His power. My gods! His power and strength is an almost tangible entity in itself, thickening the air with his presence alone. It's savage and primal, crippling in its potency. So much so, I find it difficult to breathe with him near.
“It's Gods Light,” he says in that gravelly voice of his.
Of course it is.
Passing my gaze over the ward encapsulating the roiling flame, I use Kace’s words and ask, “I thought it was rare to have Gifts from the lesser gods?”
Lesser gods. Ha! I stifle a snort. They aren’t lesser gods. If anything, they’re more powerful. More dangerous. Their powers just haven't manifested in many bloodlines. How the Seboians classify and worship the gods makes my stomach churn at their naivety.
He says nothing as his intense stare bores into mine. If I hadn't spent the last several hours with him, I would think he didn’t hear me. But I see the wheels churning in those brilliant eyes and know he rarely speaks without thought.
Leaning my hip against the railing, I wait patiently for his response. It's not long before a slight crease appears between his brows.
“Common enough to have trinkets such as these, and access to Gifted healers.” His frown becomes more pronounced. “Have you not seen one before?”
Evading his question, I step off the porch and look to the others walking ahead of us, paired off and chatting as if they’re all long-lost friends. I smile at the sight of them laughing and teasing one another. Mixing, mingling, ingratiating themselves. Inwardly nodding to myself at the thought of one task complete, I peer down at my boots striding across the cobbled street.
When we entered the city, there weren't any visible buildings near the guard station. Along with that and in need of a filling meal, I didn't have the wherewithal to take stock of my surroundings, but now it's impossible not to take notice.
The cobbled street is four wagons wide. Grey, white, and cream-colored stones twinkle beneath the light of the two moons from the large, uncut gems embedded intermittently into the stone of the street. The streets are clean and well-tended, lit by Gods Light lanterns attached to tall, black iron poles. The shops lining the street are either darkened by the late hour or lit by flickering Gods Light, built with a blend of curving oak woods, white stone, and for the wealthier businesses, several uncut gems. You can see the presence of Nature magic in the flowers blooming near entryways and the greenery crawling up the sides of the buildings. It's magical, beautiful. Their wealth is present everywhere; I wonder if the other kingdoms are just as prosperous. Dropping my gaze, I study a blue sapphire beneath my boot.
It's larger than my fist and I'm just stomping across it as if it's nothing more than dirt.
I wonder how they are so blessed. A sense of foreboding fills me as I think of how these beings worship the gods and how everywhere I look I see the gods’ touch. Their wealth. The gems beneath my feet. The lanterns with their swirling black and gold. Even the people themselves are a likeness of the gods.
Tilting my head back, I squint at the blinding, white stone wall that encases the entire city. Built for protection, but all I see is a cage.
The gods’ hands are most prevalent there.
“Your city is quite beautiful,” I say, attempting to fill the silence.
“It is,” he replies, scanning his surroundings with a bland expression, as if he's grown accustomed to its beauty.
Lowering my head at a tilt, I draw his gaze to mine. “It truly is. I've seen many cities, and it's rare to find one maintained as well as yours. A nighttime stroll is much more pleasant when you're not dodging horseshit.”
He laughs, the sound deep and guttural. “That probably has more to do with the ban on traveling by horse.”
“Really?”
He nods, his voice darkening as he slides his thumbs into his belt loops. “Unless you're the Queen.”
Feet stuttering to a halt, I fold my arms over my chest and study him, searching for any indication that he’s joking. But I don't find laughing eyes or a teasing smirk, only hardened lines and thinned lips.
“That's horseshit,” I say on a scowl.
Boots scraping against stone, he slows to a stop, his brows knitting together. “Not really.”
“You don't see anything wrong with that?”
Darius shakes his head. “She's the Queen. That affords special privileges.”
“A privilege that citizens paid for with coins from their pocket, not the Queen’s. They should be able to use the street however they see fit.” Stepping towards him, I jab a finger into his chest. “Whether that's by riding in fancy carriages or on horses that shit all over the street.”
“It's also a security issue,” he says, his words muffled as he peers down in bafflement at my finger nestled between his pecs.
I scoff. “A security issue?”
“It's more difficult for her protection detail to travel on foot,” he answers diplomatically.
Arching a brow, I point up ahead. “I don't see Aurora with a horse or protection detail.”
His brows knit further, staring at me as if I'm the illogical one. “Aurora’s not the Queen.”
No, just the perfect hostage. I could snatch her up right now if I wished.
Pursing my lips, my hair whips over my shoulder as I whirl around and continue forward, bitterness powering my legs and hatred clouding my thoughts at the discovery of another land ruled by those who only serve themselves. Gods, immortals, Queens, even the Stars, to a certain degree, are all the same, regardless of where they originate. Greedy, self-serving, power-hungry entities. They take and take and take, depleting their resources to ash and bones, giving no thought or care to whose blood they spill in doing so. Whose lives they destroy. Some, if not most, even revel in it.
Movement catches my eyes and my lips twitch when I see Tristan smack Kace upside the head, reminding me that it’s probably not in my best interest to get all pissy with an immortal. The Captain of the Guard, no less, and my only source of information at the moment.
Blowing out a steadying breath, I give Darius a tight smile. “She must have quite a few enemies if she can't even take a walk without guards.”
“That's the life of a monarch,” he says as if he's the monarch himself. “There will always be those who oppose their rule.”
On a humorless chuckle, I say, “Of course they do. She’s not willing to abide by the very same laws she enforces. Why should they? It's hypocritical.”
His shoulders lift in a dismissive shrug. “Nevertheless, she's still their Queen.”
“Doesn't make her deserving of her throne.”
