Blood & Stone: The Saboteur Chronicles Book 3

by J. V. Roberts

  “Boy, let go or I will call the guards in here and have you exiled for treason!”

  “Treason? Father, I—”

  “Bring your hands to your sides, now!”

  Byron complied. He was standing, bent at the waist, his nose almost touching his father’s.

  “Your mother didn’t die right away.” Valerick’s voice was now a whisper. “They stabbed her in the belly. Right here.” He demonstrated by poking Byron on the right side of his torso. “She squirmed and screamed. She begged me to make the pain stop. But I couldn’t. I made sure that you and your sister were protected from that. I didn’t want that scar on your memory. I wanted you to remember your mother the way she used to be: beautiful and whole. But maybe I should have let you see her, split open and gurgling her final breaths.”

  “Father, enough!” Roserine shouted with tears stinging her eyes.

  “Every Eval is to be killed on sight. No questions. No negotiations. By their bloodline alone, they are all guilty. Do you understand?”

  Byron said something under his breath.

  “Louder, boy!” Valerick jerked him by the collar.

  “I understand.”

  “What is the First Tenet?” Valerick asked.

  “Loyalty.”

  “That’s right, loyalty. If I hear anything else that makes me question yours, your sister will take the throne. Now get out of my sight.” Valerick shoved him away.

  Byron exited the room hastily, head down.

  “You’ve always been so hard on him. It’s natural to question things at some point. Haven’t you ever doubted something; a Tenet or the gods?”

  Valerick’s head sank into his pillows as he pulled the covers around his neck. “My questions are my own. My first duty is to lead this land and crush our enemies.”

  “You’ve got to give him a chance.”

  “I have to do nothing. Be prepared, you may yet rule this land.”

  5

  The courtyard was lined with perfectly trimmed, waist high, square hedges. Small groups of trees sat in each corner of the courtyard, four to a cluster; they were pear-shaped, their leaves dark green, blossoms coming only in winter. The outskirts of the courtyard were made up of covered walkways and tall windows. At the very center, on an elevated cement platform, Byron was going about his morning routine: sparring with dull blades against Eirik. Byron was younger and twice as fast, but Eirik bested him with technique every time.

  “You’re holding back. Don’t. Give me your best,” Byron panted. He was shirtless, soaked with sweat, his lean muscles contracting and releasing with every failed strike.

  “My King, perhaps—”

  “Your best, damn it!”

  Byron brought his sword down with both hands, aiming for Eirik’s collarbone. Eirik deflected the blow and sank the pommel of his sword into Byron’s gut, taking the breath out of him.

  Roserine and Emily watched the display from the comfort of the covered walkway.

  “Your brother is persistent.” Emily winced as Byron went to his knees.

  “He is that. Two cracked ribs, a broken nose, and countless bruises, yet he still hasn’t learned.”

  “He should take up gardening…or philosophy. It’s not like he’ll ever see the frontlines.”

  Roserine laughed. “Not sure he’d be much better at either of those; big hands, small brain.”

  “Oh, now you’re just being mean, my lady.”

  “I suppose I am.” She held out her arm and Emily took it. “So how did it go last night?”

  Emily’s cheeks flushed with color as she turned her head and tried to hide her smile.

  “Oh, that good, huh?”

  “We had fun. Coen is a very nice guy.”

  “Very nice? That’s it?”

  “What did you expect me to say?”

  “I don’t know.” Roserine paused for a moment and then looked at Emily with a coy smile. “Did you visit the smithy?”

  “My lady!” Emily smacked her on the arm. “I can’t believe you said that!”

  “You know I kid.” Roserine reached over and took her other hand as they laughed together.

  “I will have you know that Coen was quite the gentleman, though I may have had a bit too much wine.”

  “You deserve it. I’m glad to hear you let yourself relax a little.”

  “He is charming, I will admit. A little bit of wine and he had me giggling like a schoolgirl. It’s quite embarrassing now that I say it aloud.”

  “Oh, don’t be embarrassed. It’s what men and women do; they talk, they make each other laugh, they seduce.” Roserine whispered the last part in Emily’s ear.

  “Perhaps I don’t want to be…seduced,” Emily whispered back.

  “You will. Give it time.”

  “The lady speaks as if she’s been seduced.”

  “I have, quite recently in fact.”

  Emily’s mouth hung open for a moment. “When was this? Why am I just now hearing of it?” She was buzzing from the sudden intrigue.

  “You don’t think I tell you all my secrets, do you? A lady has to keep some for herself.”

  “But I tell you mine.”

  “Do you?”

  “Of course! Last night produced the juiciest gossip I’ve had in…well, ever.”

  “Then you can hardly blame me for creating my own excitement, it’s not like I am able to live vicariously through you.”

  “So tell me! Who was he?”

  She pulled Emily to a nearby window-ledge and took a seat. She was biting her bottom lip to keep the words from spilling forth all at once. She was thankful for these little talks. Without them, every moment of significance in her life would remain a silent scream; every moment of joy and sadness cursed to die atop the withering wings of solitude. With Emily, she had a release valve, someone she knew she could speak to in confidence, someone to let her know that she was alive and that her experiences held value.

  “He was a she,” she squeaked the words, clenching Emily’s hands.

  Emily jerked free and cupped her hands across her mouth. “Oh my gosh!” Her voice was muffled, but still much louder than a whisper.

  “Hush! Stop that! Get over here before my brother notices you acting foolish.” Roserine reached out and reeled her back in.

  “I’m sorry, my lady.”

  “Women are less complicated. They don’t get attached. I don’t have time to worry about anyone’s feelings, especially now. Every guy I’ve been with ends up getting it in their head that they’ve got a shot at the throne. It’s way too much work for way too little pleasure.”

  “I’m shocked you’re able to find the time.”

  “I told you yesterday, I find the odd hour for a little fun.”

  “But with whom? When?”

  “Do you remember Captain Harding? He made port last month.”

  Emily squinted and clicked her teeth. “I think so. Bushy mustache? Wore a blue coat?”

  “That’s him. Do you remember his daughter Kristin?”

  “Oh my gosh! It was her?”

  Roserine nodded eagerly, an involuntary smile stretching her lips. She could feel the butterflies in her stomach as the warmth of the memory flooded through her.

  “Did anyone see you two together?”

  She shook her head. “If they did, they haven’t said anything. Besides, for all they know, I was talking trade deals, using my tongue to fatten our pockets.”

  “Rather than using it to pleasure a sea captain’s daughter?” Emily smirked.

  “Precisely!”

  “Anyway, as you would say to me, you deserve it.”

  “Thank you, darling.” She stood and kissed Emily’s cheek. “I knew you wouldn’t lecture me.”

  “Lecture you? What could there possibly be to lecture you about?”

  “Plenty, if you’re my father. He’d be furious if he found out I was sharing my bed with a woman. I’d never hear the end of it. In his mind, it’s passion I could turn toward a legitimate
suitor; someone that would bolster the family legacy. I admit it’s a dead end. But that’s what I like about it. There are no strings.”

  “I’d rather see you happy. Whatever that means, I have your back. That’s the oath that I swore as your handmaiden…and as your friend.”

  “And that’s why I love you. Come on, let’s keep walking. You can tell me more about Coen.” She hugged Emily’s left arm tight against her chest. “Do you plan on seeing him again?”

  “I left it open. I’d like to, yes. But we haven’t set a date.”

  “You should. I’ll go to the market with you later. You’ll talk to him and ask him out this time.”

  “My lady—”

  “Nope, not up for discussion.”

  “Fine, fine,” she said, feigning exasperation. “Coen mentioned something to me yesterday that I thought you might find of interest.”

  “And that would be?”

  “He said he saw your uncle down by the docks talking to Eirik.”

  “Eirik and Osiris, really?”

  “Coen said he was sure. They were both voicing displeasure over your leadership. Apparently Osiris plans to return soon.”

  “I’m not surprised my uncle was gossiping about me; our meeting wasn’t exactly friendly. But Eirik has some nerve. I swear that man lives to spite me.”

  “Spite you how, my lady?”

  “Yesterday I ordered him to double the guard we currently have on the mine and wall. He questioned me, to my face; told me he’d have to run it by Byron.”

  “But Byron wasn’t here, it was your call.” Emily stared holes through Eirik’s back as she spoke.

  “A fact I made abundantly clear to him. My guess is that he doesn’t like taking orders from a woman.”

  “Pig!” Emily spat. “You should tell your brother, have him put Eirik in his place.”

  “I did.”

  “And?”

  “Nothing. Byron laughed it off. He doesn’t seem to take anything seriously these days.”

  “You should broach the subject with him again. I don’t think he understands what he’s putting you through.”

  “Your concern means more than you know. But I think I’m the last person my brother wants to speak to at the moment.”

  “After everything you’ve done for him?”

  Roserine shook her head. “I didn’t do enough. Father went pretty hard on him last night.”

  “Again? You would think that age and illness would soften him up.”

  “He seems to get worse by the day. I tried to step in, but it only fanned the flames and caused Byron further embarrassment.”

  “Oh, that poor dear.”

  “He’s dealing with a lot right now. Still, he needs to get it together, for the sake of Anthena. The things he was saying last night to our father bordered on insane and treasonous.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He made it sound like we somehow wronged the Eval and brought these attacks on ourselves. He almost sounded sympathetic to their cause.”

  “No wonder your father was so hard on him. Sounds like he could use a good smack.”

  “But he’s my little brother. When he hurts I hurt, you know?”

  Emily smiled. “I know, my lady. And that’s what makes you good.”

  At the center of the courtyard, the battle raged on. Byron swung with such force that it appeared as if he were trying to cut Eirik’s head off. Eirik spun under the blow, took Byron’s knees out and planted him on his back before walloping him in the stomach with the flat part of the blade.

  “Brother, don’t you think you’ve had enough for one day?” Roserine said, squinting in the sunlight.

  “Why don’t you just focus on your gossip and leave the swordplay to me.” Welts littered his bare torso.

  “You’re about as proficient at swordplay as you are at governing.” Roserine didn’t know why she felt the need to prod him; perhaps she was still frustrated over the previous day’s events.

  “You’ve got a big mouth!” Byron pointed his sword at her as he spoke. “I advise you to shut it before I do it for you!”

  “I’d love to see you do that.” She strode toward Byron, unbuckling her belt and letting her sword and sheath fall to the ground.

  “My lady!” Emily called out.

  Roserine ignored her and continued marching. She reached the center of the courtyard and stood face-to-face with Byron; they were separated only by a visibly nervous Eirik.

  “My King…” Eirik mumbled.

  “Hand her your sword, Eirik.”

  “But…are you—”

  “You’ve been given a command!” Byron barked.

  “Yes, my King.” Eirik relinquished his practice sword to Roserine, bowed his head, and backed away.

  “Are you sure you want to go down this road?” Byron asked as they began to circle each other.

  “Are you? I won’t go easy on you like your lackey.”

  “You asked for this!”

  Byron slashed at her with red-faced fury, charging like a rabid beast. Roserine moved as if she’d been given a preview of his attacks, dodging with ease, turning left and right on the balls of her feet as his sword passed inches from the tip of her nose. He took one swing too many and overstepped. She popped him on the nose with the back of her fist. She didn’t hit him hard enough to break anything; it was just enough to put him off balance and make him reconsider his course of action.

  “Let’s stop this foolishness and move on with the day?” Roserine saw the embarrassment and hurt feelings embedded in the lines of his face.

  “What’s the matter? Getting scared? Come on, you started this! Let’s finish it!”

  He charged recklessly once more, each swing of the dull blade less effective than the last. He twirled his sword back over his head and swung with enough power to crack Roserine’s skull. She rolled backward as the sword smashed into the cement platform. She came up on her haunches, her free hand pressed against the ground to keep her balance.

  “Trying to kill me?”

  “My King, stop it!” Emily yelled.

  “Shut your mouth, whore!” Byron turned his eyes from Roserine for just a fraction of a second.

  She smashed him in the stomach, jumped to her feet, and drove a knee into his face. Before he could get his bearings she coiled an arm around his chest, and threw him over her hip; he landed with a grunt and a thud.

  “Yield!” Roserine stood over him and pressed the sword against his chest.

  “Eirik!” Byron bellowed.

  Roserine saw him coming from the corner of her eye. She leaped back and slapped his hand away with the sword. “Don’t you dare touch me!”

  Eirik growled and his hand dropped to the very real sword on his hip.

  “You will remove your hand from your weapon, immediately!” Emily stood in front of Roserine, acting as a shield. “Take your hand off your sword, Commander, before I stick this dagger in your eye!” Emily had her knife extended; she was hysterically outmatched.

  “Stand down, Eirik.” Byron stumbled left and then right, clutching his side as he scowled at Roserine and Emily. “These whores aren’t worth the mess they’d make.” He limped away, angry and defeated.

  Eirik stared down at Emily for a few final seconds before departing as well.

  “My lady, are you okay?”

  Roserine said nothing as she threw down the practice sword and marched off in the opposite direction.

  6

  Draxus sat on his rock throne one-hundred feet below the earth’s surface. The throne had been carved right out of the cave’s wall; it was cold and uneven. Draxus had a wide jaw, black dreadlocks, and yellow eyes. He sat sideways, his legs bent across the right arm of the throne, his head being supported and massaged by one of the three Vipers that stood guard around him. The Vipers were sisters, creatures made of muscle and sinew, long and graceful, with sharp features. Their duty was simple: to serve their master in all things.

  “Does my touch
bring you pleasure, master?” Her name was Besilina. Her teeth were filed to fine, glittering points. Her black, feline eyes were lifeless marbles. She had raven hair that curtained her face and mocha skin that was cold to the touch. She was naked except for a chain rope that fastened around her hips, holding a scimitar in place.

  “Put some power into it, you brutal bitch,” he groaned.

  “Yes, master.” She pulled his head back until the top of it was resting firmly against the hard wall of muscle that made up her torso. Her fingers kneaded deeper into his scalp, so hard that the flesh began to pucker around her fingertips. She leaned down and licked his lips as her nipples grazed his forehead.

  Another Viper, Jehona, stood on the other side of the throne. She was bent over between his legs, sucking his cock loudly, her curved fingernails leaving long stripes across his torso.

  Mirela, the final sister, stood in front of the throne, guarding the only entrance into the torchlit chamber. She was naked as well and carried the same scimitar on her hip as Besilina and Jehona. Every now and then Draxus would reach out and grab a handful of her ass as Jehona sucked and Besilina massaged. It was a great ass. Buoyant; bouncing right back into place no matter the abuse. Mirela did not react to the slaps and grabs; she remained focused on the task, her body poised to attack.

  “Bend over, let me feel it,” he grunted at Mirela.

  She backed up a step and bent over.

  “There it is. That’s my fucking bitch.” He licked two of his fingers and slid them inside her.

  Still, she didn’t move. Didn’t moan. She remained steadfast, focused on protecting her master, even as she grew wet against his touch.

  There was a commotion in the tunnels beyond the entrance. Shadows appeared on the wall, growing larger as the voices grew louder.

  Draxus turned his head, a smile pulling at one half of his mouth. “Sounds like we have guests.”

  Jehona lifted her head, Draxus’ cock still sprouting from her fist. She was breathing heavy, drool rolling off her chin; she’d been at it for some time.

  “Did I tell you to stop?”

  She shook her head and filled her mouth again, looking up at him and smiling with her eyes.

  “Be ready, Mirela.” Draxus withdrew his fingers, soaked in her juices.