The Rising

by Kristen Ashley

  This had become her habit.

  When he took it off, if she was there, she took it up and changed into it.

  If she wasn’t there, she sought it out and then she changed into it.

  She also appeared to be rubbing something into her hands as she came his way, a small smile flirting with her lips.

  “And make our friends face the Beast by themselves?” she asked, coming to where he lay across the foot of the bed, with his head in his hand, his elbow to the bed, not hiding the fact he was in this position waiting so he could watch her walk to him wearing his shirt.

  He did not hide it because he did this every night, if he didn’t take her right to bed to make love to her the moment they found their chamber of an evening.

  He reached out a hand, caught his shirt on his woman’s body by the hem, and drew her to him, saying, “They can come with us.”

  He fell to his back as she put a knee to the bed by his hip, swung her other leg around, and settled astride him.

  “And leave all of the rest of Triton to be devoured by pure evil?” she queried.

  “I don’t know all the rest of Triton,” he told her. “How do I know I care about all the rest of Triton? They might be a continent of arseholes.”

  She placed her hands on his chest and smiled down at him.

  He allowed her smile to settle deep into his stomach and then he whispered, “I am happy.”

  Her smile faltered as bright hit her eyes.

  “Cass,” she whispered in return.

  “I am,” he asserted. “I am happy, Ellie. We have lost ones we love. My country is at war. The Beast may have risen. But my daughter is asleep down the hall in her bed in a bedchamber that is no longer black and blue, but lavender and pink. My other daughter’s chamber adjoins hers and I know they sneak into each other’s rooms at night, to whisper and connive little-girl plots and share little-girl dreams. I have friends I care about close to drink and dine with. And last, I have you here, astride me, smiling down at me, washing me with your sun even in the middle of the night.”

  She dropped down as if she could not hold her torso up any longer, doing this as she covered his face with both of her hands so that he could smell her balm was made with aloe and lavender.

  She slid her hands down to the sides of his head when her forehead hit his.

  “I fear for my daughter,” he whispered when all he could see was her amethyst eyes.

  “I know,” she also whispered.

  “I fear for your daughter.”

  “I do as well.”

  “Our friends.”

  “Yes.”

  “Our realms.”

  Her voice was husky when she said his name, “Cassius.”

  “I do not want this happiness to end. And all I know of life is that any happiness that comes, comes to an end.”

  “Sweetheart, listen to me,” she urged, putting mild pressure on either side of his head. “We charged down a mountain to face sure and imminent death, and here we are.”

  “Ellie.”

  “I am Nadirii and you are Airenzian and for nearly three hundred years, it was impossible to consider such a union amongst our royal lines. And here we are.”

  He drew her hair up at both sides of her head and held it at the back, but he made no reply.

  “We have already beat the odds, Cassius. More than once. There is no stopping us now.”

  His fingers fisted and he growled, “I will not lose you.”

  “No, you will not,” she stated fiercely.

  “I will plant babies in you.”

  “Yes,” she said breathlessly, tipping her chin down so her lips were against his.

  “I will sleep beside you as the days pass and I will do so until your hair turns white. Until one of us wakes in the morn not breathing. And if it is you that goes first, I will close my eyes and the gods will know I have no further purpose on this earth, so they will know to take the last of my breaths so I can join you.”

  “Yes,” she whispered, one of her hands leaving his head so it could reach between them.

  And in a few deft moves, she was sliding onto his cock.

  He lunged up inside her, forcing a breath from between her lips to caress his.

  “And if it is you who is first lost, the goddess will take my breath and guide me to you,” she panted.

  “Yes,” he grunted, bucking beneath her, meeting her strokes, holding her hair in his fingers so he could hold her lips close, and he stared into her eyes.

  They moved as one, and when he felt it gathering in his sac, when he felt her breaths come faster, her pussy clutch his cock greedily, he stated ferociously, “You own my heart, Ellie.”

  And moments before they both came, he watched in distracted surprise, but surprise nevertheless, as she gasped, “And you own mine, Cass.”

  And her eyes became a starry-night sky.

  Jellan

  Cyrus, Town at the Northeast of the Argyll Forest, Forty-Five Miles from Silbury Henge

  AIREN

  It was done for him.

  He would take no more.

  This he thought as he lay on his back in the bed in that little, squalid inn, his knees commanded to be bent, up and spread (and as commanded by Daemon, obviously, they were thus) as Marian brutally fingered his arse in a way he knew she intended him not to enjoy it (not that he would, it coming from her) and Daemon tugged on Jellan’s cock while he was in the midst of fucking Jellan’s mouth.

  Through this, Daemon alternately watched Marian’s ministrations, or by the sounds of it, kissed her.

  It was revolting.

  The lot of it.

  Unfortunately, his body’s chemistry was such his workings at his cock could not be ignored.

  Though he did not get to finish, not that he’d wish to do that anyway with their hands upon him.

  Daemon pulled out of his mouth, yanked Marian up Jellan’s body, positioned her above Jellan’s head, and Jellan received the most enjoyment he’d had that evening when Daemon shoved his spectacular member up her unsuspecting arsehole, and he heard her cry of pain.

  She swallowed that cry, the bitch. The whore. The liar. The cunt.

  And then she moaned falsely, as if she was enjoying it.

  He closed his eyes against the sight.

  Yes, he was done.

  Finished.

  No more.

  He would never win Daemon.

  He suspected even Marian didn’t have her clutches in Daemon.

  Thus, Jellan would get away. Escape. Find some way to get to Sky Bay. Then make his way straight to the Citadel.

  They knew him. They trusted him. They would receive him.

  And this civil war they’d learned of was most convenient for Jellan, for all the rulers were there.

  At that moment.

  In Airen.

  And he’d have all their ears.

  He’d tell them of the Beast. He’d share about Marian. He’d put the blame entirely on her shoulders that the creature most feared in Triton was on the surface. He’d advise on how they could fulfill the prophecy.

  And they would be grateful.

  They might shower him with treasure. And when he shared he had no stomach for the ways of the Go’Doan, not after the mess of The Rising, and he renounced his priesthood, they might even give him a manor (he’d pick southern Airen, it was rather temperate down there, perhaps a lovely vineyard all his own, he quite fancied making wine).

  Daemon’s grunts grew louder. The bed shook more powerfully. And Marian couldn’t quite conceal the lilt of pain in her moans.

  And Jellan closed his eyes tighter.

  But even attempting to drown them out, he would have felt the shimmering.

  It was not only in the veil; it was of the earth.

  Of the earth.

  The very bed he lay upon hummed with it.

  Like a coo.

  Even a cuddle.

  Enfolding him in warmth.

  He opened his eyes and by t
he true gods…

  He could even see it glimmer in the air.

  Marian’s moans became high-pitched before Daemon shouted his release and Jellan turned his head to the side, not seeing their calves there.

  Holding his breath.

  Waiting.

  Daemon shoved her off and she fell to the bed above Jellan’s head.

  “Now, you,” Daemon decreed, and Jellan found his body also pushed up as Daemon positioned between his legs.

  He held them high behind Jellan’s knees as he used him, but Jellan didn’t think on it.

  He stroked his own cock, as Daemon liked, and brought forth a mediocre orgasm, something Daemon didn’t know was mediocre, and even if he did, he probably would not care, but either way, he liked that too.

  But this was all a distraction.

  Because they had not felt it.

  Going about their vile business, they had not felt it.

  The prophesied lovers’ power was growing, even beyond what Jellan could have imagined.

  Yes, he had to get to the them.

  He’d made his choice.

  It was time.

  And he would.

  He would escape.

  For he had power too.

  138

  The Interrogation

  King Noctorno

  Interrogation Cell, Crittich Keep, Notting Thicket

  WODELL

  “Alfie should be here,” Apollo murmured. “I feel he is about to break.”

  “Allow Bronagh time to do her work and Alfie time to get stronger. He will venture out,” Tor replied.

  Or Tor hoped so.

  Eventually.

  “He’s getting around well in that chair that Maddie and Cora helped Bronagh design for him that he can wheel himself,” Apollo said.

  “He can hardly wheel his way across the city, my friend,” Tor pointed out.

  Apollo drummed the leather-covered fingers of his right hand on the table at which he sat.

  Tor fought a smile.

  Apollo hadn’t even taken off his gloves.

  He grew impatient with this G’Seph-Seph-Joseph (as Cora would say, whatever) cretin.

  As did Tor.

  They should be away to Sky Bay. They needed to join the others, not dither about denying aught to a prisoner with no leverage trying to convince them he had leverage.

  The door opened and two Keep guards dragged Joseph to the seat opposite Apollo and forced him in it.

  Then they left the room.

  Tor fought a flinch at the sight of his arms ending at his wrists.

  Tor had fought wars, lost battles, but thankfully won the wars, and he’d seen men with Joseph’s injuries, as with Alfie’s.

  The true warriors, in his estimation, were the kind like Alfie.

  It was clear Alfie had not simply put his injury behind him and moved along. He struggled. There were frequent moments of darkness that he was not able to hide.

  But he was robust. Fit. It seemed daily, his upper body physically strengthened, and this was because he worked hard at it.

  And he had found a calling. He had shifted the meaning that was always his life to the same meaning, just going about it a different way.

  And he carried on.

  This…

  Joseph.

  He had earned his injuries at the hands of his own, who had turned on him for the gods didn’t know what reason, but any brotherhood that would take the hands of a brother was no brotherhood at all.

  All of them locked in an undertaking that was wrong from the start.

  It turned Tor’s stomach.

  “I will warn you,” Apollo said, his eyes jade daggers aimed to the prisoner who had rested his stumps on the table between them, “if you waste our time again, there will no longer be anyone to listen to your blathers. This will be our last visit.”

  “I—” Joseph started.

  Tor spoke from where he stood with his shoulders against the wall to the side of Apollo.

  “Your Golden Thomas is dead.”

  Joseph lifted his gaze to Tor and blinked at him repeatedly, all the while his face paled.

  “He was found in a clearing in the Lesser Thicket Forest not far from a pile of dead women,” Tor went on. “His head had been crushed.”

  “By the true gods,” Joseph whispered.

  “Another one of your people,” Apollo took up the narrative, gaining Joseph’s attention when he did, “identified as G’Fenn, or Fennley Trehurst of Wodell, was with him. He’d been decapitated.”

  Joseph’s mouth dropped open.

  “Do you know what this clearing is used for?” Tor asked.

  Joseph wasted most of both the men’s remaining store of patience, which admittedly was not much, in pulling himself together, straightening in his chair, at the same time obviously trying to work out how to twist this to his advantage, when Tor decided to end it.

  “We know the Beast has ascended. We can put the dead women together with the fact some ritual was performed to make that happen, and we can deduce from the dead Rising priests in that location that they did not get what they bargained for when he arrived. Though, their bodies there offers irrefutable evidence your lost cause was behind it.”

  And the minute Tor spoke the words the Beast, all pretense dropped for Joseph.

  “So they did it,” he said.

  “Apparently,” Tor replied, pushing from the wall. “Which states, as of now, the level of your guilt rises with the level of atrocities your cause wished to unleash on this land. Not to mention the fact pertinent to this moment. You are useless.”

  “I didn’t know!” he cried, lifting a stump toward Apollo as Apollo also shifted as if to rise.

  “You haven’t told us any of what you do know,” Apollo reminded him. “However, at this juncture, whatever it is you know…or knew, has no meaning.”

  “What I mean to say is, they spoke of it. But I didn’t know they were going forward with it,” Joseph told them.

  Apollo settled himself back in his chair and Tor again rested his shoulders against the wall as Apollo spoke.

  “You didn’t know they were going forward with what?”

  “Working with the Society. Bringing forth the Beast,” Joseph explained.

  Apollo glanced at Tor.

  Tor lifted his chin.

  Apollo looked back to Joseph.

  “What Society?” Apollo asked.

  “I must have your assurances—” Joseph began.

  “You have no assurances. You have nothing,” Apollo stated impatiently. “Outside convincing us you had nothing to do with raising a creature we’ve even heard across a vast ocean about his last reign of terror. And that happened before man had thought to put pen to paper to record history, because pen nor paper had been invented yet. For I can assure you, as King True will be on the battle lines in fighting this thing, when he wins, he will not have a great deal of tolerance for anyone involved in the rising of it. And the last man he had little tolerance for endured a very prolonged, very public death.”

  Joseph’s face twisted. “Then what is the point of saying anything? For if the Beast is indeed risen, we are all going to die.”

  “I don’t intend to die,” Tor said.

  “I don’t either,” Apollo added.

  “We have a friend who commands dragons and those dragons are here, on Triton,” Tor informed him.

  “And I command the wolves. Not to mention, our wives are witches.” Apollo flung a hand Tor’s way. “The wives of all the rulers of this continent are witches. And the King of the Mer, which are the people, it’s my understanding, who defeated the creature the last time, has allied with all nations.”

  Joseph seemed shocked at all this information, most specifically the last.

  “I don’t know the ins and outs of the lore of this Beast, but I’d guess back then, this evil unknown, how to stop it most especially, the odds were stacked in his favor,” Tor reflected. “Now, they most decidedly are not.”


  “And since we all intend to survive, though we know it will not be pretty,” Apollo continued, “my reckoning is that we’ll all be in very foul moods in regards to anyone involved in this villainy when it’s over.”

  “It wasn’t me,” Joseph said in a small voice.

  “Convince us,” Tor demanded.

  “It wasn’t me!” Joseph cried.

  “Convince us!” Apollo barked.

  “The Society of the Beast has been trying to draw him to the surface for centuries,” Joseph spat.

  Finally.

  Tor and Apollo settled in.

  “Go on,” Apollo invited.

  “May I have some fresh water?” Joseph requested snidely.

  “You may,” Apollo agreed. “When you tell us something we give a shite about.”

  Joseph glared at him and then he sat back, crossing his arms on his chest.

  “It is in the tomes. Of Go’Doan,” he stated. “The Society of the Beast. I’ve read them myself and I thought it was ridiculous. Wicked men going about the wicked business of rape and murder and convincing themselves it had some higher power, some purpose, by telling themselves this was at the calling of the Beast. That in sacrificing virgins every fortnight, or whatever the schedule, the Beast would be roused, and he would ascend.”

  Neither Tor nor Apollo spoke a word, though the thickness of the air in that cold, cramped room spoke to their moods at hearing what they were hearing.

  “It was G’Thom’s idea,” Joseph carried on. “To discover if they continued to do this, and if they did, seek them out and infiltrate their organization for the purpose of taking control of the Beast when it rose and using it to complete the work of The Rising should we need that assistance. He sent G’Jell on this mission, which, in my opinion, something I shared at the time, was a faulty decision. Jell cares for no one but Jell. And regardless, he only likes cock up his arse, so how is he going to rape anybody?”

  “So G’Thom, who was the leader of your faction, sent another priest to join this Society,” Apollo stated.

  “Yes.”

  “However, you said you didn’t know they did it, but here, you’re stating you knew they sent a priest to do this,” Apollo observed.

  “I do not keep track of Jell. I did not wish to keep track of Jell. Thom deciding to assess the situation and sending Jell to do it is one thing. Jell actually doing it is another. Indeed, I didn’t even know they had discovered there still was a Society. But truly, think on this. It’s ludicrous. Bringing forth the Beast? If that insane idea could come to fruition, then thinking you could control it? I actually thought it a good errand for Jell in the end. Useless but it kept him out of the way.”