The Beginning of Everything (The Rising Book 1)

by Kristen Ashley

  He grinned.

  Something else he now knew.

  “And I know of Frey and Sjofn Drakkar,” she carried on softly. “And I’d like to hear more of them from you.”

  Aramus drew in a mighty breath and let it out.

  “And you will, my queen,” he replied, just as softly.

  “Thank you.”

  “It will be my pleasure,” he murmured, meaning it.

  She said no more.

  Aramus waited until he heard her breath steady.

  And then he let himself sleep.

  19

  The Rubble

  Queen Mercy Axelsson

  Guest Suite, Second Floor, East Corridor, Catrame Palace, Fire City

  FIRENZE

  “Shouldn’t we attempt to make headway with the Mar-el?” her husband asked.

  “A waste of time,” Carrington answered.

  Queen Mercy of Wodell sat curled on the divan, fiddling with a fold in her skirts, her eyes on her fingers’ movements, her attention on her husband and his counsellor.

  “I’m uncertain. He’s on the mainland. He’s never on the mainland. We have an opportunity to have his ear,” Wilmer replied. “True says—”

  Carrington interrupted him.

  And one could say Mercy detested it when Carrington interrupted her husband.

  “Yes, and the love of your son’s life is marrying an Airenzian. But she’s besotted with your son. He holds sway over her. With her many…” Carrington spared a glance at Mercy, “assets, she could quickly gain sway over Cassius.”

  There was no one on this planet who could sway Cassius.

  Except Liviana.

  However, she was dead.

  That said, with the way he had demonstrated he could care for a woman when he had his wife, if he were to come to feel that way about Elena…

  This might be a rarity, Carrington making an utterance that held any merit.

  Then again, if Elena remained enamored of True, Cassius would not miss that.

  So there it was.

  Carrington did not make an utterance that held merit.

  “But Cassius has no sway over Gall. They don’t get along. At all,” Wilmer noted.

  “Gallienus is weak. The soldiers of his army follow Cassius. And there has always been unrest in his realm. But he, like all his predecessors, chooses to ignore that every male in their land does not wish to look on their wives, daughters or sisters like chattel. I predict he’ll be naught but a figurehead in a year. In fact, Cassius tires of him so obviously, he might force the man to make him regent.”

  “I can’t imagine the Airenzian will blindly follow a man married to a Nadirii,” Wilmer said something wise for a change. “In fact, that nation will see much strife due to this union.”

  That nation already had much strife and it wasn’t simply the women who were far from fond they lived in a realm where the king and many of the male population had three uses for them: to bed them, to force them into service and to oppress them.

  There were also men in that realm who thought this practice was repellant, men even back centuries ago, before the Night of the Fallen Masters, who felt their brethren got their just desserts.

  And Mercy had long since suspected Cassius Laird was one of those men.

  But those in power would do anything to keep their power.

  She knew that all too well.

  “And you don’t think an alliance of the strategic mind and might of Cassius Laird and the magicks controlled by the Nadirii along with their prowess in the field won’t quell said strife?” Carrington inquired. “You saw their demonstration tonight. It was breathtaking. And telling, as Ophelia meant it to be. It would be an extraordinary alliance. If it can be achieved, it can’t be beat. Not even by the Firenz.”

  Ah.

  There it was.

  Mercy smoothed out her skirt.

  “Not to mention, Cassius clearly has a bond with the pirate king,” Carrington carried on. “This would mean Airen and Nadirii and Mar-el and most important, Wodell all allied against Firenze.

  “This makes sense,” her husband murmured.

  Mercy quelled a sigh.

  Cassius did have a bond with the Mar-el king.

  But he thought of Mars as brother.

  She did not enter this fact into the conversation. She rarely spoke when Carrington had her husband’s ear.

  She found it served her purposes much better to have her words in private.

  “Our focus is Gall,” Carrington declared. “Cassius. Ophelia. Elena. Even Serena, if we can manage to charm her in the slightest. She prefers Dellish men for her adventures. There might be a way we can gain some advantage of her there. Perhaps one of True’s men?”

  Mercy fought a roll of her eyes to the ceiling.

  None of her son’s men would touch Serena for fifty bags of gold.

  And everyone knew, Serena was a use-it-and-lose-it woman.

  As in, she used a shaft once, then she walked away.

  “I don’t think one of True’s men would be wise,” Wilmer murmured.

  Mercy’s lips curled up slightly.

  “I’ll think on it,” Carrington replied. “But we persevere with our strategy. Wodell has had an alliance with the Nadirii for decades. If Airen has an alliance with the Nadirii, as well as Mar-el, Firenze will be left in the cold. We’ll get that tract of land, Wilmer, and as planned, once we do, we’ll push south.”

  Mercy faked a yawn.

  “My wife tires, Carrington,” Wilmer stated. “We’ll take this up in the morning.”

  “Of course,” Carrington muttered, sounding aggrieved.

  Mercy lifted her eyes to him.

  When he turned to her, his expression changed.

  She found hiding her thoughts and feelings was most of the time wise.

  With Carrington, she did not do that.

  He had her husband’s ear.

  She had his bed and had given him an heir.

  She had but to yawn, and her husband was dispatching his aide.

  Even a fool like Carrington knew who rose to the top of that power structure.

  And she enjoyed taking her moments to remind him of that.

  He bowed smarmily and said, “My queen.”

  “Goodnight, Carrington.”

  “My king,” he said to Wilmer.

  “Carrington.”

  He took his leave.

  Mercy stared at the door for many moments, cursing the thick carpets in the halls of the palace where you couldn’t hear footfalls.

  She’d had the carpets in the halls taken up in her own castle years ago.

  It was a wonder Elpis didn’t do this but an hour after her husband leaked his lifeblood all over the floor of his own study.

  She tore her gaze away from the door when Wilmer got close.

  “Would you like to prepare for bed, my beloved?”

  “Leave True to his own engagements,” she said quietly.

  His head tipped to the side. “I’m sorry?”

  “Carry forward your strategy, my love, and allow True to do what he will,” she explained.

  Her husband’s back snapped straight.

  He would, of course, take umbrage that his wife made a suggestion in the dealings of a nation (and he did, often, though she managed to handle that, just as often).

  Sadly, things were not, amongst the other realms, that much different than they were in Airen.

  Just as he would take ridiculous advice from a greedy man who had no battle experience, no diplomatic experience, and only came to them when Wilmer was younger and sang his charlatan’s song after finishing a degree at the Go’Da.

  Certainly, it was an advanced degree.

  But knowing the precise date the Lunwynians arrived on their shores and intermingled their language that would soon sweep the continent, all except Firenze, as well as left some of their gods and goddesses with the Dellish. And knowing when the Mar-el expelled the dissenters who sailed the seas and started th
e nation of Maroo in the Southlands. And knowing precisely when the aqueducts were finished in Sky Bay did not make a King’s Counsellor.

  “True represents the crown in all things,” her husband declared.

  “Of course he does,” she murmured. “However, when results are far from guaranteed, don’t you think two negotiators attempting two lines of negotiation, both for the benefit of our realm, are better than all focusing on just one?”

  Wilmer blinked and then appeared adorably befuddled.

  Mercy waited.

  He cleared that and stated, “This bears contemplation.”

  She waited again, hoping.

  He dashed her hopes.

  “I’ll discuss it with Carrington tomorrow.”

  She again quelled a sigh.

  “Are you coming to bed?” he asked.

  “Of course, my love,” she whispered, pushed up, and Wilmer shouted, “Helga! See to your queen!”

  The door to the servant’s chamber instantly opened.

  Mercy moved toward the bathing chamber and her dressing room.

  Helga followed.

  Perhaps she’d be able to have another word with him before he breakfasted with Carrington like he did every day.

  Or perhaps it was time for something else.

  The tremors might have stopped, but the earth was still shifting.

  And as seemed to happen with alarming frequency, Wodell was being relegated to the rubble.

  Aramus wed the greatest beauty in his land.

  Cassius got a princess.

  Mars got a countess.

  And her son True would be bound to the blood of a traitor.

  The blood of a traitor who, no matter that Mars showed her deep affection any time he saw her (this had to be a ruse to keep True and Wilmer happy, she wouldn’t countenance such a person her presence, as Elpis did not hide she had trouble doing), was first, a barbarian who barely clothed herself when out in company. And second, was so far from good enough for her son, the future king of her realm, it didn’t bear contemplating.

  Therefore, as usual, Mercy had to protect her husband.

  She also had to find some way to strengthen the position of her son.

  And last, she had to take care of her realm.

  So yes, perhaps it was time for something else.

  Something daring.

  Something ghastly.

  But something necessary.

  20

  The Bargain

  Princess Elena

  Guest Suite, Second Floor, East Corridor, Catrame Palace, Fire City

  FIRENZE

  “At least he’s handsome, I suppose.”

  “Very handsome.”

  “And tall.”

  “Very tall.”

  “Sadly, now I’m out of things to say about him.”

  “I’m not. He’s gargantuan so she won’t have to tip her head down to kiss him. That’s important. I find it’s a much more natural position to tip my head back when I’m being kissed.”

  “I prefer to tip it down.”

  “Of course you would, because Rosehana is shorter than you.”

  I studied myself in the mirror as Jasmine and Hera babbled from their positions on the bed in my rooms in the palace. This being beyond the screen I was dressing behind, both of them lying abed with Dora while I readied myself for the betrothal dinner.

  I stopped studying myself and instead stared at myself.

  Something was not right.

  And it was not that the bloody corset I was wearing that was so tight, I could barely breathe.

  It was also not the fact that I imminently had to face Prince Cassius Laird again and I wanted to do that about as much as I wanted my skin flayed from my body.

  It was that I’d never dressed this way before.

  Melisse had commissioned the garment and all its accoutrements. When she explained what it was, I’d balked.

  She told me to trust her.

  As I trusted Melisse in all things, I endured the fittings that carried on throughout our journey to and through Firenze (as we had two seamstresses in the squad who could fit it perfectly to me, something they did).

  I was not trusting Melisse now.

  For in the now, I wore a sheath of stiff black satin. It had no straps, the material running straight over my breasts (exposing some of them at the top) and that was that. The cloth hugged me to my lower hips where it flared out (fortunately, so I could bloody walk). There was a short train at the back. And from the hem of the train and all the way up the back were tiny, fabric-covered buttons.

  Melisse had procured a necklace that wrapped around the column of my neck in five layers of small pearls. There was another of such around my wrist. And pearls in my ears.

  And for some reason, I was to add long black gloves that rose nearly to under my arms (the bracelet was to be worn over the gloves—so odd).

  This, I had just done.

  But it wasn’t just bloody uncomfortable.

  It wasn’t right.

  I bent at the waist toward the mirror and felt the stays of the corset dig into my flesh.

  I ignored them and stared at my painted face.

  Jasmine had done this for me because she was good at it.

  A hint of strawberry rouge on my cheeks.

  A not-so-hint of red rose at my lips.

  The edges of my eyelashes were tipped with a thin line of liquid black paint that sent wings out to the sides and my lids were shadowed with some pearlescent powder.

  And she’d brushed some black substance on my lashes with a tool that looked like a miniscule auger.

  I looked like me.

  But I didn’t.

  My hair was down, falling over my chest and down my back and…

  I turned to the tray of womanly wares Jasmine had brought with her.

  “I think I’ll start with the dark-headed one when I make my way through his guard,” Jasmine said as I looked back to the mirror and bunched my hair up at the back of my head before reaching out to the tray.

  But of course.

  Jasmine didn’t discriminate.

  And thus she was planning her Airenzian sexual conquests.

  “They’re all dark-headed, save the bald one,” Hera replied as I shoved a pin into my hair and reached for another one.

  “Precisely,” Jasmine returned as I fixed another pin. “I’ll finish with the bald one.”

  “You can’t like them all, Jazzy,” Dora entered the conversation.

  “I don’t like them, little precious,” Jasmine retorted. “And this is important, Dora, so listen. I don’t have to like them.”

  “All right!” I called an end to that, shoving in another pin and hearing a giggle from Dora.

  “You might want to know, you’re fifteen minutes late!” Jasmine called back.

  “Bloody hell,” I whispered, shoved in another pin and then stared at myself.

  Some tendrils were hanging down beside my face and along my neck, and turning my head side to side, the back seemed just to be a mass of messy curls attached to my skull.

  But I didn’t have time to do anything more and I didn’t know what I was doing in the first place.

  Though at least now you could see the necklace and the pearls in my ears.

  I’d have to do.

  “Come out, Ellie!” Dora cried. “We want to see you!”

  I had buttoned and laced my own self in my clothing, and after besting that feat, I could just say it was good the Nadirii practiced intense stretching to augment range of motion.

  I looked into my own eyes and whispered, “Nothing for it.”

  And there wasn’t.

  There was nothing for it.

  By some twist of a malcontented fate, I was stuck with a taciturn betrothed who, when he deigned to look at me, studied me like I was some specimen he was mildly curious about.

  A male who was also surrounded by arseholes (his father) and louts (his men).

  And from this dinner forward
, that would be my lot.

  Mine and Dora’s.

  And for some reason that was entirely unexplainable, I was drawn to him so deeply, his inattention when we were in each other’s presence cut like a blade.

  I had slept not a wink the night before. I tossed and turned, my mind filled with his face (and his shoulders, and the way he filled out his leathers, and his short-clipped black hair, and his beard, and his tattoos, not to mention his sky-blue eyes).

  Bah!

  I had not spent much time with men (save True). They unnerved me (save True, and of course the ones I was battling).

  So I’d never felt such as this in my life.

  Even for True.

  I moved out from behind the screen and stopped to look at the trio who were all belly down on the bed, side by side.

  All of them were staring at me.

  I put my arms out to my sides. “Well?”

  “Holy goddess,” Jasmine breathed.

  “If I wasn’t already in love, I’d be in love,” Hera said. “With you.”

  “You look like a princess!” Dora cried.

  I studied my girl a moment before my gaze slid to Hera.

  She was pursing her lips.

  I turned back to Theodora. “I’m already a princess, Dora. And darling, this is important. A gown does not make a princess.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “But now, you look like one who’ll ride to her fairytale prince on a unicorn.”

  I opened my mouth to cease this bent, but Theodora wasn’t done.

  “You already ride faster than anyone, Ellie. Faster than lightning. And you can notch five arrows to a string in a thrice and let fly. Five. Even Serena can only do three. And Queen Ophelia told me that princesses are made, they are not born. So you can light up the night with starbursts and butterflies and ride Diana standing and wear a gown meant for a queen. Serena can’t do any of that. And you couldn’t do any of that when you were born. So you were made a princess. And how beautiful you are right now proves it, because you look this lovely, and you can still do all of that. No normal fairytale princess can do any of it, save the gown. So you’re the real thing!”

  Oh heavens.

  Suddenly I felt like crying.

  And I realized then I didn’t need some male I did not know to be impressed I could notch a bow with five arrows while standing on my galloping horse and let fly.