The Seventh Stone

Chapter Eleven

Neither Olen nor the yellow-eyed king seem to have many questions for me. None outside the flavorful topic of how and when these new abilities manifested. My trust for them both couldn't possibly be more dissolved, so I give them a vague recounting of everything that happened—while dim, ambient light passes through the broad windows of the large, mid-tree parliamentary hall. Including the pillar of light I'd seen over the horizon—limited to its exact location.

"I believe that's where the stone is," I say, and my voice echoes as I sit cross-legged atop the titanium table that runs the length of the grandiose hall. Neither of them seemed terribly thrilled to see me do it, but that was intentional—though Loki seemed to find my retaliation rather laughable.

It's been quite the endeavor otherwise, to keep my temperament under control—while they discuss the 'implications' of the god stone's power, and its use against Seron.

"Well," Olen says, crossing his arms contentedly with a nod. "We'll need to go after it."

"Oh no, I'll go after it myself," I say calmly, tilting my head. "But first you're going to give me some answers—except this time, you're not going to hold back. Do you know why?" I ask in a honeyed tone and pause, allowing Olen and the king to stare back at me confusedly for a moment—likely sensing the aggression rising in my voice.

"Because," I continue matter-of-factly. "First you lied to me about the shard, and then I had my organs played with like a toy by someone you told me was dead. So now, the only the person who can find the stone is really pissed at you."

Loki exhales sharply, drawing my eyes toward him for a moment—toward the sight of him chuckling lightly under his breath, as he runs a hand over his mouth.

Still smiling, I roll my eyes back to Olen. "Tell me what you know about Seron," I demand dryly.

Olen purses his lips slightly, as his chest rises and falls with an exhaustive sigh. "He's not dead."

"Yeah, I figured that much," I say. "You didn't think that was an important piece of information to share with me?"

Silence. 


"We didn't know," Olen says, shutting his mouth tightly.

I peer at him from a moment, feeling my temperament rise. I blink, looking away with a heavy sigh—and wave a hand annoyedly through the air, summoning the strings to wrap around their bodies, holding them still and silent. Loki raises a brow, glancing at them from the side with an amused grin.

"You know," I say solemnly as I lean forward—lowering my hand slowly with a finger pointed toward them. "You're lucky it's not just the two of you. You're lucky there's a whole world of people here outside of you. Because if there wasn't, with how much you've been lying to me, I'd leave you here to deal with this alone—and die," my voice drops emphatically.

"But the thing is," I continue in a fruity tone, glancing to the side. "I couldn't figure it out at first... You've had absolutely no reason to lie to me so much—so it took me a moment to figure out why you'd do it," I pause, hardening my gaze at Olen. "And now I'd like to know—what did Seron offer you for the stone?" I turn a finger in the air—releasing him. "Talk."

Olen lets out a cough as he drops both hands on the table, propping himself up on it, and peering darkly at me. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Tsk. I shake my head, waving my fingers demonstrably—tightening my power around him again. "I could do this all day, Olen," I say lightly, releasing him once more. "Let's not make this harder than it needs to be."

He exhales sharply, looking off to the side—seemingly to avoid eye contact. I release the threads from the king as well and raise a brow, feigning patience as I lean over slightly.

"We..." he mumbles. "We were outnumbered, and... he told us he'd leave. That the war would be over, and no one else would have to die."

"And you believed him," I say, raising a brow.

"What choice did I have?" Olen turns, scowling at me. "We had no choice. We couldn't possibly defeat him. No one can."

"I can," I say solemnly, and a weight drops in my chest as soon as the words are out. As soon as the belief that I thought that everyone had misplaced, finds a new place of its own—in me.

"You?" he scoffs, speaking in a heavy tone that finally—finally—feels genuine. "You crippled at the sight of your own bloodied hand, and you think you can defeat him!?"

Hurt winces in my chest as I peer back at his agitated expression. "Well," I say quietly. "With or without your crap, I'm still going to try."

Loki's gaze trails over to me slowly, and the yellow-eyed king looks up at Olen.

"Son," he says in a low voice—also adopting a newly authentic tone. "Enough... No more of this."

Olen looks down at him. "What?" he hisses.

The king looks up at him exhaustively once more, and sighs. "This was a great betrayal to the stone," he mumbles gravely. "For the sake of our people. But now we have another option," he turns to me. "And she deserves a chance."

I peer at him for a moment, while Olen throws a hand up protestingly. "I don't think that—"

"Oh what choice do you have, honestly?" I interrupt, crinkling my brows at him. "You think I'd ever give you the stone, now that I know the truth?"

Olen turns his head back toward me, mouth hanging open frustratedly.

I look down at the king, "I'll help if you still want me to. But I'm doing this either way, because this is bigger than either of you. Or me. So I'm going—with him," I look up at Loki, meeting his pale, blue eyes that've been watching us contemplatively this entire time. "And no one else."

He peers at me softly as I slide off the table, and straighten up in front of him. "If you want to, that is..." my words trail off as I let a shoulder rise and drop, and a tender nervousness flickers in my chest.

A grin tugs on the corner of Loki's mouth. "Wouldn't miss it," he says in a low, soothing tone that makes me smile.

"Where do you need to go?" the king asks, and I turn away from Loki—toward him.

I part my lips slightly for a moment, considering whether I should tell him the truth. "We're headed toward the black sand fields," I say—offering a slice of the truth.

He peers at me contemplatively—likely realizing the tactic—and nods. "And when will you return?"

I inhale slowly, glancing at the table momentarily as I consider it. "Not too long, I think. Maybe a few days."

"Very well," the king nods, sliding the chair back, and lifting himself up to face me. "Come—we will inform the guard, and they will provide vehicles and weapons for the journey."

"Father—" Olen steps forward.

"Enough," the king turns sharply, with a raucous tone that finally lends itself to his authority. "No more entrustment—no more lies. We will discuss this later, with your brother," he turns back to me and nods. "Let's go."

The king strides past us commandingly. I turn and look back at Olen's rattled faced one last time, before following after him with Loki beside me—across the hall, and out.

[to be continued]