“Noooo,” she said, reeling. Her hands shook, and she held herself, practically folding into a fetal position. “Anything but him.”
He took a surprised step back. What had the element done to her? He wanted to ask but worried she would lose herself in whatever hole she was hiding. “Alloria, I’ll protect you.”
“No, you won’t,” she said in a tiny voice, as if another person had suddenly taken her place.
He needed the element’s help to find Prendere. Magic hadn’t shown up to visit over the last six months, probably because Angst was planning to beat the information out of him. Alloria had ties to Magic. Angst had thought she was a partner, not a prisoner. It completely changed his approach.
“I’m your champion, aren’t I?”
“Yes,” she squeaked.
“I’ve destroyed other elements, and I’ve already beaten Magic once,” he said. “You believe in me, don’t you?”
“Sure,” she said, sounding unconvinced.
After years of emotional parrying with his wife, his instinct was to placate and be gentle. He always gave Heather the time she needed to recover from being upset, and did everything in his power to help. But now, they didn’t have time, and Angst wasn’t convinced he could pull Alloria from her dark place with soothing words.
“You love me,” he said firmly.
“Yes,” she said, looking up.
“Then stand up,” he said.
She stood straight, arching her back. Flecks of dirt and grass fell from her.
“You’ll do this because you love me,” he said. “And I’ll protect you because I’m your champion.”
Alloria looked at him with her big eyes, gazing into his as if he’d suddenly reappeared. Her smile returned, as did her uncomfortably longing gaze. “Okay.”
It was as if the dark moment had never happened. “Nothing to be nervous about here,” screamed the sarcastic voice in his head continually giving him sort-of advice.
“But not like this,” she said, looking down at her grungy prison garb.
“Agreed,” he said, a little surprised she was making sense. “We’ll find a town with an inn where we can take a quick bath—”
“Together?” she asked, grabbing his hand and leaning in, so his arm was lodged between her boobs.
“That’s not what I meant,” he said, his heart skipping several beats as he pulled away.
She laughed as he gathered himself. Alloria’s flirting was way out of his league.
“As I said, we’ll find a town,” he said. “After you take a bath, dry off, are fully clothed and fast asleep, then, and only then, will I take a bath.”
“Boo,” she said with a mocking pout. Even caked in dirt, she was pretty. “Baths can be fun…”
“We need a place small enough where we can go unnoticed,” he said, completely ignoring that last comment. “But big enough to have a shop for your new clothes. Maybe we could buy a horse, since my swifen stands out a little.”
Alloria laughed.
“What?” he asked.
“Are you going to hide your giant swords, too?” she asked.
“Well, yeah,” he said, scratching his head. “That’s a good point.”
“Not just pretty,” she said, tapping her temple with a finger. “I know where we can get lost in a crowd, even with your swords. We’ll go to The Fette.”
“The what?” he asked.
“It’s a hidden town where people my age hang out,” she said. “They have shops, baths, places to crash, and parties. Lots of parties.”
It sounded like a distraction, a great distraction, but also a waste of time. Was Alloria dragging out their adventure so she wouldn’t have to face Magic? Either way, if his plan was right, they had time to spare. Maybe she would be more prepared to face the element if she had that time. And, she really needed a bath. They both did.
“I’ve never heard of The Fette,” Angst said with a frown.
“Exactly why it’s safe to go there,” she said. “The innkeeper at Potterton will know where it is, and then I’ll introduce you to paradise.”
7
The tent Tarness shared with Maarja was spacious by human standards—far larger than the single-room rental he squeezed into back in Unsel. It was easily eight feet tall, giving him enough height to stand. Large, down pillows rested along the far edge over a worn, fur-covered pallet. The floor and walls were all lined with skins from her hunts. Smoke billowed up through a hole in the top of the round tent. A stone fire pit in the center provided warmth and a place for cooking. That was his favorite part, the heat.
The first time they made love on warm fur before the fire, he’d thought it was romantic—until she told him to focus. The furs weren’t for romance or decoration. They were effective insulation and blankets. After months passed, he’d wondered how there were enough animals in Nordruaut to furnish all the tents. And then he’d decided it was probably better to stay on task during sex before getting corrected again.
Maarja crawled through the tent entrance, and he beamed at her beautiful, tanned face. Beneath her light blue eyes were three vertical lines of paint like white tears that almost reached her cheekbones. Long, platinum blond braids swung back and forth before her white fur tunic. After entering, she escaped her fur coverings like a butterfly leaving its cocoon. Except this butterfly was almost naked, his other favorite thing about their tent. While short for a Nordruaut, she was a third taller than Tarness, and far too tall to stand in the tent, so she sat cross-legged in front of the fire.
“Your boots are off,” she said with a nod. “We don’t have time for sex, husband. Jintorich has already left for your training, and you don’t want to keep him waiting…unless you do want to keep him waiting.”
She gave him the barest of smiles, which he took as being coy. To say that the Nordruaut were reserved was like saying a blank piece of parchment is plain. That shy-yet-alluring smile meant she was ready to make their friend wait for hours. He crawled closer to kiss her full on the mouth. It was far better than their first romantic adventure, where her kiss covered half his face, and she tossed him around like a toy. Not his worst memory, but it had taken awhile to figure things out, after the bruises healed.
“I wouldn’t want to be disrespectful of Jintorich,” Tarness finally said, pulling away.
She nodded curtly, but there was a hint of disappointment in her eyes. “You are a good husband to work so hard.”
“I try.” Tarness inched to the edge of the tent and began pulling on his boots.
“I would like to attend this session,” Maarja said.
“Not yet,” he said, gently. Gentle apparently didn’t mean much to her, because her gaze was cold. She’d asked every time, and he’d always given an excuse. It was much harder to tell her no after she offered sex, but he had no choice. Per Jintorich’s advice, he tried thinking like a Nordruaut. His low voice became firm. “I will not have you see me fail.”
“You do not fail when you try,” she said. “I will be your inspiration to succeed.”
“You always are, but I have to do this on my own,” he said.
Her terse smile reminded him of the disapproving look Heather frequently gave Angst. He smiled until she gave in with a sigh. After crawling over to their bed, Maarja removed her leather top, providing him a glimpse of breast before covering herself with fur blankets. She looked delicious, and Jintorich would certainly understand why he was late, again.
“I will be here when you return,” she said, huskily. “Wake me, or I will be upset.”
“I won’t be long,” he said before reluctantly leaving the warmth and nakedness of their home.
The felking cold outside was felking cold. He wouldn’t admit that this was the real reason he was late to meet Jintorich. The Al’eyrn knew spells to keep himself warm, but Tarness hadn’t been able to cast a spell beyond summoning his swifen—an obsidian stallion that also wasn’t warm. His secret wish was for the war between Eastern and Western Nordruaut to end
so he could travel with Maarja. They could visit Unsel, or warmer Meldusia, or possibly a volcano or two.
A fifteen-minute trudge through the snow brought him to a secluded alcove that Jintorich had magically carved out of a freezing hill. High, snowy walls surrounded most of the nook, keeping them from prying eyes. A bonfire blazed in the center, and the walls kept out most of the wind. Tarness relaxed in the warmth and nodded at his small friend.
Jintorich was apparently the only Meldusian to survive the Vex’kvette, a river of orange sludge created by Magic that had killed every creature it couldn’t change into a monster. He was 18-inches tall, if you included the hairy ears that were thin and pointed up most of the time. The little man was bulbous, from his pumpkin-shaped forehead to his ruddy nose. Dark hair pulled back in cornrows draped down to his shoulders. Jintorich’s eyes were rich blue marbles that peered out from under long, animated eyebrows. Despite the cold, he wore nothing more than a white terrycloth robe, thick nails peeking out from beneath them.
“Sorry I’m late,” Tarness said, rubbing his hands before reaching for the fire’s heat.
“Did you tell her?” Jintorich asked, his squeaky voice filled with concern. “You said you might.”
“I don’t think I’d be here if I had,” Tarness said with a sigh. “Are we alone?”
“Yes, my friend,” Jintorich said, his eyebrows drooping in disappointment. “I sense no one nearby.”
“Maarja won’t trust me if I tell her about the deal I made with Magic to stay alive. None of them will.” He held up the hand with the ruby ring. “That’s why we need to remove it.”
“I understand,” Jintorich squeaked softly. “But I fear she suspects something. Maarja is no fool, and if she were to find out, it would be far worse than if you told her.”
“That’s exactly why I want it off,” Tarness grumbled. “If it’s off, and I tell her, I know she’ll understand. I know she’ll forgive me.”
“Will she?” Jintorich asked. “It’s still a lie.”
Tarness shrugged and sighed. He stared at the ring that kept him alive and gave it a tug, stretching the skin underneath. It seemed fused to his finger and wouldn’t budge.
“Any new ideas?” Tarness asked.
“For the spells you’re supposed to be learning?” Jintorich asked. “Or removing the ring?”
“The real reason we’re here,” Tarness said, not enjoying the Meldusian’s judgement. “To remove the ring.”
“You’ll need to learn a spell one day,” Jintorich said. “Just in case someone asks why we come here so often.”
“We’ve tried. I can’t even learn how to change the color of my hair,” Tarness said, his shoulders dropping. “You said that was almost as easy as summoning my swifen.”
“Yes, something is keeping you from learning another spell,” Jintorich said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s the ring. Or it could be the guilt…”
“Let’s call it the ring,” Tarness said.
“Of course,” Jintorich said. “I’ve been conferring with my foci, Maehtikyn, and there may be another way. We could remove your finger or your hand.”
“What?” Tarness snapped. “No way am I losing any body part. That’s worse than this thing keeping me alive, or being dead.” He shuddered. “Anything but that.”
“You’re not making this easy,” Jintorich said. “There is a fire spell I could use. It may burn, but you’ll probably keep your hand and fingers.”
“Burning is good,” Tarness said. “Well, better than the other thing. What do I do?”
“Just hold your hand out where I can reach it,” Jintorich said.
Tarness rested on his knees and held out his hand as if preparing for someone to kiss it. There was an audible tink as Jintorich placed his tiny staff on the ring. It quickly warmed to the point of discomfort, and Tarness took deep, calming breaths. As the heat grew past the point of unbearable, so did his temper. The pain was like a fan to his own flame of anger as the ring went from red to white.
“It’s moving,” Tarness said as the ruby listed to one side then the other.
A small, dark circle appeared over the fire. Shadowy tendrils grew, soaking up the color around it like an oblong whirlpool.
“Death,” Tarness gasped. It was the same void that had almost killed Alloria. “You’re doing it, keep—”
Crack! A sound like lightning followed by a flash of bright, white light made Tarness wince. The skin on his face and arms rolled back in waves from the explosion while he remained in place. It was practically impossible to move him when he was emotional, especially when he was upset.
It took several minutes of blinking away the spots in his vision to see the results of their experiment. The fire was out, the void was gone, and so was Jintorich.
“Jin?” Tarness called out. “Jin, where are you? Are you okay?”
A high-pitched mumble came from the nearby wall of snow. Tarness rushed over to see a Jintorich-shaped indentation. He reached deep into the snowbank until he felt robes, and gently pulled.
Tarness set him on the ground, and Jintorich gave him a wide-toothed smile. He was covered in so much white, he looked like a creepy snowman.
“That was exciting!” Jintorich said. With a squint of concentration, steam rose from his clothes until they were dry.
“That’s the spell I need to learn,” Tarness said.
“I could try teaching you again,” Jintorich said. “If you don’t want to make another attempt to remove the ring.”
“It feels like a waste of time to keep trying,” Tarness grumbled. “It’s always the same. We get close, death shows up, and then that flash of white interrupts your spell. I still think it’s Magic.”
“Possibly,” Jintorich said. “But whatever it is, it’s definitely a counter-spell.”
“Counter-spell?” Tarness asked, rubbing warmth into his hands.
“According to Maehtikyn, there are spells that conflict with each other,” Jintorich said, his thick brows drooping sincerely. “They cause a reaction, sometimes creating a spark.”
“That was a big spark,” Tarness said in frustration.
“It certainly wasn’t from the spell I cast,” Jintorich said. “I would call it unnatural.”
“I’m not sure what natural is anymore.” Tarness barked out a laugh. “Thanks for trying again. I’m going to head back to camp.”
“What about the drying spell?” Jintorich asked.
“Next time,” Tarness said. “Maarja is waiting, and I’d hate to disappoint.”
8
“I think I look ridiculous,” Rose said, staring down in disbelief as if she wore her dad’s hand-me-downs. She shook her head, hiding most of her new armor with a black cloak.
“We’re wearing the same armor,” Victoria said, raising an eyebrow. “Do you think I look ridiculous?”
“You look great. It suits you. This is not my, uh, style,” Rose said, carefully. “Also, why is your breastplate so much more…breasty than mine?”
“I’m going to be queen,” Victoria said sincerely. “I have to stand out and be impressive.”
“They certainly stand out,” Rose muttered.
Victoria ignored the slight. She loved her new armor. It was very similar to Angst’s zyn’ight armor, except for several design modifications she’d requested. Angst’s chest piece covered the top half of his torso and was shaped to be muscular. Rose’s was similar with two small bumps for her breasts. Victoria had designed hers to be more like a steel corset that squeezed her breasts together and presented them like a Berfemmian top. Chainmail covered her midriff, dangling over steel bottoms that rested low on her waist. Plate armor covered the tops of her hands and front of her legs, only wrapping half-way around, leaving the back of her limbs unprotected, save for leather leggings. She proudly wore a long, red cloak that looked quite a bit like a cape.
“I just wish it wasn’t so…gold,” Rose said, looking at her arms.
“I love rose-gol
d,” Victoria said, barely able to contain a twirl. “Are you going to be grumpy this entire trip?”
“Maybe,” Rose said, flopping noisily onto a nearby bench.
They waited impatiently in an antechamber where soldiers readied themselves for the training grounds. It was an ideal place to slip out in the dewy hours of early morning. Victoria hid her gnawing anticipation behind excitement—not only for her new armor, but also the upcoming adventure. It was a thin veil she would have to peek behind soon to face tougher decisions, like what to do with Angst. Fortunately, now wasn’t the time to ponder or dwell; it was time to leave the castle’s confines.
“Sean, Simon,” Victoria said, beaming at the brothers as they entered. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
They bowed respectfully. The two appeared more like brothers in spirit than actual kin. Simon was six feet tall with a dark-brown military haircut, pale skin, and sharp blue eyes. His brother was easily a head shorter and had a long, wispy mane of black hair. Both men were in their fit-twenties, but neither looked like a muscular knight or burly soldier. Sean seemed especially thin like a runner who never ate, and overly tan as if he ran everywhere naked.
“Thank you for having us, Your Majesty,” Simon said, standing tall. “With Jaden’s guidance, I’m now ready to heal anything, within reason.”
“Why do we need another healer if I’m here?” Rose asked with a frown.
“In case Angst kills you,” Victoria said in an overly sweet tone. “Or I do.”
Rose peered at her but said nothing. Sean was also quiet but smiled briefly before looking away to the door.
“And are you ready, Sean?” she asked, gently.
“He’s ready.” Simon looked at Sean nervously. “My brother rarely speaks, Your Highness. Usually just to me. He thinks a little differently than us, but he’s reliable.”
“Maybe you can start by healing Sean,” Rose said, mocking the man’s gaze with an open-mouthed stare at the door.
Victoria shook her head and was about to say something when Captain Mirim entered.
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