by Meg Cowley
“You may well be right, Harper.” Dimitri stirred, gazing at her thoughtfully. “In this, we must put aside any animosity between us and work together.”
Animosity? Harper wondered at the word. Did he feel it toward her? She was not sure she hated him anymore, despite the harshness of their first impressions. It unsettled her, for she felt like she finally looked upon him in a new light. She was not there yet, she surmised, but she was close to gazing upon his true face. The one he hid under his many masks.
Which were now being stripped away one by one. No longer was he the dangerous, dark mask. No longer the cold, distant one. No more the haughty, sneering one. Nor the lecherous, cocky one. Not even the sly, cunning one. How many are left? she wondered. He now seemed vulnerable, and she was sure she could detect a shred of decency beneath his selfishness and foolishness.
“What?” he said at her silence.
“Do you feel animosity toward me?” she asked quietly, not dropping her gaze.
He considered for a moment, and his lips twitched, though he did not smile. “I’m not sure I do, you know. I meant more for you toward me. You’re a fool, but aren’t we all?”
Harper rankled at his words, but he laughed then, despite the gravity of the situation. “I know. I’m the biggest ass of them all right now.” He stood to leave. “I’ll go to your friends and see that they are...well. Or at least not on the brink of death. That is the best I can promise. I can do no more.” He nodded and strode toward the door, only slowing when she shot to her feet and he caught the movement out of the corner of his eye.
“I don’t hate you,” she admitted in a quiet voice, staring at the wall.
“Well then,” he said, turning back to her slightly. “We may not be in such a bad partnership after all.”
“Thank you for helping my friends.”
“We must help each other.”
She nodded. “If you can help me and my friends, especially if they can escape, I’ll help you.” We can work together, she thought. Somehow, we’ll all get away from Saradon, even if we can’t yet see how it will come to pass.
“Don’t make promises you cannot keep, Harper,” he said softly. “I’ll do what I can.” He left her in the empty chamber.
Harper sank into the chair slowly, rubbing her arms to rid them of the goose pimples that had arisen with the cold.
Her eyes slipped shut for a moment. She was exhausted, only buoyed by nervous energy and desperation, but the deep-seated tiredness within her crept up relentlessly, sapping her remaining energy.
The small spark of hope dissipated in her solitude. All is lost, her mind teased her. They will all die. It will be for nothing. The taunts were relentless, and she could not silence them. You are no one. You are nothing. You will never prevail.
Saradon’s poisonous, choking magic seemed to weigh her down once more, removing her clarity of mind. She stumbled to the bed chamber and toppled upon the covers, fully dressed, drowning herself in slumber to silence the insipid voices that prophesied doom.
Fifty
Dimitri hovered, twitching with impatience, as Harper dressed. He allowed her to dress herself, to her relief, from a wardrobe in her room filled with elegant dresses from the elven court of Tournai. Whose dresses she wore, she had no idea, but he told her, with no give in his voice, that Saradon had decreed she dress as befit her rank.
“I still prefer breeches!” she called to him, wriggling into the dress. “You have no idea how cold your legs get flapping around under these ridiculous skirts!”
“You never know. I might,” he called, a smile in his voice. “I might suit a dress, you know.”
She snorted. “I’d pay to see that.”
“I’ll dress up any time for you, dear,” he oozed in a sultry tone. It seemed his cocky, arrogant mask was back.
Harper rolled her eyes. At least it meant he had recovered some of his spirit and resilience. She was glad to find that with some sleep, though much disturbed, she had a semblance of energy, too.
“This...is...ridiculous!” she huffed, trying to pull the sleeves and neckline up far enough so she could button the back. “Argh! I can’t get into this damned thing.”
“You chose one that fastened in the back, didn’t you? You do know they’re the hardest ones to get into. You probably need a maid for that.” She could practically hear his eye roll.
“Well, how would I know? I don’t wear these blasted things. You ought not to have brought it!”
“Well, how would I know?” he mimicked her. “I don’t know the first thing about dresses.”
“Clearly you do...”
“I suppose. I’m an expert in taking them off, though, not putting them on. I’m very good at taking that style off.” She could almost see his wolfish smile in her mind.
“Lech,” she called.
“Why, thank you, milady.”
Harper scrabbled at the buttons again. “I can’t get them. I have to change.”
“We don’t have time.” The smile faded from his voice. “He’s ordered us to be there presently. If we’re late... Well, I know what his entertainment is for today, and he does not wish for it to start without you.”
Harper stilled. Her own amusement dissipated as reality seeped in. They were not in the elven court of Tournai, at Dimitri’s apartments, free. They were in the heart of the mountain, at Afnirheim, captives of Saradon, with no chance of escape.
“Are you decent?” he asked. “Nothing on show you don’t want me to see?”
“I beg your pardon. Why?” Harper froze and clutched the fabric closer.
Dimitri strode in, a hand shading his eyes. “Turn around, back facing me. I’ll do it.”
Harper gasped. “You can’t do that!”
“Well, unless you want to go before Saradon half-dressed, it’s your only option. Turn around.”
She turned automatically, though indignation arose. “I... Well... Hurry up! And don’t touch me.”
Dimitri snorted and lowered his hand. “That’s a little difficult, but I’ll do my best.”
Her skin tingled as he gingerly lifted each button and loop, pulling the fabric across her skin as he fastened each button one by one from the middle of her back to the crest of her shoulder blades. True to his word, he did not touch her, but even so, her skin crawled a little at his closeness. When he was done, he smoothed the fabric down her back and across her shoulders, then stepped away.
“There. All done.”
Harper released the breath she did not realise she had been holding. She eyed herself in the mirror. “Thank you. This will do, I suppose.”
The rich, mid blue fabric seemed to compliment her pale skin, and the light embellishments of silver threads at the neckline, wrists, and hem were muted enough to not draw attention to her. It was a pretty dress, sitting just off her shoulders and sweeping down from her waist, over her hips to tumble to the floor, but it belonged on someone else. An elven lady, not a glorified pauper.
“Stop worrying. You look perfectly presentable. If I may?” He gathered up her hair, tucked each side behind her ears, and arranged the rest in a cascade down her back. “I ought to have brought some hair adornments, but alas, it will be fit enough for now.”
Standing beside her in a suit of the darkest blue that was almost black, they looked a fitting couple...in any other scenario. Anywhere but here, Harper thought. She would stand beside him in Tournai thusly, if it meant she was free. She swallowed.
He smiled at her, but his eyes creased with worry as his smile faded. Despite his neat presentation, she had noticed the developing dark hollows under his eyes. He looks like he is in mourning. Perhaps he was. There was much lost, and much left to lose.
“He is waiting. Let’s go.” Dimitri offered her his arm, but she strode past him, back straight, kicking away the folds of the dress with every step and shivering at the cold air that rushed around her legs.
THEY CONVENED IN THE jarlshalle once more. Harper drew closer to Dimitri as t
hey entered, though she still did not take his arm until they reached the dais, where the steps were too large to clamber up without tripping on the folds of her skirt. They bowed before Saradon – a flicker of displeasure showing on his face when Harper did not curtsey – before they advanced.
Dimitri helped her up to her seat, the small throne beside Saradon’s, bowing as he placed her hand in her lap. He turned away, face blank, to survey the empty hall, before settling into a chair beside hers.
“When we relocate to Tournai or somewhere else more appropriate, mayhaps the Summer Palace, I will see that you are educated in etiquette and all things you shall require as my heir, daughter.” Saradon frowned at her, but swung his head away to cast his attention upon Dimitri.
“I am pleased with your progress in Tournai, Lord Ellarian. I took the opportunity to visit this night hence, and I am most encouraged. Rioting has once again commenced in the streets, and the Winged Kingsguard look harried and are too few to hold back the tide.” He grinned menacingly.
Dimitri bowed his head. “I am pleased to hear it, Lord Ravakian. We are ready to move when you give the command. Raedon will swear in as regent any day now, and my allies are poised to overthrow his rule before it even begins. The common people will rise to any banner that promises them what they desire – fairness, prosperity, security.”
His voice held no emotion, Harper noted, but she wondered at his words. That was what he sought to deliver them all when he raised Saradon.
“Excellent. I shall offer them all, and more besides.”
Saradon clapped once. Harper’s heart sank as the great doors swung open and Saradon’s latest sport was dragged in.
At his unspoken demand, Harper looked up. It was as though a leash tugged her mind and body into place every time she thought or moved to defy him.
She did not want to look.
Not as they dragged Aedon in by his bound legs, trailing his torso and head across the floor with no consideration.
Not as they scurried back at Saradon’s command, kicking and clawing at him as they retreated with his bindings, leaving him prone upon the floor.
It was Aedon’s turn to answer his summons.
Saradon seemed determined to take his pound of flesh from Aedon for the death of his granddaughter, Harper’s mother, Ilrune, for when he ordered Aedon to stand, Harper could not hold in a gasp of shock.
When he gradually pushed himself to his hands and knees, Harper could see he wore only the tattered remains of a shirt, but he was so blackened with dirt, blood, and bruises that she had not realised it at first. His trousers were ripped and tattered, the fabric trailing below his knees, and his feet were bare. He slowly forced himself to his feet, with obvious pain in his tremoring limbs. Shoulders slumped, he glared at Saradon defiantly, refusing to lower his gaze.
“Would that I could exact punishment upon your brother, but you shall do in his stead, whilst he is more useful to us elsewhere,” Saradon said, his lip curling.
“My brother would have nothing to do with scum like you.” Aedon’s vehement hatred spilled to Dimitri as his glare flicked between the two males before him.
Saradon laughed. “So you say, yet he acts for me, whether he knows it or not. As I said, you will suffice. Besides which, you are his predecessor. What heinous acts have you committed, I wonder?”
Aedon’s gaze dropped and he glared at the floor. Saradon stared at him in silence, and Aedon’s jaw clenched. Harper realised Saradon invaded his mind – or tried to. After a moment, Saradon straightened and scowled.
“You would do well to not be so rude. I can make your suffering far worse, elf.”
“You have no business prying into my affairs, half-breed,” Aedon hissed at Saradon.
Harper gasped. Never had she known him to be so cruel as to name-call.
At the escape of air from her lips, Aedon finally saw her. His face paled as he stared at her in a daze, as though he had seen a ghost. Then his eyes slid away, like he had never seen her.
He tries to protect us both. She wished she could protect him. After seeing Brand’s and Erika’s cruel treatment at Saradon’s hands, she held no hope that Aedon would not suffer the same, or worse, for his brother’s crimes.
Saradon advanced upon him, seeming not to have noticed Aedon’s attention wavering. “I will not be called such by the likes of you.” Black fire crackled from him, racing toward Aedon. Harper leaned forward, but Saradon’s leash tugged her back.
Aedon cried out as the inferno engulfed him.
Fifty-One
As the fire dissipated, Aedon stood, blackened but alive. Harper sagged with relief, though her heart still pounded with panic at their mutual predicament.
Aedon laughed, baring his teeth in a defiant grin. “Your half-breed magic is nothing against dragon-blessed power!”
Saradon sent an even bigger blast in answer. Aedon howled from the midst of it. Harper tried to reach into her own well of magic to send any help his way, but it was trapped behind an impenetrable barrier. She cursed silently, jerking against the invisible bonds that held her, to no avail, whilst Aedon’s own orange flames licked at the edges of Saradon’s black fire, tearing it to shreds.
When the blaze cleared, smoke rolling across them all and causing Dimitri and Harper to cough, Aedon was on his knees, breathing heavily, but still glaring defiantly at Saradon. The attack had taken much from him. Harper knew he would not give up, not submit.
“Is that your best, half-breed? No wonder they put you and all your kind down.” Aedon bared his teeth in a feral snarl.
“Don’t goad him, Aedon!” Harper cried, not realising she spoke out loud instead of into his mind.
Saradon turned to her, his eyes narrowed, before turning back to his prisoner. “Yes, Aedon, don’t goad me. You have no idea whom you deal with.” His voice took on a dark tone, crackling like dark fire and lightning.
Shivers crawled across Harper’s skin as she realised the voice was not his own. From Erendriel’s warning, she had an inkling whom the voice truly belonged to, but she dared not think what that meant.
Aedon ignored him, glaring at Harper with open worry. “Are you all right? Has he hurt you?”
She shook her head, not daring to speak again.
His brows creased as he stared at her. She knew what he wished to say. Run. Flee. And how impossible that was for both of them.
Saradon stood between them, cutting off her view of him. “She is mine now, elf.”
“She will never be yours, half-breed. Let her go. She is nobody and nothing to you in this fight.”
“Oh, but you know as well as I that is not true, elf, don’t you?” She heard the dark smile upon Saradon’s voice, which added to her heightened anxiety. “You know she is my true heir, and the machinations of fate have returned her to my side at the most opportune moment.”
“You will never control her,” Aedon spat.
Saradon only laughed and turned to Harper with a cruel smile. “Oh, elf. You have no idea indeed. She bound herself to me,” he said gleefully. “Willingly.” He savoured every syllable, circling the fallen elf, whose limbs trembled from exhaustion.
“That’s not true.”
“I will show you, if you do not believe me. I will enjoy seeing your reaction.”
“You lie.”
“I will prove it.”
Saradon snapped his fingers. His will tugged Harper from her throne, forcing her to stand rigidly, and glide to Dimitri. To her horror, and his surprise, she slid into his lap with feline grace. Her muscles strained in resistance, but her body moved of its own accord with no hesitation.
She sank into his lap and leaned against his chest. She heard his breath catch, but instinctively, Dimitri’s arms slid around her, cradling her waist and holding her legs so she did not slide away. The touch was light, formal, as though he only endured it, like she.
Harper met Aedon’s gaze with hers, imploring him to understand her foolishness. That she had not given herself to
his cause willingly, like he suggested, but had sacrificed her freedom to save their friends. But Aedon could not hear her thoughts behind the impenetrable barrier he had constructed around his own mind to stave off Saradon’s attacks.
Saradon was not done. At his command, she tilted her head back and leaned it onto Dimitri’s shoulder. At his next unspoken bidding, Dimitri dipped his head to kiss her neck. Her skin shivered and tingled at the touch of his soft lips upon her, mixed with repulsion and fear at the control Saradon had over them both.
“Stop it,” Aedon growled. “You know she does not wish for that. Get the bastard away from her, now.” But his command held no weight. Saradon knew it as well as he, as well as them all.
Harper’s hands slid around Dimitri’s neck. One idly toyed with the hair at his nape, while the other cupped his cheek and brought his mouth to hers. Tears of fury and shame slipped from her eyes as Dimitri met her gaze, eyes dull, and kissed her.
She knew he had to appear neutral, impassive, but his eyes, still locked with hers, filled with an intensity she could not translate. She wished she could understand what it was he thought and felt, what he was trying to tell her, but their mental communication had been severed by Saradon’s control, and she knew he would not dare reach out to her then.
His body was stiff against her, softening for only a moment into her lips – perhaps the only solidarity he could offer her – before he pulled away. He gave her waist a small squeeze of reassurance, then resumed staring into the distance, as though nothing had happened.
At last, Saradon’s leash retreated, and Harper slid from Dimitri’s lap. She threw herself away from him with all the force she could muster, snapping free of Saradon’s command for a moment, catching him by surprise. She tumbled to the hard stone and landed on her hands and knees with a crash that winded her, her body jarring from the impact.
Dimitri leapt to her aid, helping her to her feet. His iron grip on her hands was a warning not to be so foolish before he let her go and retreated a pace to stand behind her.
