Аманда Хокинг - Torn

“I’m looking over past treaties.” She tapped at the papers in front of her. “I’m trying to come up with an exchange agreement, so we can give back the Markis and buy ourselves some peace. I don’t know that Oren will ever stop coming after you, but we need some time before he launches another attack.”

“Oh.” I was momentarily disarmed. I hadn’t expected her to do anything to help me, or Loki. “What makes you think that Oren can mount another attack? The Vittra seem too damaged to fight right now.”

“You know nothing about the Vittra or your father,” Elora said, simultaneously weary and condescending.

“And whose fault is that?” I asked. “I found out about you two months ago! If I’m left in the dark about things, it’s because you’re the one that left me there. You expect me to rule this place, yet you refuse to tell me anything about it.”

“I don’t have time, Princess!” Elora snapped. When she looked at me, I would’ve sworn I saw tears in her eyes, but they disappeared before I could be certain. “I want so much to tell you everything, but I don’t have time! You’re on a need to know basis. I wish that it could be different, Princess, but this is the world that we live in.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “Why don’t you have time?”

“I don’t even have time for this discussion.” Elora shook her head and waved me off. “You have much you need to do, and I have a meeting in ten minutes. If you want me to save your precious Markis, I suggest you get on your way and let me do my job.”

I lingered in front of her desk for a moment longer before I realized I had nothing more to say to her. For once, Elora was on my side, and she didn’t plan to execute Loki. It would actually be better if I left before I ended up saying something that would change her mind.

I expected to find Finn waiting in the hall to take me to my room, but instead I had Tove. He leaned against the wall, absently rolling an orange between his hands.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“It’s nice to see you, too,” Tove said dryly.

“No, I mean, I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I was coming to see you anyway, so I let Finn go,” Tove smirked and shook his head.

“Am I supposed to train today?” I asked. I enjoyed training with Tove, but he’d thought it best I take a day or two off so I didn’t get burned out.

“No.” Tove tossed the orange as we started walking away from Elora’s study.

“I’m staying here now, and I thought I should check up on you.”

“Oh, right.” I’d forgotten that Tove would be living here for a while, helping ensure the palace was safe. “Why should you check up on me?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “You just seem…” He trailed off.

“Is my aura off-colored today?” I asked, giving him a sidelong glance.

“Yeah, actually,” he nodded. “Lately it’s been a sickly brown, almost a sulfur yellow.”

“I don’t know what color sulfur is, and even if I did, I don’t know what that means,” I said. “You talk of auras, but you never explain them.”

“Yours is orange. It’s supposed to be, anyway.” He rested his eyes on me quickly before flitting away, and he tossed the orange from hand to hand. “It’s inspiring and compassionate. You get a purple halo when you’re around people you care about.

That’s a protective and loving aura.”

“Okay?” I raised an eyebrow.

“At the meeting yesterday, when you stood up, and you were fighting for something you believed in, your aura glowed gold.” Tove stopped walking, lost in thought. “It was dazzling.”

“What does gold mean?” I asked.

“I don’t know exactly,” he shook his head. “I’ve never seen it quite like that. Your mother’s tends to be gray tinged with red, but when she’s in full Queen mode, she gets flecks of gold.”

“So gold means… what? I’m a leader?” I asked skeptically.

“Maybe,” he shrugged again and started walking.

Tove walked downstairs, and even though I’d wanted solitude, I went with him. He proceeded to explain all he knew about auras, what each color meant.

The purpose of an aura still eluded me. Tove said it gave him clarity into another person’s character and their intentions. Sometimes if the aura was really powerful, he could feel it. Yesterday at the meeting, mine had felt warm, like basking in the summer sun.

He stopped at the sitting room and flopped down in a chair by the fire place. He began peeling the orange and tossing its skin into the unlit hearth. I sat on the couch nearest him and stared out the window.

Autumn was beginning to give way to winter, and heavy sleet beat down outside.

As it fell against the glass, it sounded like raining pennies.

“How much do you know about the Vittra?” I asked.

“Hmm?” Tove took a bite of the orange, and he glanced at me, wiping the juice from his chin.

“Do you know much about the Vittra?” I rephrased the question.

“Some.” He held out an orange slice to me. “Want some?”

“No thanks.” I shook my head. “How much is some?”

“I meant like a slice or two, but you can have the rest of the orange if you really want.” He extended the orange to me, but I politely waved him off.

“No, I meant tell me what you know about the Vittra,” I said.

“That’s too vague.” Tove took another bite, then grimaced and tossed the remainder of it in the fireplace. He rubbed his hands on his pants, drying the juice from them, and looked about the room.

He seemed distracted today, and I wondered if the palace was too much for him.

Too many people with too many thoughts trapped in one space. He normally only visited for a few hours at a time.

“Do you know why the Vittra and the Trylle are fighting?” I asked.

“No,” he shook his head. “I think it’s about a girl, though.”

“Really?” I asked.

“Isn’t it always?” He sighed and got up. He went over to the mantle and pushed around the few ivory and wood figurines that rested on it. Sometimes he used his fingers, sometimes he used his mind to move them. “I heard once that Helen of Troy was Trylle.”

“I thought Helen of Troy was a myth,” I said.

“And so are trolls.” He picked up a figurine of an ivory swan intertwined with wooden ivy, and he touched it delicately, afraid of damaging the intricate design.

“Who’s to say what’s real or not?”

“Then, what? Troy and Vittra are the same thing? Or what are you saying there?”

I asked.

“I don’t know.” Tove shrugged and put the figurine on the mantle. “I don’t put much stock in Greek mythology.”

“Great.” I leaned on the couch. “What do you know?”

“I know that their King is your father.” He paced the room, looking around at everything while looking at nothing. “And he’s ruthless, so he won’t stop until he gets you.”

“You knew he was my father?” I asked, gaping at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It wasn’t my place.” He looked out the window at the sleet. He went right up to it and pressed his palm to the glass, so it left a steamy print from the warmth of his skin.

“You should’ve told me,” I insisted.

“They won’t kill him,” Tove said absently. He leaned forward, breathing on the glass and fogging it up.

“Who?” I asked.

“Loki. The Markis.” He traced a design in the fog, then rubbed it away with his elbow.

“Elora says she’s going to try to-”

“No, they can’t kill him,” Tove assured me and turned to face me. “Your mother is the only one powerful enough to hold him, aside from me and you.”

“Wait, wait.” I held up my hand. “What do you mean nobody’s strong enough to hold him? I saw the guards contain him in the hall when he was captured. Duncan even helped bring him down.”