by A. C. Cobble
Except his father would do anything for the empire. Except his father thought he was the best man to rule Enhover and the world. He’d said as much, that he’d do anything for the Crown.
“Duke, I am being serious when I say we do not have much time,” insisted Sam, stepping toward him again. “Even with consecrated weapons, even with your help, there were two dozen of those uvaan. That means two dozen reavers, and just one of them nearly killed us in the Church’s library. If you and I are to survive tonight, we have to get started now.”
“Why would my father do this?” he asked softly, his voice barely audible above the drip of moisture from the ceiling, the bubble of water in the heated pools.
“He’s forcing us to choose, join him or die,” she said. “It’s an easy decision for me. I’d rather be alive than dead, fighting for a cause rather than taking space in some grave. What is your decision, Duke? Join your father or die?”
“I have to talk to him,” he hissed.
“We don’t have time,” she snapped. “Duke, I need your blood or your seed. You’ve got to decide now. Do you want to fight me or fuck me?”
“This isn’t right,” he said, his vision swimming.
Then, Sam’s fist lashed through the vapor, and he jerked to the side, only his instinctual reaction saving his nose from shattering beneath her knuckles. Instead, she caught his cheek, snapping his head back where it bounced painfully off the brick wall behind him.
“Hells, Sam!” he shouted.
Her left fist swung at him in a vicious hook.
He ducked, taking the blow on the side of his skull, rocking him but not injuring him. He staggered to the side.
She surged against him, grabbing his shoulders and pounding her knee into his ribcage. Breath exploded from his lungs, whooshing between his lips. She kneed him again and again.
He pushed his hand down, trying to deflect the blows, fouling her strikes, but still his ribs threatened to crack beneath the onslaught. He got an arm into position and took the next shot on the point of his elbow, the bone slamming into the muscle of her thigh.
Cursing, she grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back, swinging her own elbow at his face. He twisted, and she landed a glancing blow to his cheek. The skin split, and blood trickled down his face.
“Spirits forsake it, Sam!” he bellowed. He wrapped his arms around her, clutching her tight where she couldn’t throw any more elbows and knees at him. He felt her wet, naked body pressing against his.
She let him hold her tight and snarled into his chest, “You’ve a choice, Duke, two options, and you’ll enjoy one of them.”
He shoved her back, and she stumbled, landing on her bottom on the tile floor.
“This isn’t right, Sam!” he yelled at her. “Stop. Let’s talk about this.”
She held out a hand.
He moved to grab it, to help her up.
She spun, her hand locked around his wrist, her leg lashing a back kick that caught him in the gut.
He staggered away, falling against the wall, a surge of anger burning through his veins.
She was on her feet, charging.
He met her attack, letting her slam a shoulder into his midsection, then he wrapped an arm around her neck and held her there, squeezing tight around her throat.
“Stop this!” he growled, squeezing her neck, cutting off her airflow.
She grabbed his manhood and yanked.
Squealing, he flung her away from him, tossing her like a heavy sack of wheat across the room.
Slipping on the wet floor, she crashed into a bench and flipped over it.
Chasing after her, he vaulted the bench, nearly landing on her. He lost his footing as she spun and kicked his feet out from under him. A pained grunt burst from his lips as he landed hard on the floor.
In a blink, she rolled on top of him, straddling his waist, swinging her fists down at his face.
Holding up his forearms, he took the blows, but he knew it was only a temporary reprieve. She was small, but she was strong, and in heartbeats, she would find a way past his guard. With one hand trying to protect himself from her fists, he reached up with the other, grasping for her hair.
She tried to brush his arm aside, but their sweat slick bodies slid across each other frictionlessly. Twisting on his waist, she tried to move back, but he caught her, wrapping his fist in her jet-black locks and tugging. He yanked her head down and flung his up.
She turned in his grip, shifting her face away so that the crown of his skull caught her lips instead of her nose. Screeching in pain, she was momentarily stunned.
He kept ahold of her and pulled, throwing her down by her hair, rolling on top of her, and putting his weight on her, trying to trap her against the floor.
She wrapped her legs around him, chopping at his face with flat hands.
“Spirits, Sam!” he snarled, letting go of her hair to swat her hands away and then catch her wrists.
She tilted her head to the side and spit out a mouthful of blood before turning back to meet his gaze.
Keeping his weight on top of her, he pushed her arms down over her head.
She kept her legs locked in an iron-grip around him, but without her hands and on her back, half his size, she had no leverage to throw him off.
As long as he maintained the position, his size could trump her skill. He watched her mouth, worried she would try to bite him, but so far, she hadn’t.
She rolled her hips, rubbing against him, and he looked down where their waists met, naked skin against naked skin.
“There’s another way, Duke,” she said. “A more pleasant way, I think, for us both.”
“You’re crazy!” he shouted.
“Maybe,” she replied.
She didn’t stop grinding against him, and he couldn’t stop himself from responding. Blood leaking from her mouth, she was still beautiful. Beneath him, willing, she was trying to show she knew how to use her body in ways other than fighting.
“It would have been more fun before we fought, unless you’re into this,” she said.
“Sam, this is not right,” he growled.
“Do it, Duke. I want you to.”
He held himself above her, breathing heavily, watching her face as she stared back at him. Her chest rose and fell, no doubt from the exertion of their fight, but his mind swirled, thinking of what she was asking him to do, thinking that if they did, she would be breathing just the same way.
She raised her hips off the floor, rotating them against him while keeping her legs locked behind his back. He couldn’t free his waist without letting go of her wrists and risking her attacks. She was inviting him, begging him. She didn’t speak anymore, but she didn’t need to. His blood was rushing, and in her eyes, he could see she felt his growing excitement.
He shifted, trying to move away, but they were locked together, her legs around him, him holding down her arms. He couldn’t get away without letting go of her.
Smiling, she asked, “Are you into this, Duke? I wouldn’t have thought.”
“I’m not,” he growled, pressing down as she attempted to snake an arm free.
Still working her hips, she said, “An act of bringing death or an act of bringing life, which do you choose? I won’t stop, Duke, one way or the other. I won’t stop. You know that about me, and I know you can’t kill me. Take the easy way, the better way for us both. I know the way you look at me. I feel you now. I know you want to. Just do it.”
With a wordless shout, he let go of her and forced her legs apart. He stood, scrambling back away from her.
From her back, she wiped blood from her lips, frowning at the red smear on the back of her hand. She looked at him, first at his eyes then lower. “What’s the problem? I can see that you want to. Do it quick. We can have another round and take our time later, if you like. First, though, we’ve got to get into that forest. We’ve got to meet the reavers before they enter the city. You remember the last time? It fed on the skin of pe
ople. It grew stronger that way. We can’t fight these things if they’re getting more powerful as they go. We’ve got to get out there, Duke. If we don’t, we’re going to die.”
“My father arranged for John to have that circlet, the artifact that killed the first one,” whispered Oliver, knowing he was right. “He… He’s been behind it this entire time. He’s the one who gave us the furcula that led to William and the others. He’s the one they were worried about, the other. Even the tainted dagger, the one Hathia Dalyrimple brought to Enhover, it was from him. He set us on this mission to destroy his opponents. He’s kept sorcery out of Enhover because he didn’t want the competition. He’s the only one who truly benefitted from Northundon. It was his ticket to true empire. He’s the one who… Spirits, he’s the one.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying,” mentioned Sam.
“He’s the one,” hissed Oliver.
Sam, lying on her back, legs spread, stared at him incredulously. “We’ve been over that. Look, Duke, I need your blood or your seed. You’ve been wanting to give one of those to me ever since we first met on that rail car. Get down here and do it!”
He rubbed two fingers across his cheek and held it up to show her. “My blood.”
“That’s not enough,” she growled.
“Get up. Let’s get dressed,” he told her. “You’re right. We won’t stand a chance if the reavers gain the outskirts of the city and start to feed. They’ll follow us, right? I’ve got an idea, but we’ll have to hurry. Bring your daggers.”
Turning his back on her, he strode through the vapor and headed to the lockers where his clothes were stored. If there really were reavers out in the forest, they had to act fast. Then he could decide what to do about his father.
The Priestess XVIII
She stared at his back, her fingers unconsciously tapping on the hilt of her sinuous dagger. His blood or his seed. Incredulously, she’d failed to collect the second, but she could gather the first by drawing her blade and sticking it into him now.
A quick thrust, and his blood would pour over her dagger, over her hand. She could capture the liquid, use it in ritual. Her blades, consecrated by the blood of kings, would be enough to stop the reavers. All it would take was one quick thrust, and she would have the strength she needed.
With such power, once she’d defeated the reavers, she could turn on King Edward, if necessary. She could face anyone she needed to, alone. Her path would be one strewn with the bodies of her enemies.
She glared at Duke’s back. He was practically inviting her attack.
He glanced back at her, still striding down the palace hallway. “We’ll take one of the carriages from the courtyard. If he’s expecting us to confront these monsters, I doubt my father left instructions to keep us here. As far as he knows, his plan is working.”
She didn’t respond, but she kept following after him.
“What of your friend? Do you think she’d help us?”
“Who?” she asked.
“The mistress, Goldthwaite, your friend,” he said, frowning. “Do you think she’d help us? We could go by whatever hole she’s burrowed into and pick her up. I’ve got a plan, but I won’t refuse assistance if we can trust them. Unfortunately, I don’t know anyone else with experience in these matters.”
“Goldthwaite is dead,” Sam replied calmly. She ignored Duke’s surprised look. “Watch where you’re going or you’ll run into a wall.”
Shaking his head, he turned from her and picked up his pace, almost jogging down the corridor.
She forced her hand away from her dagger. “Why wouldn’t you do it? I’ve seen the way you look at me, and I couldn’t miss that you were excited. This can’t be the first time you’ve thought about it. Hells, I’ve thought about it, Duke. A quick dip in the current of life, the power we need to survive this… The grip we’d need on life, on each other, to shed the darkness that’s about to wash over us. It’s the easiest way.”
He kept walking. Over his shoulder, he replied, “I don’t think this current of life works the way you keep saying. It’s about connection, isn’t it, not about simply rutting? If it worked the way you think it does, then how come you’ve got no sorrow at the death of Goldthwaite? How’d you so easily turn your back on Kalbeth and however many others you’ve shared a bed with? There’s no connection there, Sam, and the current of life is the way all is connected.”
“Now you’re an expert?” she scoffed. “I’ve stayed alive, haven’t I?”
“Alive, but you told me that by swimming the current of life, you’d remain free of the pull of the dark path,” he responded. “You were willing to kill me tonight, Sam. You can’t get much darker than that. If you’re so centered in the current of life, how come you keep reaching toward the underworld?”
She frowned at his back.
He led her down empty corridors, back stairwells, and eventually to a little used doorway that led to the carriage court. “I’ve realized it is best if we don’t see my father or his minions,” he said. “I have to see him but not until I’m ready. Right now, I’m too… emotional.”
“We could release some of that tension,” she offered again.
“Still on that?” he asked, peeking into the courtyard and then scurrying to the side of a mechanical carriage. It was puttering softly, the brakes on and the gears in neutral, waiting for a passenger from the palace. “Sam, we don’t need to have sex to gain a connection. We’ve already got one. We’re friends. That’s the bond you need to work on, that’s the grip you need to maintain. I felt it in Northundon, how everything is connected, how everything flows from one to the other. I felt the current of life, Sam. Your friends are what will keep you free of the darkness. Me, Kalbeth, and… I guess that’s it. That’s all the friends you’ve got.”
“Thanks,” she muttered, suddenly thinking of stabbing him again.
He clambered onto the driver’s bench of the carriage and then reached down to help her up.
She settled beside him, deciding that if it came to it, she would need little time to enact the ritual that King Edward had described. She could spill Duke’s blood on the way to the forest or maybe after they got to the outskirts. Besides, she didn’t know how to drive the mechanical carriage, and he did. She could still use him alive. He could get them to the forest much quicker than she could running. There was no reason to rush, no reason to play her cards before it was time.
“What is this plan of yours, then?” she asked.
He kicked off the brakes on the carriage and engaged the gears, and the puttering contraption lurched into motion. Ignoring the startled calls from the handful of footmen and servants in the courtyard, Oliver leaned close to her and said, “We use the reavers’ hunger against them.”
She crouched atop the mechanical carriage, looking behind them in the near-black of the forest. Underneath her, she could feel the steady thump of the thing’s combustion engine. The pops and wheezes of the engine were the only sounds that broke the still of the night. She steadied herself against the rooftop of the carriage with one hand, the other hand gripped a dagger at her waist. She could still use it against Duke, but she wouldn’t.
In the steam room, she’d been prepared to do anything. She’d gladly spread her legs for him, begged for his seed. When that had failed, she’d swung her fists at him with intent. She’d meant to strike him, to hurt him, to make him bleed. Part of her refused to admit that she would have killed him. She would have convinced him, pushed him hard enough to see that the other path was the way, but another part of her distrusted that narrative. She hadn’t been thinking at the time, just acting. Lust and violence had consumed her. She would have preferred the first, but she had been ready for the second.
He, though, had overcome it. He’d not buried himself in her despite her pleading. He hadn’t battered her flesh, even when he’d gained the advantage. He’d taken another way, one she hadn’t seen, one she was still unsure of.
Squatting on the roof of the
carriage, she looked to where he sat on the driver’s bench, listening. She could be on top of him with her blade at his neck in seconds. She wouldn’t do it, though. Not anymore.
What had come over her?
If his plan worked, there was another way. He’d found a choice that neither his father nor her had considered. Had the temptation of the dark path overwhelmed her, driven ideas from her mind? Had her hunger to learn more, to grow more powerful, displaced logic?
A snap drew her attention, and she strained to see into the dark around them. She heard a shuffle of slow feet on the forest floor. Branches slid around something and then sprung back, rustling their leaves.
“Wait,” whispered Sam. Duke didn’t respond, but she could sense he was ready. She heard the sounds growing closer. Quietly, she instructed, “Let them loose.”
From behind her, a multi-hued glow burst into light. Shades of red, orange, and green fell on the trees and foliage around them, revealing the nighttime forest in a cacophony of color. The nighttime forest and half a dozen reavers coming several yards behind them.
“Hells!” she screeched. “Now, Duke, now! They’re right behind us.”
Cursing, he scrambled to react, and she nearly lost her grip as he threw the carriage into gear and it jolted into motion.
Behind them, the reavers leapt to the chase, shuffling dead feet faster than she’d expected they could move, their mouths open wide at the sight of her, low moans escaping where they’d once had lips and tongues.
The carriage bumped. Behind them she saw the broken body of a reaver come into view. Duke had run the spirit-forsaken thing over.
“Don’t crush them!” she warned. “They have to stay mobile if this is to work.”
“I’m trying,” he snarled.
Several more figures flashed by, and she realized the creatures had surrounded them, forcing Duke to steer the carriage through the pack, not hitting them and not letting them catch ahold of the carriage either. The reavers were working together, it seemed. That wasn’t a good sign.
