OBSIDIAN GUARD BOOK 2

CHAPTER 18 TWO TYPES OF MEALS

POV Valeryen

The stone of the high balcony was cold, even through my leather gloves. From this height, at this time of day, the world was a map of gray mist and jagged peaks, and the two riders leaving the main gate looked like nothing more than ink blots on a dusty parchment.

I watched them. I watched the way Gideon leaned toward Ollivander, even in the saddle, his body an unconscious compass always pointing toward the boy. I watched the iron gates hiss shut, the sound echoing up the ventilation shafts like the final thud of a tomb.

My heart felt heavy, not with the sharp, stabbing pain of a fresh wound, but with a dull, leaden ache. It was a weight I hadn't carried in years. For a few nights, in the violet-lit vacuum of a high-security cell, I hadn't been a Queen. I had been Valry.

I had been a woman who could laugh at a man's pride and feel the heat of shared pleasure. I had seen a glimpse of the "Family" Alistair so desperately protected, a world of messy emotions.

I wanted to follow.

The thought was a treasonous whisper in my own mind. I wanted to strip off the void-cape, leave the crown on the nightstand, and ride until the obsidian dust was washed from my hair. I wanted to sit at their table. I wanted to see Jasmine's relief and Alistair's struggle. I wanted to know if they would have a place for a woman like me who had forgotten how to belong.

But the crown wasn't just gold and gems; it was a tether. If I left, the Thanes would splinter. The orphans I had saved would become the "invisible" beggars Kaelen remembered. The hostile takeovers would begin again, and my kingdom would be thrown back into chaos and struggle.

I turned away from the balcony as the riders vanished into the tree line. I would not be at that table. I would need to be satisfied with the messages Ollivander sent me, the filtered truths, and the whispers of a spy. There was a price to pay for peace, and this was yet another I had to pay.

The Great Dining Hall was a cavern of silence.

The table was long enough to seat fifty, carved from a single piece of petrified wood that didn't reflect the light of the braziers. At the very head of it, I sat alone. A single plate of roasted venison and bitter greens sat before me, looking absurdly small against the vast expanse of the wood.

Behind me, Kaelen stood like a statue. I couldn't see him, I didn't need to. I could feel the steady, grounded hum of his presence. He was my shadow, the one man in the world allowed to stand behind my back while I was unarmed.

He didn't speak. He didn't breathe loudly. He simply was. He was my security, the only reason I felt vulnerable enough to actually eat. In this city, an appetite was a weakness; to consume was to admit you had needs.

I didn't just eat, however. To my left was a stack of reports that reached the height of my wine glass. To my right, a tray of order forms and requests.

I picked up a fork, the silver cold in my hand, and balanced it with a fountain pen in the other.

Clink. A bite of venison. Scratch. A signature authorizing the purchase of five hundred bushels of grain for the winter stores.

Clink. A sip of dark, tart wine. Scratch. A denial of a merchant's request to lower the tax on his transport.

The silence was absolute, save for the mechanical sounds of my own existence. I allowed a quick thought of the Syndicate's table. I wondered what it was like for Ollivander right now.

Here, if a spoon hit the floor, a servant would be fired. There, what would they do, how would they act?

I picked up the latest report from the Southern Watch. My eyes blurred for a second, the ink running together. I was tired. Not the tiredness of a long day, but the exhaustion of a century-long marathon.

"Majesty."

Kaelen's voice was a low rumble, barely a whisper. He hadn't moved an inch, but he had sensed the lapse in my focus. It wasn't a reprimand; it was a reminder. Stay sharp. The enemy does not sleep.

"I am fine, Kaelen," I said, my voice sounding thin and alien in the vast room.

I set the pen down and reached for the next scroll. It was a blank parchment, waiting for the first transmission from the obsidian stud in Ollivander's ear. I ran my thumb over the wax seal.

I had sent him there to be my eyes, but as I sat in the oppressive stillness of my kingdom, I realized I had also sent him there to live the life I couldn't have.

Every report he sent wouldn't just be intel; it would be a postcard from a world where people were allowed to be "broken messes" and still be loved for it.

I took a final bite of the bitter greens, the flavor matching the mood in my chest.

"Kaelen," I said, not looking back. "Double the guard on the main road all the way to the fork. I want to make sure that if any other emissaries from any other countries come to visit, I know ahead of time."

It had occurred to me that a recruit center in Ironspire didn't just need to be singular. I could have them in other major cities as well, and other locations that had special talents I could utilize.

"As you command, Majesty."

I signed the final order form and pushed the plate away, barely half-finished. The hunger wasn't for food anymore. It was for something the tower could never provide.

I stood up, the void-cape swirling around my ankles, regaining the weight of the Queen before I even reached the door.

"Clear the table," I commanded a servant who appeared like a ghost from the shadows. "I will be in the library. I expect the first report from the Spire by dawn."

I walked out, my boots clicking sharply on the obsidian floor, the sound a lonely, rhythmic beat in the heart of a silent empire.

POV Ollivander

I sat on Gideon's lap, surrounded by a chaotic, vibrating hum of affection that made my skin prickle.

I looked at the happy family and felt a tear prick my eye. I had found the light, but we had left the Queen behind in the dark. I could almost see her now, sitting on a throne of gems in a room that swallowed the light, utterly, perfectly alone.

The laughter died down, and the air shifted. I felt a pair of eyes on me, sharp and translucent.

Vane was watching me. He hadn't touched his ice cream. He leaned back, his fingers interlaced, his eyes a little milky. I knew what he was: a Truth Weaver, but not just any Truth Weaver; he was the strongest Truth Weaver in recorded history. There was no one near as good as him, even with gems for amplification.

"So, Ollivander," Vane started, his voice carrying a precision that made me sit up straighter. "Now that we've established you're the best thing to happen to Gideon, maybe we can get to know the man behind the title?"

Gideon stiffened beneath me. "Vane, leave him be."

"It's alright, Gideon," I whispered. I looked directly at Vane. The truth was a weapon; I just had to make sure I gave him the dull end of it. "Ask what you like."

"What was your life like?"

"I was a ward of the state," I said. True. The Queen was the state. "I spent most of my time learning how to anticipate the needs of those more powerful than me. It's a quiet life if you know how to stay in the shadows."

Vane tilted his head, his eyes pulsing. True. "And your position with the Queen? Lucian's reports said you were a prisoner, but you seemed to have quite a bit of... freedom."

The table went still. This was the dangerous ground.

"I was where the Queen wanted me to be," I replied. True. She had wanted me in that cell. "I was obedient to all. I did my best not to be seen so that I wouldn't end up dropped to the bottom of a mine from a great height."

Vane narrowed his eyes. He sensed the omission, the shadow of Valeryen's presence, but the statement itself rang with the bell-like clarity of truth.

"And Valry?" Saffron chimed in. "Gideon won't stop talking about her. Was she really risking her life for you two?"

I took a slow breath, tasting the strawberry ice cream on my tongue. "Valry is... complicated. She has a way of getting into places she shouldn't. She brought us together when the walls felt like they were closing in. Without her, I don't think Gideon and I would be sitting here right now."

True. Without Valeryen's "Valry" persona, we never would have met, and without her permission, we wouldn't be here.

"She sounds like a hero," Jasmine mused.

"She is a woman who knows how to get what she wants, but she also knows her limits," I said. "She will be fine, I think."

Vane was still staring, looking for the "Gotcha" moment. "Do you miss it? Obsidian? The Tower?"

I looked around the room, at the warmth, the messy plates, and the man holding me like I was the center of his universe. I thought of the Queen, sitting alone in her void-cape.

"I would miss Gideon more than I would ever miss being in Obsidian Guard," I said, the truth aching in my throat. "I've spent my whole life being afraid and owned; I'd like to try being 'wanted' for a while, if that's okay."

The milkiness in Vane's eyes faded. He finally picked up his spoon. "Fair enough, Ollivander. Welcome to the Family. It's loud, it's annoying, and Alistair's wine is mediocre, but no one here is going to own you. Not even Gideon."

Gideon let out a breath of relief, burying his face in my neck. "I told you they'd like you."

I smiled, but inside, I felt a cold shiver. I had passed the test, but the secret in my ear was a ticking clock.

Valeryen was a secret I wasn't sure I could keep, and she didn't like losing her favorite toys.