“Of course,” she said, as if he’d told her they would sup together at the end of it.
He decided not to address that.
“And I have lost a woman I have known the whole of my life who means a great deal to me.”
It was that which moved her.
She lifted a hand to his jaw, her face softening, and she said gently, “I’m so sorry, Mars.”
He studied her, noted the softening of her face set the silver of her eyes to a liquid and that made him turn his head and kiss the skin of her palm.
When he turned back, he shared, “It is with darkness in my heart that the first official occasion you will stand at my side as my queen that is not our wedding will be the funeral of the woman who helped raise me. But we will give her the rite she deserved as to her place in this palace, her place in my father’s heart and her place in mine.”
“It will be with a sad heart, but still my honor to stand at your side for that, my king,”
And that was his Silence.
Mars dipped to touch his mouth to hers.
When he pulled back, he asked, “You are sure you wish to attend the procession?”
Silence nodded.
“If you need to leave, I will have you escorted back.”
“That will not happen.”
“You do not have to become my mother in one day, Silence.”
“Yes, I do, Mars.”
Mars studied her again.
Yes, this was his Silence.
And by the gods, she pleased him.
Every day, in new ways, this came more and more.
She was correct. Yesterday had been eventful, that night fraught, and there was much happening that day.
Perhaps she was conserving energy to endure it.
This was wise.
This was Silence.
He should not be concerned. His bride was clever. He knew that already.
She simply continued to prove it.
He stood, holding her to him as he did.
He only let one part of her go when he was on his feet.
After her legs swung toward the floor, he held her close, her toes brushing the tops of his feet.
“Then let us get this done,” he muttered.
His bride nodded.
Mars then put her on her feet, took her hand, tucked it to his chest, and moved them to the door.
He would ride to the pits barefoot and bare-chested.
She would ride before him on his mount, barefoot, bloodied, but entirely intact, healthy and resplendent in their victory.
And his people would see, much more than any fetching red dress could show them, the great strength and trueness of the woman who would very soon be their queen.
G’Seph
Catacombs, Go’Doan Temple, Fire City
FIRENZE
In a rage, G’Seph sent the clay pots flying.
They crashed against the empty sepulchers of the walls, carved out and waiting to bear the shrouded bones of dead priests, the ash of the spent incense in the pots dusting the air.
“How could it bloody fail?” he screeched.
“My liege,” one of the men behind him murmured.
Seph turned, doing it lifting his arm and backhanding the soldier. As the man’s head jerked to the side, Seph neared him, putting his hands on his shoulders and lifting his knee covered in the dark robes of The Rising and catching the soldier sharply in his groin.
The man’s hands went to his crotch, he bent forth and coughed.
Seph cuffed him again with full fist on the side of his head and the man went down to a hip.
It was then, he kicked him with his sandaled foot right in his face.
Seph stepped back, staring at the cut that had opened up on the man’s cheekbone that was oozing blood and he did this breathing heavily.
No other soldier dared to speak.
G’Seph looked to one of his other lieutenants. “Were any taken alive?”
His lieutenant did not answer his question.
And yet he did.
He advised, “We must flee the city, my liege.”
“How did this happen?” Seph hissed. “They had few guards. Our men outnumbered them ten to one at least. And our squad were all bloody Firenz. They’re beasts!”
“We…we don’t…we don’t know, sir,” his lieutenant stammered.
“Word is spreading through the city,” Seph spat. “Those men didn’t even manage to kill the Dellish waif. She can’t weigh fifty kilos! How can she best a one hundred and fifteen kilo Firenz? How the bloody hell can she best one hundred of them?”
“We…I’m sorry, we don’t know, sir,” the lieutenant repeated.
Seph shook his head in disgust.
“Tonight was meant to see the end of her. The end of True. The end of Ophelia,” he ground out. “Pitting Wodell against Firenze in vengeance for their prince and their Countess of the Arbor. Weakening the Nadirii as it would pass on to the older sister, who wouldn’t know an act of diplomacy if it struck her in the face. Which in turn would mean the younger would need to dispute the new reign. And as that played out and the older weakened her warrior nation, she would turn all against the Nadirii. We cannot wait for that sick queen to meet her end! Sister needs to be pitted against sister for the Nadirii to fall.”
He did not know why he was explaining the plot to them. They all bloody knew it as well as he.
“By Go’Bedi!” he shrieked. “How did we bloody fail?”
“Sir, I must beseech you to make the order for the soldiers of The Rising to flee the city immediately,” another lieutenant begged. “Some of our recruits were captured. We may be exposed.”
“And why is that?” he demanded. “Those caught know to speak nothing of The Rising.”
“We cannot assume they will do as instructed. They will be tortured, if they haven’t been already, and marched to the pits. They could share of our sacred mission in hopes of mercy.”
“They all knew this would be an eventuality if they failed,” Seph returned.
“We did not, none of us, expect them to fail,” his lieutenant replied.
This was true.
For it shouldn’t have failed.
There was a significantly reduced guard at the palace. They’d seen to that. They should have dispatched the waif silently and gone on to the others without an alarm being raised, and then escaped unscathed, or at least with minor losses due to their vastly superior number, for Go’Vicee’s sake.
Seph drew breath into his nose.
“Thus, we also cannot assume that they will share this is naught but another Firenz coup against their sitting king,” the lieutenant went on.
“We cannot flee the city,” Seph declared.
“But, my liege—”
Seph leaned forward and bellowed, “We will not leave the city!”
He leaned back, took another deep breath and calmed himself.
“If we did, they would suspect. G’Dor nor any of the men he recruited spoke even a word of The Rising. Mars and his men investigated that thoroughly. Even entering the hallowed confines of this very temple…thrice…to search for some evidence of Go’Doan collaboration.” He shook his head. “No. A man can and will say anything under torture. It is rarely the truth. And Mars knows this.”
“I fear we are still vulnerable,” his man murmured.
“Then we will strengthen again,” Seph returned. “And we will start to do that by not showing our hand by bloody fleeing.”
No one replied which was all well, for Seph tired of this conversation.
And further, there was much to do.
Distractedly, he looked through them before he would dismiss them.
But he went still.
“Where is G’Drey?” he asked.
“My liege?” one of his lieutenants queried in return.
“Where’s G’Drey?” he demanded, louder and sharper.
There was a shuffling of feet that made the heated blood in Seph’s b
ody feel like it would boil before a man in the back spoke.
“He was in an accident on his way to the school.”
Seph’s chin jerked into his neck. “I beg your pardon?”
“He was in an accident, my liege.”
“Come forward,” G’Seph ordered.
The man shifted through the bodies around him, doing it hesitantly, but he came forward.
“What of Drey?” Seph asked quietly when the soldier was standing before him.
“Apparently, my liege, on his way to school, he turned a corner as a horse was riding down the street. He gave the horse a fright, it reared and struck him in the head with a hoof. He received a headwound and was taken to a Firenz infirmary. A Firenz city guard came and reported it yesterday afternoon.”
It was at that, Seph’s blood ran cold.
For they might be treating a headwound.
But in so doing, they would undoubtedly find his other injuries.
And questions would be asked.
Not to mention, Seph had whipped that weak-willed priest.
G’Drey was devout to The Rising. No one who knew of the plot had not been vetted and thus known to be faithful to their righteous cause.
But Drey was weak-willed.
This story could be a ruse. Drey could have gone to the Firenz and shared the plot.
For the stupid twat was getting fucked by Mars’s top general, and he didn’t even know it.
Dear Bedi.
“And why wasn’t this reported to me?” Seph asked.
“Why?” the man queried stupidly in return.
“Yes, why?”
“Well, my liege, you instructed us to be wary of G’Drey and not—”
Seph turned, finding the handle of whichever instrument was closest, instruments that were kept there for times such as these, and others besides.
It was a crop.
Perfection.
He then lifted it and brought it down violently on the man’s cheek. And again. And again. Again. Again. And again. Until the soldier fell to a hand and his knees, lifting his other arm to stave the blows that Seph kept raining on him.
G’Seph tired of the crop, tossed it aside and kicked him in the face, taking him to his back.
And he did this again.
Again.
And again.
When the soldier was curled into himself, his arms over his head, Seph stopped and squealed, “Disrobe him! Bind him to the slab, fifty lashes. And someone go to that bloody infirmary, find bloody G’Drey and bloody bring him back! Immediately!”
Men moved to the soldier on the floor or out of the room, but Seph moved his eyes to his lieutenants.
“We do not flee,” he declared. “The Go’Doan had naught to do with this coup no matter what one of those infidels might say.”
“Sir, we lost over one hundred foot soldiers to that—”
“We will replace them,” Seph stated offhandedly.
“This is our second failed—”
Oh yes.
He tired of this conversation.
“Silence,” Seph whispered. “Recruitment goes unabated in schools and hospitals. Firenz, Dellish, even Airenzian are brought to their bloody knees in gratitude for healing of loved ones and the promise of a bright future for their children. It’s ludicrous, but we all know how very well it works. And it will continue to do so. The Rising has had a setback, but we will recover, we will regroup, and we will rise again. Much more swiftly this time. So swiftly, they will not expect it.”
He turned to another of his soldiers.
“Send a bird to G’Fenn in Go’Doan. Report these events. Share our defeat but that we are not defeated. I will see to it that I ride with the cavalcade when they leave Firenze. We will rise again in Wodell.”
The man nodded and moved to push through those behind him.
Seph waited until the whipping started.
But he did not wait to see it end.
He wished to.
But he could not.
He had much to do.
37
The Mortal Blow
Prince Cassius
Guest Suite, Second Floor, East Corridor, Catrame Palace, Fire City
FIRENZE
His intended whirled on him the minute he closed the door behind them after following her into her bedchamber.
“Did I invite you into my chamber?” Elena asked.
“Where’s Theodora?” Cassius queried in return.
She crossed her arms on her chest and tilted up her chin. “The palace is no longer safe. I sent her to the Nadirii camp. With my sisters. They have might and they have magic. They won’t allow anything to harm her.”
“This is a good decision,” he murmured.
“I don’t care you think it is, or it is not,” she retorted.
His princess was in a snit.
This was not news. She’d been in that state since the attack ended.
Or, precisely, some moments before.
It was simply that Cassius was tiring of it.
“Elena—” he started on a sigh.
“You may leave. I must get kitted for the procession,” she interrupted him, dropping her arms and turning away, dismissing him.
He didn’t know what “kitted” meant. She’d already changed into her Nadirii tunic. Something he would have thought was a boon, considering she’d fought in a miniscule nightgown with thin straps and a hem that barely covered her arse. A garment that forced Cassius to the understanding that her long, shapely legs were miraculous, considering he wanted them wrapped around his back even if they were coated in blood.
Though, he knew what she wore under that tunic. And his brain had been seared with images of her stretching in the garden wearing nothing but her body stocking.
So it wasn’t the boon he’d wish it to be.
“I think it’s more important we discuss your pique,” he replied.
That saw the return of her attention.
And she did this twisting her neck to look at him with narrowed eyes.
“My…pique?”
“Allow me to take us back to yesterday morning, at the fountain,” he began.
Her mouth got tight.
“To yesterday afternoon, our chat after the Go’Doan spoke to you,” he continued.
Her entire frame got tight.
“And last night, in my chamber,” he finished quietly.
All of these occasions had been promising.
With last night, prior to the attack, the most promising of all.
They had spent some time together in his chamber after dinner the night before.
Most of it, they had talked, Cassius sharing the many issues that had been discussed and decided around the diplomatic table, a great number of them affecting her as Princess of the Nadirii, but mostly as his betrothed, the soon-to-be Princess to the Regent of Airen—and eventually Airen’s queen.
He had been surprised her mother had not apprised her of these decisions.
However, in the end, he’d been gladdened, for he was able to share the fullness of them, further strengthening their burgeoning communication, establishing trust, and using both to draw her closer to him.
They had ended this interlude embracing for some time on a divan in his chambers.
Although she had heated for him quickly, like their few times before, unlike those times, the longer they shared intimacy, the more nervous she became.
Cassius understood this had to do with his declaration that he had given her a climax in the garden that morning, but that had not been reciprocated, and he wished for it to be so.
He’d thus gently ended their time together, deciding such would need to be led up to, come naturally, not announced it would occur, and then be taken.
However, for the most part, she responded to him beautifully.
One could definitely say they had chemistry. She roused him, he roused her.
But she was still virgin, and they’d known one another but days.
Hearteningly, the impossible seemed to be occurring. They were learning to come to accord and doing it swiftly.
A Nadirii and an Airenzian.
Unbelievable.
But it was true.
Until now.
“Let us go back to how we were in those times,” he suggested.
Elena turned fully to him.
“With your hand between my legs?” she asked sarcastically. “Or with your tongue in my mouth?”
“I meant us speaking to each other and listening to each other in a civilized manner,” he replied, seeking patience.
“We did this before you behaved in the manner in which you behaved during the fight,” she retorted.
“Elena—”
“I do not know who those assailants were, but they were untrained. Easily dispatched. They factored surprise, numbers and brawn higher than skill and strategy. This is always a faulty play, as it was last night. I was in no danger.”
“I disagree, my princess, for the minute I entered that room, you were moments away from receiving a mortal blow.”
“And did this happen?” she queried.
“No,” he gritted. “But only because True interceded.”
“I did know he was near, Cassius,” she spat. “Any warrior in any battle knows where her allies are.”
She wished to speak of this?
They would speak of it.
The fullness of it.
“And of course it was True who was near,” he returned.
“He was fighting to Silence.”
She might be right.
She was still wrong.
“He was fighting to you.”
She shook her head. “You cannot say that as you’d just arrived.”
“I can say that because he’s besotted with you.”
“He didn’t seem besotted with me not long ago, when he clashed with Mars over Farah.”
“And does that wound you, my future wife?” he drawled.
She blinked rapidly three times before her eyes stayed open and they did this wide.
“I am no longer True’s,” she snapped.
Oh no.
Bloody no.
Those words did not just leave her mouth.
He leaned forward and bit back, “You were never True’s.”
The Plan Commences Page 3
