Shadow Touched

39. FINCH

It's been hours since I left Naima's rooms. I went immediately to the King's private quarters, the black gift box from Solditch clenched in my hands. I'd hoped to find him alone. I knew I'd be expected to call on General Welland and the other members of the War Council who remain at Castle Mirrador. Still, it's been a while since I've been able to speak with the King alone. I've begun to get the sense it's on purpose. Not that His Majesty is avoiding me, but others want to ensure I can't speak with him directly.

Since General Roman's death, the King has always been surrounded by a small retinue of flunkies with Lorris Welland at the head. It's strange. King Vincent has always seemed so self-assured, so steady and capable. I used to live for the days General Roman would let me sit in on their meetings. Watching the two men together was inspiring. The General was never afraid to contradict King Vincent. He spoke freely, would openly disagree, and never shied away from a good argument. King Vincent never seemed bothered by it; he seemed to encourage it. It was obvious why. To be King of the most powerful nation in the Six Realms—it would be easy to surround yourself with yes-men. General Roman was anything but. It's probably the only trait of his I've ever seen in Naima.

Brown-nosing, however, seems to be a big part of what it means to be a noble in Athecca. I've seen how people treat Grey. They'll bend over backward to make his any whim a reality if he wants them to. Yet, he never encourages it. He's always gone out of his way to treat people like equals, even if he's the crown prince. As a friend, he's always been kind and understanding, if not overly keen, to get us both into trouble. It shouldn't feel special that he doesn't see himself above others, but it is. I guess it's a trait he's learned from the relationship between his father and General Roman.

General Roman. His death has left a gaping wound in the nation, as well as so many individual people. To lose a mentor as I did—a surrogate father in so many ways—was difficult. Still, for the King, I think losing General Roman was like losing his right hand. As young men, they rose against the oppressive House of Hale, pulling together men and women from across the nation who wanted more than the serfdom they were born into. They waged a civil war that saw so much loss on both sides but came out victorious and, in a few short years, turned Athecca into a prosperous nation for all.

With Vincent as King and Roman as the General, they ruled together for more than half their lives. I often think losing General Roman was harder for the King than losing Queen Adeline.

I'm also starting to see that his amazing tactical skills and keen sense of strategy aside, General Roman was the neck that guided the head. He kept him honest. Open. His presence alone ensured Vincent remembered where they started. With Roman out of the picture, it's been much easier for snakes like Welland to weasel their way in. The King is vulnerable. His best friend is gone, and his only heir is the pawn in a dangerous game—he's slipping. Falling into the ease of absolute monarchy, encouraged by Welland, who cares only about power—being close to it and siphoning from it what he can.

When I entered his private quarters, Welland and several Lords were there. With no opportunity to address the King privately, I presented the gift box and recounted the strange experience. The King barked commands, all guards were on high alert, and a thorough sweep of the grounds was undertaken.

It took nearly five hours. Then we reconvened to review what we learned, which was a lot of nothing. Before I could push for a discussion about possible contingency plans should another, more egregious breach take place, Welland dismissed me.

I would have fought against it. I would have asked to stay had it not been for the intense heat of warmth that flowed from the simple gold band on my pinky. The heat moved up my finger, dancing along my arm. Soft yet insistent. It was the alert I cast to tell me when Naima triggered one of the alarms I set up to keep her contained.

~*~

It's well after 3 AM. I would very much like to be asleep, but instead, I've stalked my way from one end of the castle to the other and up a seemingly never-ending winding staircase leading to the roof. I watch from the shadows as Naima struggles to steady her steps in the wind funnels I set up.

Despite my distaste for the rampant misuse of magic in Varran City, this charm is a personal favourite. Infundibulums—a simple enchantment that collects the air in bursts of tight pockets. The wind is spun repeatedly and bounced off walls and other hard objects. When you have multiple funnels, it can create a very intense experience, knocking the person stuck within all around.

As I watch Naima bounce from funnel to funnel, the wind pulling curls from under the dark hood she wears, I can't lie—it's amazingly funny. She'll take two or three steps before another swath of wind hits her, knocking her off course. Each time, she lets out a litany of profanities. Then, she pauses, letting her body settle before taking another step or two, only to be bested again by another round of wind.

I could watch this all day.

She pulls herself up after taking a particularly brutal knock—probably two or more funnels hit her at once. She stands stock still, hands out, bracing herself. She stands like that for about a minute. I have no clue what she's doing, and then—

"Okay, Finch, I give up. You got me."

I'm glad I'm hidden from her because she'd see the surprise on my face if I weren't. How she knows I'm watching her is beyond me.

"I know you're there, Finch. I can feel you lurking. Just tell me how to stop getting beat up by the wind, and I'll beg your forgiveness for sneaking out of the castle."

"But I so enjoy watching you get beat up by the wind," I call to her as I step out of my hiding spot.

She narrows her eyes at me.

"You would."

I have half a mind to activate the charm again. It's set to go off when it feels a presence that's not mine. I can control it if I want to. No one even knows I set it up. I mean, the castle is in the sky. A sane person would not attempt to climb up this high. We're in the clouds. A floating citadel built for the gods. Mirrador is one of the oldest buildings in the Six Realms. It's also one of the few remaining Godstones—a place fortified with allure. The massive structure makes the mountain it sits on look small. The castle looms over Varran, a watchful eye, the personification of Atheccan might and superiority.

With that in mind, along with all I did to keep Naima in her rooms, I knew that if she couldn't go down, she'd go up. She has absolutely no fear. No regard for her own safety. And because I knew this about her, I knew this was where I'd catch her.

So here we stand.

I let the wind release. The funnels fall dormant.

"That is a very annoying charm you've got there, Captain. Do you often use magics that highlight a specific quality about yourself? Or was that just a fun coincidence?"

I reactivate the wind, letting a funnel smack her in the face. She gasps—the wind pulls the breath from her lungs. Her hands fly up as they attempt to bat the air away.

I let the wind die down.

"You're a real dic—"

And another blast. This one is short, quick...a bit sharp. She lets out the most feminine squeal, and it's foreign and weird, and I'm sure another man—Grey even—would find it cute.

"I can do this all day, Naima, so let me know how you want to play this."

I watch her struggle. She wants desperately to spit out another smart-ass remark. I can see the war raging in her. She schools her features, placing a benign look on her face.

I walk away, knowing full well she's following.

~*~