixes me with a brutal stare that dares me to go on, and I belatedly tried to collect myself, but I can't seem to stop the words from pouring forth.

“My Lady.” Dvain steps forward, a grin stretching over his vulgar mouth. “What a pleasure to meet you in person. I’ve read so much about you from your aunt’s letters, it feels like I know you already.”

"What did you get in exchange for me?" I had only ever dared ask that question one time, and she had been vague.

But this time, she smiles, like the memory makes her happy even now.

"For you, my dear, insolent, wretched girl, I received something no amount of money could buy. Loyalty."

I had never truly understood what Madame meant that day, and she had refused to explain any more. But I think of how it has taken one of the world's most renowned alchemists seventeen years to find a cure for a poison he has access to the source of.

And whatever Einar is paying him, I know that money is no object for this vile creature, nor much of a motivator. No, he takes his rewards in an entirely different fashion, one that the king I have come to know would die before offering him.

Dvain stretches out a hand for mine, and Khijha’s jaw opens wider in a hiss. His beady eyes narrow ever so slightly, his mustache twitching under his sharp, long nose as he chuckles under his breath.

“Does it?” I force the words out, breathing as much calm into them as I can muster while placing a comforting hand on Khijhana instead. “Sorry for my cat. She’s not too fond of strangers.”

Einar shoots me a look, but I ignore it. I ignore everything and will myself to imagine scenes of the death I promised myself I would give this perverted monster. Instead of the way he’d robbed me of whatever innocence I’d had left. Instead of the way he cut into my flesh, one shallow, stinging slice after another.

He had taken everything from me that night, things I can never get back.

Dvain breaks his eye contact and turns back to Einar, patting him on the back in congratulations for the match.

I let out a shaky, silent breath when they are no longer looking at me.

What the hell do I do now?