Rodan
NEGOTIATIONS WERE GOING NOWHERE.
“We burn our dead. We send them to Rizor and Tegal. We do not condemn them to the sea,” Karl argued, his face flushed and his eyes glittering.
Maeve slapped a hand down on the table. “You worry more about people already dead then those who are dying,” she snarled. “Would you condemn all your city so that you can burn their bodies, or would you save them in exchange for a few small concessions?”
“It may seem small to you,” the magistrate said, his voice icy. “But to us, these are deep-seated traditions. They may understand the need now, but in twenty years when we’ve had no blight or starvation? The people will balk at feeding their loved ones to these creatures.”
“We don’t know that they’ll be eaten, exactly,” Rodan tried to interject. “Just that they require death. Probably for their magics.”
Maeve shuddered out of the corner of his eyes, and he filed the reaction away for later dissection. “Why don’t you marry the selkie?” Karl asked, not for the first time. “That will be enough to appease them.”
Rodan shook his head. The selkie, beautiful in her way, yet repugnant in mannerism, was not what he waited two thousand years to find. He would not settle for some frothing, feral sea creature starved for a sense of importance. Maeve considered him as he formulated his response, and he glanced at her. She glanced away; she had been doing that all evening. Frustrated, Rodan snapped, “I should never have told you that offer was on the table.”
Karl opened his mouth to say something, but Maeve interjected, “When it comes down to it, magistrate, you are implying that your people might rise up against this treaty in twenty years. That’s plenty of time to come up with another compromise. To learn enough of each other that you know what each of you truly want. In the meantime, it keeps the curse from coming back and ensures the safety of the city.”
“You don’t understand,” the magistrate pleaded. “How can I turn to my people and tell them that I struck this deal on their behalf? It would be the ruin of me.”
Aha, Rodan thought. Here we come to the crux of the problem. “You worry about reelection,” he said, his voice dry. “Yet wouldn’t your people love you for ending their suffering?”
Maeve’s voice gentled, “You need to spin this the right way, Karl. Make them understand that you’re doing this for their children. For the future of the city. For a lasting peace.”
“Blood can mean many things,” Rodan soothed. “A splash or two for spell craft. Or a unity of marriage. Selkies are known to take mates from the land, though the relationship is often short-lived. Perhaps that is what they wish for.”
“Whatever the case,” the magistrate grumbled as a serving girl came back with the wine and a platter of bread, rice cakes, and dried fish. “I’ll be going with you tomorrow when you sail out to speak to these creatures again. As much as I appreciate your aid, and I do, I must be there to represent the needs of my people.”
“You may not want to continue calling them creatures,” Rodan pointed out. “They have exhibited incredible skill and cunning, attacking your people and land as they have. They won’t take kindly to the term.”
Karl sputtered. “They are creatures,” he insisted. “If what they want is to feast on human flesh, then they are worse than that. They are monsters.”
Maeve nodded, and a calm radiated from her. Rodan felt it brush past him and wondered at the sensation. This must be what she imparted upon his troops, when bringing them around to Sebastian’s side. He noted no talisman, no crystal or power stone or herb in hand. How did she do it?
“I’m sure there are ways to do this that would be—humane,” Maeve pressed, and that magic seemed to pulse. “A way to negotiate for the merpeople not to take the bodies until they are out of sight of the mourners, and to hide what has been done.” She reached out and took the magistrate by the hand. The man seemed shocked at her boldness, but let her, squeezing back when she pressed him with her fingertips. “It must be terrible to think of, but isn’t death terrible in and of itself? In this way, no person would be asked to step into the waves alive, and your people will be able to continue fishing the way you have in generations past.”
Maeve let his hand go and leaned back in her chair, chipping off a chunk of her rice cake but not biting into it, letting it slide back and forth between her fingers.
The magistrate sighed and wiped a hand over his forehead. “I’ll have to think on it.”
“We have until this time tomorrow,” Rodan said. “We have much to think on.”
Karl rose, visibly shaken by what they asked to consider. “I—I will see you both tomorrow. King Rodan, Maeve, thank you for all that you’re doing. I—” He paused. “I wish you both good night.”
“Goodnight,” Maeve said, her voice quiet.
Rodan gave a short nod.
The man left, and Maeve sighed, looking at him, finally, with her liquid amber eyes. “I’m going to go to bed.”
“You’re that tired?”
She gave him a wry smile. “You are, too. I saw the way you nearly collapsed on deck. You may be good at hiding it, but you overexerted yourself today.”
She was right. He felt the need to sleep dragging at him, despite the fact that the suns were only now tumbling down toward the horizon line, the sunlight slanting through the windows. He rose and offered his hand to her. She ignored it. He curled his fingers into a fist and dropped his hand. “You could always come to bed with me,” he said, his voice quiet so as not to carry.
Maeve glanced at him, smiled a little, and shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea now.”
He wanted to ask why but knew she would not say. Acting secretive all afternoon, Maeve avoided meeting his eye. He instinctively wanted to give her the space she needed. No matter what challenge he must win, she still remained someone he was starting to care for. “As you wish,” he murmured. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
They walked together toward their rooms, silent except for their footfalls. Maeve paused as she opened her door. “Rodan?”
He looked over at her, hand on the handle of his own room. “Yes, Maeve?”
“If I weren’t a factor, would you marry the selkie?”
He shook his head. “Not unless it was the only way to the throne. It is not. There are other ways around this issue.”
“If it were a matter of the throne, you would do it?”
In a heartbeat. He considered her. “Yes,” he said.
She nodded, as though he confirmed something. “Good night, Rodan.”
Rodan watched her enter her room and shut the door behind her. He opened his own room and stood looking at the empty space, a place where he held Maeve not long ago.
If it were a matter of the throne, would you do it?
Of course, he would. She should understand that. Did understand it, so far as he could tell. Over everything else, he was a monarch. He shaped this land. It belonged to him. He founded Realmsgate and crafted the great castle at its heart. He helped these people and these cultures flourish. He would not sit by and let Sebastian ruin all of what he had built.
He could see that Maeve wanted him, felt that it was only a matter of time before she shared his bed for more than sleep, but that was not enough to win the challenge that Sebastian laid for him.
The thought made his stomach curdle, and with a scowl he shifted his clothes, one moment wearing the imposing imperial colors and the next his usual loose sleep shirt and trousers, his feet bare. He paused, looking down at his toes against the dark wood floor. Maeve said he needed to act more like a man of the people, to win hearts and minds as they traveled. How was he supposed to do that, win the personal challenge, and attack the individual quest that presented itself at each city?
He shook his head and a wave of exhaustion stole over him. Maeve was right, he had overexerted himself. A weak shaking started to overtake his limbs. He staggered to the bed and threw himself on it, rolling up in the coverlet.
With a thought and a faint push of magic, he extinguished the lamps that lit the space, and within moments, sleep dragged him down.
He opened his eyes on the clearing where he found Maeve before his duel with Sebastian. The trees, close together to form a living barricade, still hid forms in their shadows. From one of those shadows she stepped, wearing a white sheath dress gathered at the waist, with long billowing sleeves. Here feet were bare against the cool ground.
Maeve had not appeared this way that night long ago. She had worn travel clothes—leather pants and vest, with a dagger at her waist and a hard, suspicious look in her eyes. This Maeve wore her hair loose and smiled at him as she approached.
He took her hand, startled for a moment when he realized he wore no gloves. It is only a dream, he told himself, dipping his head down to kiss her. In dreams I can touch her the way she deserves to be touched.
Maeve was warm and almost too real feeling beneath him, her gasping mouth opening to let him deepen the kiss and explore her, taste her. He gripped her by the waist and pulled, her body pressed along the length of his, and she laughed low in her throat. “Even here?” she asked, pulling back from him. “I thought you might act a little different, in dreams.”
He blinked and reached out with his senses. There was something more about the dream. A clarity to it that one not often found. He touched her cheek, and the warmth of her skin dimpled under his fingers. “Maeve? Is that really you?”
She smiled, flashing white teeth in the darkness. “I thought that we might continue what we started here, since we were both so tired.” She rubbed against the front of him, breathing deep. “I got the ingredients at the apothecary on the way back from the ship.”
Rodan blinked. She said it as though it were that simple. Gather the ingredients. Mix the potion. Voila. “You have made this potion before?” he asked carefully.
She nodded. “When I was with Sebastian. When we were in Karst.”
“Sebastian knew you did this?”
She nodded again, and frowned. “Why? What’s wrong?”
Everything, he thought, but you wouldn’t understand that, would you? The dream pressed against him, real despite his natural defenses. She should not have been able to do this. Should not be able to get through to him.
He reached for her again, this time letting his bare fingers wrap around her wrist. The sizzle of their contact as real as in the waking world, even more so without cloth or leather between his skin and hers. He rubbed a thumb along the inside of her wrist and saw her eyes darken with longing.
He shook his head, trying to clear it. The feel of her, intoxicating, made his head swim. “Why did you bring me here?”
Her hand came up, and she ran fingers through his long hair. “I wanted to surprise you. I wanted to be with you, only—only I wanted it to be here. In dreams. Not in person.” She gave him a sly smile. “Not yet.” Something darkened her eyes, and she continued, “This may be our only chance, if you take the selkie to wife.”
“I won’t do that,” he argued.
“You say you won’t, but you might. You might take someone else, before the trials are over. Before that happens,” she leaned up and drew another kiss from his lips before continuing, “I want to be with you. All of you. No gloves. No anything.”
He took control of the dream walking, their surroundings falling like rain to the ground, his bedroom in the palace appearing instead. Much like his room in the inn, though grander with a bed massive enough for several people, a pang lanced through him as he saw the writing desk where he spent long hours, composing missives to other worlds. He wrote reams, over the years, bookshelves filled with his thoughts. Had they all perished once Sebastian took the throne? Burned to ash?
Maeve touched his jaw, bringing his attention back to her. “Is this your room in the palace?”
He nodded. “This is home.”
Her eyes never left him, yet she said, “It’s beautiful.”
I would have shared it with you long before now, if you had only said yes. How different would things be, if she accepted him back them? Sided with him? She remained the reason he lost the duel. He knew it. He also knew it was because of her that he escaped with his life.
“You’re beautiful, Maeve,” he murmured, plunging his hands into her hair. Soft like silk between his fingers, he sent up a prayer of thanks for the feeling. For being free of those gloves, even if only in dreams. “You brought me here for a reason, didn’t you?”
She nodded, a smile forming on her lips. “You know I did. I want you, Rodan. I know you want me, too. So, take what you want.”
He did not wait for further instruction. He inhaled her, the honeysuckle scent heady and overwhelming. His hands fisted in her hair, and he pulled taut, her gasp opening her mouth and her lovely eyes widening as he neared her.
They crashed together, and it was as though a storm unleashed. In the manner of dreams—even dream walking—events slipped forward in time, liquid and disconnected.
One moment he kissed her, tilting her head back as her fingers worked at the laces of his shirt, and the next they fell on his bed. Her dress pushed from her shoulders and her breasts spilled into his hands, his mouth pressed against the soft skin of her chest.
Then he rolled on top of her, running a hand under her skirts to find the seat of her pleasure, and she cried out beneath him.
Then they joined, her dress a puddle on the floor and his own clothes nowhere to be seen. His hair fell like a curtain to shield them, and her nails raked down his shoulders and back as she moaned his name.
Then she pulled his head to her and thrust her tongue into his mouth, so that the stroking of their tongues matched the pace he set below.
Then she sat astride him, her head thrown back as cries spilled like prayers from her lips. Slick sweat beaded down her back as he grasped and guided her, and he realized he had known nothing quite like this. Not ever. The intensity of it should not be so much in a dream. It should have been muted, almost distant, but instead he felt every centimeter of movement, every twitch of her body and shuddering breath she exhaled.
Then they neared the peak, and he flipped her back so that she lay below him again, his movements losing some of their careful guidance. Erratic, almost lost to it all, she urged him on with her legs wrapped around his hips and her hands splayed on his chest, fingernails cutting into his skin. As he shuddered to his release, she cried her own, and they stopped still, hearts thundering where their chests pressed into each other.
She lay in his arms, breathing hard but smiling, her lips trailing hot kisses along his collarbone.
“I knew you would be good,” she muttered against his skin. “If we never get a chance to do this in person, at least we had tonight.”
He held her tight. “I don’t plan on letting you get away from me that easily.”
She laughed, and he felt her picking at the edges of the dream, beginning to tear at it. She lifted up onto her elbows, looking down at him, her tawny hair falling over her shoulders. “I won’t be your mistress, Rodan. I refuse to be the other woman.”
“The other woman?”
“It’s a saying in my world. The woman who’s screwing the married man. I won’t do it. If you’re with someone else, that’s who you’re with. That’s the bed you choose to lie in.” She shook her head. “You’re not taken yet, so you’re fair game, but once you’re not—this will never happen again.”
He reached out with his senses and tried to stop the slow disintegration of the dream. “I told you I won’t marry the selkie.”
“No,” she said, and her voice seemed to cry even though her eyes were dry, “but what about the others, Rodan? There are three more kingdoms to quest through after this. You need to cement alliances. Win hearts and minds. The best way to do that is through marriage. I’m not a fool.”
Something hollow bloomed in his chest. “I’m occupied with you,” he insisted. “I only ever offered the queenship—”
“I know,” s
he interrupted. “But I’m no good for you, politically. Who am I? I’m nobody. I have no ties to this world. I can offer you nothing. I could when you extended me the queenship. I could have offered you Sebastian, and an end to the rebellion. Now? Now, I can give you nothing.”
“That’s not true—”
“You know it to be true,” she soothed, and the unraveling sped up, the edges of the room falling into darkness. “Let’s not lie to each other.” Before he protested, she leaned down and placed a kiss on his lips. “Thank you for tonight.”
Rodan awoke with her lingering on his tongue and the scent of honeysuckle on the air. He gripped the covers as he sat up, his head swimming. He stared at the door separating them, picturing Maeve awake on the other side, silent and watchful.
I could go to her. Finish what this started, he thought, his body aching with the need for release. Exhaustion still tugged at him. He had been asleep for a few hours, nothing more.
He lay back down, closing his eyes and tossing an arm over his forehead.
She will not be the other woman, he thought. She will not be a mistress. A concubine. I do not blame her.
In his world, in the Fae court, such a position would be met with respect, but that was not the case where she came from. He spent enough time in her world to understand that. She wanted exclusivity.
Could he offer it?
He and the selkie would never happen, he would see to that, but Maeve spoke true when she said that there may be others. Other offers, some which could be too fortuitous to pass up.
The thought made parts of him tense, and he wondered at the sensation. He had to be pragmatic. A king, deposed or no, made alliances. Never before was he in the position he found himself in now, where he must gather support and fight for his throne. There remained little he would not do to ensure that he got it.
Yet the thought of Maeve’s kiss, of the sounds she made as he thrust within her, flashed through his mind.
If he managed to get to the throne without a promise of marriage, what then? Would he offer her the queenship once more, or did the moment lay firmly behind him?
Catching Pathways Page 16
