Chapter 29

Akharos and Yliana stay for about five days.

During that time, I spend the mornings working on deciphering my note. I’ve got an atlas and a thick census book from a decade ago, plus a new notebook so I can fill it with page after page of attempted solutions to the code. I write down the alphabet about a thousand times over during the process. As I expected, I really don’t have a knack for this, at least not right away. Akharos graciously lets me work in his office while he does his own thing so that when I have questions, I can ask him directly. And when a headache starts to form at my temples from staring at the same paper for hours with little to no headway, he doesn’t mind when I pop over and ask what he’s working on. It’s always something different, and always something interesting.

In the afternoons, Khysmet always wants us all to play some new sort of little game that I’ve never heard of before, often outdoors and involving hitting something with a mallet or throwing some kind of object at some sort of target, but sometimes indoors played with cards or on a board. It becomes very immediately clear that he has a competitive streak a mile wide, at least where his brother is concerned. He has a cutthroat attitude toward every single game, no matter how inane, and his tactics are nothing short of scorched-earth. He’s clearly having fun, though, and he’s not a sore loser when Akharos comes out ahead. He’s just undoubtedly playing to win.

It’s a bit more opaque as to whether Akharos reciprocates this competitive spirit, but I have a feeling he does. He might be more reserved about it, but the way he smiles and looks down his snout at Khysmet when he wins something is undeniably smug. And there’s an edge to his polite comments and replies that makes every other thing he says sound like a challenge. It certainly gets Khysmet riled up. Their back-and-forth is so entertaining to watch that it sort of makes up for the fact that Yliana and I are typically so behind in points that we may as well not be playing.

When he’s not busy issuing taunts to Akharos, Khysmet is beside me teaching me how to play whatever the game of the day is. He gets very up close and personal during his tutorials, and even a little handsy when showing me how to hold things, which is rather prohibitive to my actually learning anything. Consequently, I don’t do well in most games, the one exception being poker, with which I am already well acquainted. I pull out ahead by a large margin in that – that is, until Akharos picks up on my tells and knocks me down a few pegs, though he doesn’t manage to do so quickly enough to stop me from ending the night with the most winnings.

It’s so much stupid fun. I haven’t had this much stupid fun since I left the Warblers. I wonder idly if I could convince Khysmet to play some of these games more with me even after Akharos and Yliana leave. Seeing how good he is at them, though, I would probably either constantly be unilaterally destroyed or he would go easy on me, and I’m not sure which would be worse. I don’t know – I think I could get pretty good at some of them with a little practice. I can definitely kick his ass at poker.

The days go by way too quickly, and in no time at all, it’s the last day of their stay. I’d been expecting another game that afternoon, but instead, Khysmet hands Akharos a sword and challenges him to a sparring match.

“You’ve been practicing, I trust?” Khysmet asks with a broad grin.

Akharos sighs heavily and rolls his eyes. “Not as much as you have, I’m sure.”

As we walk out to the wide open areas where the guards usually train, my interest is very much piqued by this development. I’m disappointed that I won’t have anything to do but watch during this activity, but I’ve still never once seen Khysmet’s allegedly excellent swordplay, and I’m eager to see if he’s as good as he claims he is. We stop in an area that has stone benches nearby so Yliana and I can sit and watch. Before they get started, Khysmet comes over to talk to me.

“Prepare to be impressed, Cat,” he says in a low voice, presumably so Akharos and Yliana can’t overhear. “Akharos and I have been sparring for two decades now, and he’s an excellent opponent. But I’m going to kick his ass.”

I raise an eyebrow at him. “Such confidence. Just for that, I hope you lose.”

He grins smugly, unperturbed by my lack of support. “You know, if you like what you see, I might offer to teach you some things. I‘ve never actually gotten to see you in a fight – only the results of your handiwork. I’m dying to witness your abilities firsthand.”

“I’ve never swung a sword before, so my ‘abilities’ would be pretty rudimentary,” I say. “Also, my biggest advantage is that typically my opponents don’t expect me to put up as much of a fight as I do. If you were to come at me straight on, you would not be impressed.”

“I have no doubt you would learn very quickly under my tutelage," he reassures me. "And I don’t necessarily want to know what you can do now, so much as I want to experience what you’re capable of when your training bears fruit.”

The look on his face when he says that is extremely eager – I would almost even say hungry. I don't know what that means, but I'm scared to find out. I kind of would like to learn how to wield a sword, though. It sounds like a fun challenge. However, if he's the one who's going to be teaching me, he better know what he’s doing.

“If you prove to me you’re as good as you say you are,” I say, “I might take you up on that.”

He smirks and leans in close. “Done.”

Then he heads back to where Akharos is talking to Yliana with such a prominent spring in his step that he’s practically skipping. It’s kind of cute to see him so obviously excited. Akharos, on the other hand, does not seem particularly eager to engage in this exercise. As I walk over to take a seat on one of the stone benches, I can see him heave a deep sigh from all the way over here. I’m curious to see how this unfolds.

Yliana comes and takes a seat on the other end of the same bench as me, oddly close by given that she has made her distaste for me quite clear. She crosses her legs and perches primly on the edge of the stone surface. I try not to let her proximity distract me from watching Khysmet and Akharos’s opening moves.

At first, they mostly seem to dance around each other, waiting for the other to make a move. Then there’s a flurry of activity, the clang of colliding steel briefly ringing in the air, followed by a quick retreat and a return to the pacing and waiting. I watch this repeated exchange with fascination, wondering at the purpose behind it. Are they sizing each other up? Why would they need to do that if they’ve sparred as many times as Khysmet claims?

“He does this every single time we visit,” Yliana comments suddenly, in a voice thick with disgust.

I startle at her words. This is the first time she has initiated conversation with me the whole time she and Akharos have been here. I was expecting her to just sit next to me in silence.

“Is that a bad thing?” I ask.

She scoffs harshly. “He only does it to humiliate my husband, so yes, I would consider that a ‘bad thing’.”

I blink. Khysmet’s trying to humiliate his brother? That strikes me as an odd claim, since there’s no one around in front of whom to humiliate him – besides Yliana and me, I suppose. And as I’m watching their intricate back-and-forth, it doesn’t look at this point that either of them has the upper hand.

“They seem pretty evenly matched,” I comment.

“That’s only because he wants it to last longer,” Yliana says with a cruel and derisive bitterness in her tone. “He always starts off easy, then ramps it up over time, toying with Akharos without ever making a decisive move. Until he gets bored, that is. Then he effortlessly ends the match in one maneuver.” She wearily shakes her head. “I've seen it dozens of times. It’s pointless, and it’s insulting.”

Then she turns toward me with her lip curled in disgust and fixes her icy blue eyes on mine.

“I can’t imagine how much worse he’s going to be today, now that he has you to show off for,” she spits.

I flinch at the hatred in her words. She hasn’t exactly been warm toward me during the past few days, but I’ve never sensed this level of vitriol from her – not until now, anyway. I wonder what I did to make her loathe me so much. Khysmet did mention that she hated him, so maybe I’m being hated by association.

Whatever. I’m not going to let it bother me. I’ve gotten quite used to being hated over the past few months. One more aristocratic wet blanket that wants me to curl up and die is just a drop in the bucket. I ignore her and focus on the sparring match.

The intensity is indeed ramping up, with clashes lasting longer and getting more elaborate. It’s mesmerizing to watch the sun flash off their blades as they collide against each other in swift, controlled strikes. The longer the fight goes on, the more clearly I can see what Yliana was talking about. Whenever Akharos’s form starts falling apart, rather than taking him down, Khysmet pulls back and lets him recover. He is indeed toying with him.

But I don’t know, something tells me he’s not doing it just to humiliate him. I can see glimpses of Khysmet’s expression from here, and to me it just looks like he’s having the time of his life. I don’t think I see the smile drop off his face even once, not even when he’s on the back foot. Especially not then, actually. When Akharos makes a particularly aggressive move, Khysmet meets him all the more eagerly, never seeming to truly lose control. It’s amazing to watch.

I really want to be critical of his performance, so that when he comes up to me after their match ends, I can see the look on his face when I tell him he’s not as good as he thinks he is. Unfortunately, he actually is that good. I don’t once see him break form or make a single misstep. His bladework is a thing of beauty, so fluid and precise that it looks effortless. I’m fairly certain I see him intentionally give Akharos an opening a couple times just so he can counter back with all the more dramatic flair. I'm completely spellbound watching him deftly run circles around Akharos, his effortless parries and strikes occasionally punctuated with exceptionally flashy maneuvers. I can't look away. Idly, I wonder if he ever does this with his shirt off.

Then, all at once, Akharos is on the ground with Khysmet's blade at his throat. Just like Yliana said, it seemingly happened in one fluid motion. One second he was sure-footedly meeting Khysmet strike for strike, the next his form collapsed in an instant. I must have blinked because even though I was watching the whole time, I have no idea what happened. I hope Khysmet isn’t looking over here because I know my amazement is plain on my face and has been through the whole fight, and I’m not looking forward to him coming over here and gloating about it.

Khysmet offers a hand to help Akharos up, then pulls him into a tight hug, and while he does, Yliana, who I honestly forgot was sitting beside me, sighs loudly.

“Thank the gods that’s over,” she mutters. “I can’t believe my country is under the rule of such a foolish ass.”

Before she stands, she turns and again looks me directly in the eye, glaring daggers at me with an expression full of unfettered hatred.

“Oh, and by the way…” she says in a voice dripping venom with every word. “If you think you could ever possibly be accepted as queen, you’re an even bigger fool than he is.”

Then she stands and walks away, leaving me with nothing to do but process her words.

Queen? What?

What is she talking about?

I’ve been called a lot of things, hated for a lot of things, and insulted in a lot of ways, but not once has anyone ever referenced anything about me being queen. I don’t understand. I’m not trying to become queen. I know Khysmet likes me, but he’s never given any indication that he wants anything more than my company. Where is she getting that idea?

Before I can contemplate any more, a shadow crosses in front of me, and I look up to see Khysmet standing over me triumphantly.

“I’d ask if you were impressed, but I risked a glance a couple times, and the look on your face more than spoke for itself,” he brags.

I blink up at him, not having quite processed his words. “Um. I’m sorry, what did you say?”

When I don’t fire back at him, his demeanor changes immediately.

“Cat,” he says, voice full of concern, “what’s wrong?”

“N- Nothing’s wrong,” I say. I shake my head to try and clear the fog out of it. “You did a really good job. It was fun to watch.”

Khysmet’s brow scrunches up. Wordlessly, he holds a hand out to help me stand. I don’t exactly need help just standing up from a bench of average height, but I take his hand anyway, and he pulls me up, then tugs me close, so I’m standing inches away from him. He looks at me with tenderness in his gaze and runs a thumb gently across my cheek.

“What’s wrong?” he reiterates, voice soft. “Talk to me.”

I lean into his touch without thinking about it. As I look up at him, into his big red eyes full of worry and care, I find that I really do want to talk to him about this.

“It’s um. Yliana said something strange to me, is all,” I say. “It’s throwing me off.”

He glances back to where Yliana and Akharos just turned to head back inside.

“What did she say?” he asks.

“Can… Can we go somewhere that’s not out in the open to talk about it?”

“Of course we can,” he says, then takes my hand once more and leads me towards a small building along the edge of the clearing.

When we reach it, he opens it and leads me inside. It seems to be some kind of shed used by the guards to keep supplies related to their training. It’s full of weapons, training dummies, and leather armor. There’s a large window, though, so there’s plenty of sunlight streaming through. After the door closes behind us, Khysmet turns and takes my hand in both of his.

“Now,” he says, “what did she say to you?”

I bite my lip, suddenly hesitant to speak, unsure of how to put into words why this is bothering me so much. Eventually I decide to just come out with it.

“She told me that I’ll never be accepted as queen,” I say.

Khysmet cocks his head, but doesn’t say anything. His expression doesn’t change. I sense he’s waiting for me to continue. I take a deep breath and go on.

“It just threw me off, I guess,” I say. “I’ve been called a whore behind my back a billion times, and people are always calling me your ‘pet’, even to my face, so I’m not even bothered by that so much any more. But I’ve just never had anyone say anything about… about me being queen before. I mean, when have I ever given the impression that I’m gunning for the throne? Why would she say that? Why would she bother to say that? What’s the point of trying to intimidate me out of being queen if that’s not going to happen in the first place?”

Khysmet is quiet for a while. He gently lets go of my hand and walks over to the window to stare out of it pensively, arms crossed behind his back. He doesn’t turn around when he responds to me.

“I’m sure she’s just been listening to my brother,” he says. “He has his own opinions about our relationship that don’t necessarily align with the popular assumptions.”

I furrow my brow, uncertain what he means by that. “And… what would those opinions be?” I prompt.

He chuckles dryly, and once more hesitates before he replies, still facing out the window.

“He’s under the impression,” he says, “that I am hopelessly and madly in love with you, to the point that it’s causing me to act irrationally.”

My breath catches in my throat.

That’s what Akharos thinks? That Khysmet is in love with me? But… in my limited experience, Akharos sees things quite clearly. So does that mean…?

“...Is he wrong?” I ask.

Khysmet’s shoulders rise and fall as he heaves a deep sigh.

"I had sort of hoped you would never ask this question,” he says in an oddly conversational tone. “I wasn’t looking forward to facing your rejection."

My chest tightens to the point that I can’t breathe. Desperately, I try to regain some sense of normalcy, of control.

"I thought you liked to be told ‘no’,” I say with a faltering smile. “Don't you?"

When he finally turns back to face me, I can see a deep sadness behind his kind expression.

"Not this time,” he says. “Not about this."

Khysmet walks up to me and again takes one of my hands in both of his, stroking it gently with his thumb.

"Cat…” he says. “My affection for you is… very deep. And entirely genuine. Let’s just say that if I thought that offering you the opportunity to sit beside me on the throne was enough to keep you here… I would already have done so.”

A shiver runs down my spine and goosebumps erupt over my body. I swallow thickly and wait for him to go on.

“The problem is,” he continues, “even if you ever decide you’re not against the prospect of extending your time here with me, I don't think you would be happy as queen. In the time I've spent with you, it has been amazing watching you run around getting into knife fights and searching the whole castle for secret doors.” He grins. “Also terrifying, of course, but it's clear how much your sense of adventure drives you, how fulfilling it is for you.”

His smile drops. He squeezes my hand. “Being queen would be nothing like that. You'd be held to a certain standard and have certain expectations put on you that would greatly limit your ability to get into mischief. I have a feeling you would find it horribly dull. I haven't even mentioned it for fear of driving you away.

"The thing is, I would do absolutely anything to ensure that you stay happily by my side for as long as possible. Even if you never so much as admit you don't hate me, I still want to spend every possible moment in your presence. If you have to leave me and return to your previous life at the two year mark to ensure your happiness, then I will still feel lucky to have gotten to spend what little time I had with you. If you do at some point decide you want to extend your stay here indefinitely, but the idea of being queen doesn’t appeal to you, I would be willing to forego taking you as my wife in favor of just letting you run around getting into trouble all the time. Of course, I know that if I even tried to coerce you into marrying me, you would be gone before I could blink, so I would never, ever push you into doing that. It's not worth even the possibility of losing you. Nothing is.”

He sighs shakily and looks down at my hand. "If, perhaps, after mulling it over for a while, you happen to decide that the idea of being my queen is not, in fact, diametrically opposed to everything you want out of life… I hope you will let me know, so that I can make a proper proposal. In the meantime… if forgetting this conversation ever happened is necessary for your comfort, then by all means, pretend I never said any of this, and I'll never speak of it again."

During that whole speech, I could barely think straight, and I didn’t have the first clue what I’d say when his confession came to an end. But at this offer, I respond without thinking.

"I don't… I don't want to forget you said any of this,” I protest. “But I didn't even know that… You've never…” I swallow thickly. “I didn't know that you wanted that."

"There's nothing I want more."

The fervor in his voice thrums into my chest. I can feel myself getting swept away in the intensity of his feelings that threaten to drown out my own, and I’m struggling to tease my own thoughts out of the resulting tangle of emotion.

"I've never even considered it,” I say. “I mean… would your people even accept a human queen?"

"I don't care,” he replies immediately with great passion. “But,” he continues, “if that's something that matters to you, I'll say that I think that any backlash against you would die down in time as the public gets to know you. You might not be popular with nobility, but you are dearly loved by just about everyone else here in the castle. I think that would translate to the larger scale."

The rationality of this response makes me feel like I have a little room to breathe. I still don’t have the first idea of what I want, though.

"Can I… Can I think about it?" I plead.

He startles at my response. "You’re actually going to…? Of course you can.” He gently cups my cheek in his hand. “You can think about it for as long as you like. Years, even. I am a patient man, Catarina, and I've never met anyone more worth waiting for."

Thank the gods he’s not pushing me for an answer now. I close my eyes and heave a huge sigh of relief, feeling a heavy weight lift off my shoulders. When I open my eyes again, I suddenly realize just how close he is, how intense his eyes are on me. It occurs to me that this might be the longest conversation we’ve ever had without him saying something deliberately incendiary.

“You’re scaring me, you know,” I say. “I’m not used to you being so earnest. It’s freaking me out.”

The intensity of his gaze softens instantly. The tension in his body eases all at once and one corner of his mouth twitches up into a gentle smirk.

“I thought you hate when I tease you, sunshine,” he purrs softly and strokes his thumb across my cheek.

For some reason, somewhere between the familiar tone of his voice and the use of my stupid little nickname, his words have a relaxing effect on me. I sigh deeply and melt into his touch, then tender my own confession.

“I think I’m starting to hate it more when you don’t.”