“Magistrate,” Rodan said with a nod, not bothering to correct the man. He was no longer a king, as much as he may wish it.
“My name is Karl Yanni. Welcome to our city. Or, should I say, welcome back?” He gave a polite smile and then turned his attention to Maeve, “And you must be Maeve Almeida. I never had the pleasure, but I listened to tales of your exploits with Sebastian Sekou.”
Maeve lifted her chin, and he felt a surge of affection for her as she said, “I learned that this was a mistake. I’m helping Rodan regain the throne.”
“Very good. We wondered.”
“We?” Rodan asked.
The magistrate spread his arms, “The people of Nucifera. News of your exploits in Ishtem reached us around the same time you did. We’ve been spending half the day trying to discern truth from fiction.” He nodded toward Maeve. “It has been many years since you were last seen in the Realms, but we remember you as the maiden beyond the veil, the true right hand of Sebastian Sekou.”
Rodan saw Maeve touch the place where Sebastian had slid his dagger. The memory of it stayed fresh in his own mind. Her screams, the hot, sticky texture of her blood, the slippery parts of her beneath his lips that should never be touched in such a way. The thought made fire rise in his veins, and he clenched his jaw. I promised her that I would try to keep Sebastian alive, he reminded himself. No matter my personal prejudice.
Karl took a step back, his eyes a little startled. Rodan tried to smooth out his expression. “My apologies. I’m not fond of speaking of our illustrious king.”
Karl Yanni offered a slight smile. “Of course. I apologize for arriving at such a late hour. I was waylaid on my way to you by a number of concerned citizens.” He motioned at the cushioned chairs by the fire, “Shall we?”
They all sat. Richard rushed over and asked if they would like anything. Both declined. Rodan leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers over his stomach. “How can I be of service, magistrate?”
Maeve shot him a curious glance, but Karl Yanni just smiled again. “Your prowess with magic is well-known, King Rodan—”
“Just Rodan, for now,” he corrected.
The magistrate nodded. “Rodan. There is a curse upon Nucifera. Our sorcerers and our witches can tell us that much, but they cannot locate its source or break its hold over us. There are precious few people at this inn, and our streets are overrun with filth and sewage.” Rodan saw Maeve wrinkle her nose out of the corner of his eye, and his lips twitched in a faint smile. “Our sailors are returning from their trips with empty nets. Our fields of watercress and rice bring about little harvest. What food there is runs at a price few people can meet. Many left in pursuit of something better, but those of us who remain are growing more desperate by the day.”
“Something is affecting both the sea and the land?” Rodan asked, intrigued.
“It appears so,” the magistrate confirmed. “If it continues, this city and its people are doomed.”
“When did it start, and what events led up to it?” Maeve pressed.
The man shifted again. “It started six months ago, and no one has been able to pinpoint a cause. At the time, it was autumn. We began to harvest another batch of grain when we noticed that we were getting a smaller yield. The fisherman started to haul in more inedible creatures that they had to throw back into the sea. Strange things they were, black and stinking with long sharp teeth and strange patterns, like nothing we’d ever seen before.
“Then a seawall burst, and saltwater contaminated a third of our crops. We rebuilt, but the land is refusing to take any more seed. It has been left to grow fallow. More ships than usual failed to return from the winter storms that shook the sea. Many children overflow our orphanages. Widows look for work but there is little to be had.” He took a deep breath. “Tragedy after tragedy, too many to be a coincidence. The land is cursed.”
Rodan nodded. “We will help you, of course. I thank you for bringing this to our attention.”
They all stood at once, and Maeve held her hand out to Karl. He looked at it for a moment in confusion before she said, “It’s a tradition where I’m from. We clasp hands to signify a pact, or a deal.” Tentatively, the man placed his hand in hers. She clasped it and gently moved it up and down. Karl’s face lit up, and he began to move his hand as well, faster than her. She laughed and pulled out of his grip. “We call it a hand shake.”
Rodan inclined his head. “I do not perform the hand shake. I am not from her world.”
“Of course,” Karl said, still beaming. He bowed low to Rodan, “I’ll be here in the morning, to show you around and assist you in any way that I can.”
“We appreciate it,” Maeve said. “Good night.”
“Good night,” the man said, sinking back into his chair by the fire.
On the way back to their rooms, Maeve wavered. Rodan put out a hand to steady her, resting his palm between her shoulder blades, and she gifted him with a quick smile.
“You’re exhausted,” he observed. “It has been a difficult day.”
She tried to smother a yawn but failed. “I have the sneaking suspicion tomorrow is going to be worse.”
“All the more reason for you to get your rest.” He paused outside her door; his hand still splayed across her back. He did not want to be apart from her. “Maeve, would you be willing to sleep beside me tonight? Just sleep.”
She searched his face, her liquid amber eyes mesmerizing in the lantern light. “Why?”
A part of him ached, wanting nothing more than to be surrounded by her again. He spoke to this truth. “I don’t want to part with you yet. For all that we slept beside each other while I was making your charm,” he grazed the little pouch with his other hand, “I would like to hold you in my arms. Is that too much to ask?”
She shook her head. “No. Not at all.” Her lips quirked upwards. “Okay. Just—just for tonight, though.”
They went to her rooms first, extinguishing the last lantern, and then moved through the adjoining door to the room bedecked in the imperial colors of black and gold. He noted, as before, that it looked like a smaller scale replica of his private apartments at the castle in Realmsgate. It screamed familiarity.
Maeve slipped off her trousers, so she wore only the loose shirt and shorts from earlier, her long, shapely legs drawing his attention for a moment. Those legs had been wrapped around his hips not too long ago. Not long at all.
Just as before, they entered the bed in tandem. This time, instead of Maeve turning her back to him and sleeping on the very edge of the bed, she rolled into him, her head tucking against his shoulder and her arm flung over his chest. A leg went around his, and then she fell still, her breathing low and quiet.
Rodan ran a hand through her hair and put his other on her arm, his thumb playing circles against her skin. From this close, her warmth and scent enveloped him. Honeysuckle and beeswax.
“Rodan,” she said, exhaustion dragging at her words, “Are you sure I’m not just a distraction? Tell me now, please. I won’t be mad.”
He doubted that, but his motions on her body ceased for a moment while he formulated his words. “To be with you, intimately, would, I am sure, make the world fall away. That is not my goal.”
Her chin rubbed against his chest, just above his heart and the scar hiding beneath the fabric. “What is your goal?”
Your love, he thought. Aloud, he said, “To answer a question.”
Her voice, fading, still asked, “What question?”
He smiled and started running his hand through her hair again, noting her relax still further against him. It startled him, how easy she fit there. How quickly she found the perfect spot. “If you had accepted my offer to be queen, would I have regretted it?”
“Mm,” she purred. “Probably.”
He smiled into the darkness, and the pressure in the room relaxed as sleep pulled her under. He lay there for another hour while she dreamed, her fingers twitching and curling along his side and his chest,
her breathing sometimes coming in quick, hard pants. Mostly, he lay there wondering what, exactly, he would do about this situation.
Because it was not just about the challenge anymore. Something else was here. Something deeper.
And it frightened him.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Maeve
MAEVE DREAMED THAT SHE SAT AT A CAFÉ table on a busy sidewalk with Rodan and Sebastian. Both wore suits: Rodan in black, Sebastian in white. They joked together, talking about nonsense and little things while she watched, chin in hand, a growing glow of warmth stealing over her. When the waitress brought their tea, the cups were filled with thick black blood. Maeve pushed hers away in alarm, but the men drank deep from their cups, eyes fixed on one another.
She woke half-draped over Rodan, her hair covering her face and drool coming out of one corner of her mouth. She sat up, wiping at her face with the heel of her palm, and found Rodan asleep.
Maeve paused, taking in the sight. All the times that they slept together before, Rodan had been the first to rise in the morning, awake and usually reading when she finally stirred.
His relaxed face, with thick eyebrows drawn down and lips parted a little, made him appear even more ageless than he normally did. His gloved hands tangled in his hair, and his arms were thrown up near his face. She raked her gaze down his chest, where the deep V of his sleeping shirt exposed a long line of chest and abdomen.
Tentative, Maeve reached out and touched the bare skin of his stomach, watching his face all the while. He did not stir until she straddled his waist and leaned down, her face a few inches from his own. Rodan’s eyes opened, slits at first and then wider. His arms shifted, his hands coming up to encircle her upper arms, and he pulled her closer.
Maeve let herself get lost in the kiss. Gentler than what they shared the night before. Quieter, even. His hands stroked down her back and held her waist, thumbs circling near the bottom of her ribs. She propped herself up by the headboard, holding her body above his. Touching only when they breathed in together.
She pulled away first, licking her lips and tasting him on them. His green eye shone gold morphing into a deep brown as she gazed at him, the colors shifting like a hologram image one to the next.
Rodan’s grip tightened on her waist. “You’re up early.”
“I had strange dreams.”
He shifted beneath her, and she bobbed up and down with the motion. “Tell me.” She did, leaving nothing out. He nodded when she finished. “Apt. You care for us both, but we’re each prepared to dispatch the other.”
“I want to make sure he’s okay,” she murmured. “He’s not right. He needs help.”
Rodan tightened his grip and his eyes focused on hers.
She shook her head again. “The magistrate should be here soon, if he didn’t spend the night. We should get moving.”
He flashed her a grin. “You’re the one holding me down.”
Rodan could extricate himself whenever he wanted, and they both knew it, but she laughed a little and rolled off him, sliding from the bed. He rose, running a hand through hair that never tangled.
While she brushed her hair and changed into the day’s traveling clothes in the adjacent room, Rodan created their breakfast as he did every day. Fruit, toast, butter and preserves greeted her when she emerged fresh and ready for the day. A fresh pot of tea steamed on the dining table alongside a mug, a container of honey, and a small pitcher of cream.
Maeve dug in, but paused midway through. “I feel kind of awful, eating so well while so many people here are starving.”
Rodan nodded. “But we won’t be able to help them unless we keep our own strength up. Trust that we will put all this to good use.”
She nodded in return, “Fair point.”
They finished their meal, rather more quick than normal and Rodan cleared the table before pulling his hair back into a long ponytail, securing it with a few quick flicks of a leather cord. He caught her watching him and he smiled, slow to unfold but beautiful. “Maeve, last night—”
She shook her head. “We can talk about that later.”
He took her hand, the leather warm beneath her fingers. “Just—don’t pull away.”
Maeve tilted her head. “Is that what you’re afraid of?”
Rodan shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.” He flashed another smile. “Like kissing the enemy.”
“Even if we were at odds before, I don’t think we were ever enemies,” she mused.
He shook his head, “No. I was Sebastian’s.”
She swallowed hard, thinking of her dream, at the way the two of them gazed at each other as they drank their cups of blood. “We’ll talk about it more tonight.”
His thumb skimmed along her knuckles, and he gave her fingers a brief squeeze. “Alright,” he said. “Tonight.”
They left his room, not bothering to lock it. Their possessions, created on a whim, were in little danger of being stolen. Once in the great room, they spotted Karl Yanni standing by the fire, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared into the flames.
“Magistrate,” Rodan greeted, and Maeve realized that he still held her hand. She let go, embarrassed as she noticed Karl glance at the movement, and between the two of them, curiosity evident on his face.
“King Rodan. Maeve.” The magistrate bowed to both of them. “Are you ready?”
They nodded, and the magistrate led them out of the inn and into the hazy blue sunlight of early morning. Maeve squinted a little as her eyes adjusted from the dim shadows of the interior. She waved at their horses, Leona giving a wicker when her eyes found Maeve walking through the courtyard.
“I hope you don’t mind being on foot,” Karl said as they walked. “Horses were some of the first beasts to succumb to our need for food. I’m afraid that if we took yours anywhere, they may be in danger.”
Maeve gave the stables a startled glance, “Are they safe here?”
“Don’t worry,” Rodan soothed. “We’ve paid the innkeeper and his retainers well. They’ll guard the horses. Even so, Ender has been given instruction to run to the next town with Leona if we encounter any problems.”
“You can talk to the horse?” Maeve whispered. “Are you serious?”
He gave her a sly smile and continued following Yanni as they wound through the narrow cobblestone streets.
Now that she walked the streets instead of riding above them, the layer of filth that sat over everything was evident. Mud, allowed to accumulate between the cobbles, sprouted with grass and baby trees. Rotting garbage piled along the walls and spilled into the streets, so deep and thick in parts that they could not glimpse the cobblestones. The magistrate walked with confidence, but she picked around the piles, careful of her footing.
Few people milled about, and those they noticed skittered away when the party came into sight, darting away like frightened birds. Seeing their bedraggled clothes, some of them in threads and tatters, made Maeve look overdressed. One woman, sliding away from them along one soot-stained wall, clutched a bundle of rags to her chest, muttering. When they neared, Maeve realized it was a baby she held in her hands, with thin stick-like arms and legs.
She stopped, digging into one of the pouches on her belt to extract a few gold pieces. The woman’s liquid dark eyes widened, but Maeve pressed the coins into her hands. “Get something to eat,” she murmured. “The inn has food.”
The woman gave a shuffling bow and ran off, back the way they had come.
The stench, cloying and almost sickly-sweet, coated the top of Maeve’s mouth and made it difficult to breathe. She held her sleeve up to her face until Rodan handed her a handkerchief, scented with cedar wood and sage.
They walked for more than twenty minutes before they reached one of the outer walls. The street widened here, and in better times it might be a decent neighborhood, but most of the homes and shops seemed decrepit, their windows shuttered. The only sounds were the weak coughs and cries of babes and soft murmuring whispe
rs of the Nuciferan people.
The magistrate motioned toward the door. “I wanted to show you our crops first.”
They went through the gates of the city to a tiered hill stepping down to a flooded field where rice grew in prolific bunches. Where they stood the grasses shone green and hardy, yet further away, there were blackened plants and the stench of rotting vegetation.
Rodan strode down one of the pathways carved into the hillside, and Maeve followed. He stood between a good field and a bad one, his hands out to either side with his palms facing down. She didn’t speak as he concentrated, instead looking out at the destroyed fields and some people slogging through the mud, pulling the blackened, slimy stalks of dead rice out of the pasture and throwing them into enormous wicker baskets strapped to their back. Their hands and arms up to the elbows were coated in the dark slime.
Something seemed wrong about the area, though she could not put her finger on it. It wasn’t in the air, it was—the water, she thought.
Rodan tilted his head to the side, as though he listened for something, and his hands clenched into fists. “It is a curse, as you said, and a strong one. Whoever cast this knows what they’re about.”
“Can you break it?” Karl asked.
He shook his head. “Not yet. I still need to understand it. Find its source.”
The magistrate sighed. “I hate coming here,” he admitted. “It used to be such a quiet, peaceful place, but now I look out at it and all I can see is what we’ve lost.”
Maeve hesitated for a moment before putting a hand on the man’s shoulder, giving it a quick pat. “We’ll fix this.”
He glanced between the two of them, his expression grim. “I certainly hope you can.”
They went back through the gate and into the city. Maeve brought up her handkerchief again as they picked through the piles of refuse and rot.
“We had people that would take care of this,” the magistrate said, motioning at the piles of garbage. “We’ve had so many leave in the last few months that few remain to keep up with the city’s needs. We’re concentrating as many of our efforts as possible in catching and growing new food. Everything else has to stop, for now.”
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