Storm of Pleasure

by Eve Bradley

  “She doesn’t need me as much as the rest of the world needs me. Needs us. We’re the only ones aware of what’s happening. If we don’t do something, everyone will die. Come with me. Yamar is a lost cause. They’ll end up going into hiding anyway. This place is damned, and we have to make sure the rest of the world doesn’t end up the same way.”

  Valryn sauntered towards him, his fingers burning. Before Darrian could expect it, Valryn threw a rounding punch into his jaw. Darrian sputtered, holding his jaw and fury flickering across his face. He enjoyed the feeling far more than he thought he would. Gods, that had been bottled up inside him for a long time.

  “Val, Darrian...” Val heard the worry in Glend’s voice.

  Darrian threw a punch at Val and he dodged it, uppercutting him again in the face. This time, his bronze ring cut Darrian’s chin. Their thin clothes flapped as a gust came through the open walkway. Blood dripped down Darrian’s chin and neck.

  Valryn was surprised when Darrian pretended that he’d punch him in the face and then caught him around the middle. He jabbed him three times in the gut, and Val grabbed his arm and twisted him around, hitting him in the back in a few choice places. They groaned and their breath came quick. He wanted to beat him to the ground and remind him that he was lucky to be a Guardian. That he was lucky that she even chose him. He was beneath her if he couldn’t appreciate the position that thousands of men would die to be in.

  His stomach burned from the punches, but he didn’t have time to even think about the pain. Darrian dealt out blows a bit slower than Val, but he was also unpredictable, something that Val had always fought not to be in battle. He was tactical, and finally, he hit Val so hard in the face that he stumbled back, spewing blood from a torn lip. He spit the blood on the ground and then lunged.

  “Guys...really?” Glend interjected. “At least be naked so I can enjoy this.”

  But he had Darrian around the middle and they flew to the ground with heavy impact. Darrian grunted at the force and tried to wrangle him. But Val was quick to subdue his arms and forced him down so that he had access to his face. He dealt blow after blow to Darrian’s face. Back and forth. Fury kept him going.

  But then suddenly, he felt hands around his shoulders. Glend was trying to pull him off.

  He offered one last punch and then rolled off, chest heaving and blood having splattered everywhere. Darrian’s eyes and nose were puffed and bruised. He had scratches all over, and he coughed and spat as he sat up.

  “Fuck you,” Valryn said, and stumbled to a stand breathlessly.

  Glend glared at him and then went to Darrian and offered a hand.

  Darrian took it, and Glend helped the beaten man stand. The deadly look Valryn received gave his heart too much bliss.

  “Fuck you too you damn righteous prick.”

  There was a creaking at the door that led to the tower walkway, and Majmal and Kalif stood there, horrified at what they were observing. Majmal’s high painted eyebrows nearly hit his scalp when he saw Darrian, and his painted lips became a shocked circle.

  “What is going on up here?” Kalif demanded to know.

  “Oh, you know. A bit of this, a bit of that. You know men. Sometimes they get urges. They have to get it out of their system somehow,” Glend spoke airily, fingers gesturing about.

  “Well,” Kalif was quietly smug, and Valryn spit a mouthful of blood onto the ground once more.

  “It seems that whatever you were fighting for will have to wait. Perhaps if you wouldn’t have been up here mourning your depressions you’d know that the horn has been blown. Scouts have spotted her.”

  Valryn’s head rushed and he nearly fell over. She’d been spotted? His mouth tanged with the metallic taste of blood, and he shut his eyes and turned away from them for a moment. Gods, he wanted to shake the woman. His body ached, and he was lost in vehemence, longing, and sorrow.

  “And you almost left,” Val smirked to himself, pinning his words on Darrian.

  “So truly your little fight was for nothing,” Glend’s tone was peachy, and he went to stand beside Majmal. “How about you get the man cleaned up?” Glend jerked a hand to Darrian, who was in a worse state than Val.

  “How far is she?” he asked Kalif, who had been standing there, assessing them all with a judgmental gaze.

  “She’s half a days ride. She’ll be here this afternoon,” Kalif explained mysteriously, as if he held a bit of juicy information.

  Val stared at him unwaveringly, willing him to spit his words out. He didn’t want to take the bait.

  “Your comrade Lady Maru Laonoava is with her as well, among others.”

  “Others?” Darrian asked through a veil of blood and inflammation.

  Majmal began to guide Darrian with pushy hands.

  “Yes,” Kalif tilted his head and puffed out his gold plated chest. “Looked somewhat like an army.”

  Valryn let out a relieved breath. So she had been doing something important. The air around them grew considerably hotter when he realized that now there was much to do. They had to be at their highest potential. He had to prove to her that they would be able to help her and make her remember their worth so that she never left them. Not ever again.

  The stakes were higher in every aspect.

  Majmal tugged and prodded Darrian along. Briefly, Darrian looked up at Val, and his eyes had become softer, less hardened by obstinance. Valryn looked away quickly, nearly embarrassed by what he’d done. What would Catryn think? It didn’t matter. He had words for her, and his fight with Darrian would be the last thing they discussed.

  “The Sultan demands that he see her first,” Kalif added. “Wherever she’s been, he’ll want an intimate recount of all that happened.”

  Valryn lowered his chin in assent, and Glend smiled at Kalif as he strode away, the purple flutter of his decorative cloak nearly hitting Glend in the face. They were left alone as they had been before. Although this time, Glend looked at him as if he were sinfully amused.

  “I didn’t want to be right, but I knew you two would get into it sometime,” Glend chuckled and stepped towards him to inspect his face.

  His cool hands sent tingles into his hot skin, and he closed his eyes tiredly as Glend palpated his face.

  “He’s a bastard.”

  “He’s not. He’s just not your type,” Glend told him. “You trusted him a few months ago. What happened?”

  Val shook his head and glared out at the sun that was still rising as if sluggishly moving because it too wanted to piss him off.

  “You find the true measure of a person under pressure. He would have left her.”

  “Don’t tell me you didn’t have your own doubts?” Glend smirked and patted his cheek, shreds of pain passing through his jawbone.

  Valryn hated to admit that he’d doubted her and what she was doing. Still, he’d had to rely on his training. What else was there to do? He didn’t have a family crying out for him either, and this admittedly made it more understandable that Darrian would be urgent to leave. Still, it didn’t matter. No matter the situation, they should be loyal to her. There were no exceptions.

  He stayed silent, and Glend sighed out through his nose.

  “Careful. I hear hypocrisy is just as bad as desertion,” Glend’s words slithered towards him as he slipped past him.

  Val had nothing more to say. All he could do was wait. He stood in the tower hall overlooking the endless sea of sand until he could feel the tether. And then he tugged.

  Margaret

  The Raspandian Castle

  “Father.”

  He was older and always stood crookedly. She didn’t know what to say. His hair was sparsely gray, and his lips and cheeks were dappled by the sun. He bore the sign of his business embroidered upon his fine doublet, a snow lily. Her father smiled finally and revealed uneven teeth that stuck out awkwardly. She’d never thought he was very handsome, more of a ratty porcupine of a man.

  This smile was more than she’d gotten in her
entire childhood from him.

  “Margaret. My dearest. We heard rumors of your travels on the Westroads, and when King Ludrogan was murdered we worried for your safety.”

  Margaret wouldn’t broach the topic. In truth, she’d never been safe. She was still unsafe, perhaps more now than she’d been before. At least Lucarian had a reason to keep her alive. Queen Dedreia would be searching for any reason to off her. She knew that there was a strong semblance of jealousy in her aging face. This could only give Margaret so much satisfaction. What she really wanted was to escape.

  “I’m well,” she managed to say, and then let out a breath she’d been holding.

  “Well? Exceedingly well, if I don’t say so. Look at you. Queen of Raspandar. The most powerful kingdom of them all. You’ve gone above and beyond in your exploits, and for this, I commend you daughter,” he seemed vivacious, wildly passionate. Spittle flew from his mouth as he explained her feats. She felt her stomach flop.

  “Yes, well...” she swallowed, not knowing what to say.

  “My own daughter. I must say your mother and I are so proud. Your siblings have heard the news of course as well. Ah, perhaps you can take some of the girls and put them into higher stations. We need a better way of “marketing” the merchandise if you will. With King Ludrogan gone, we took a large blow,” he stepped forward a bit.

  She sat on a thickly cushioned seat, guards at her back. She had to remind herself to look dumb, and sound it too.

  “I can send word out that you have the finest courtesans to offer,” she smiled, forcing her lips to move.

  “And?” he pressured.

  “And what, father?” she leaned forward, blinking perplexedly.

  “Now that you are queen, I thought you might offer us a bit of gold. The winter has been cruel to us,” he expressed as pathetically as possible.

  She crossed her arms, hurt that he was only here for the money. How could he not see how miserable she was? How she was crying out internally to be free from this place? What if she couldn’t escape before Lucarian returned? The reality was...even if she survived Dedreia during Lucarian’s absence, she wasn’t certain she would survive with him home.

  “I’m not the holder of the gold, father. But I shall ask our treasurers to see to your predicament,” she smiled and then coughed, adding. “I think that’s what they’re called. Guards, see to it that my family is taken care of?”

  One guard sent a message to a page at the door, and she sighed.

  The air was salty as the breeze trailed in. The Gabrynal sloshed and cascaded below them, and she listened for the gulls she often heard between the crashing of whitecaps. He could offer her nothing, and now she knew this. She imagined flinging herself from the top of the tower. So many times she imagined this. Maybe that was her fate.

  “It was good to see you. Tell mother and the rest that I send my regards.”

  The scraggly man seemed confused that she was leaving their audience so quickly, but she couldn’t wait to be free of him.

  She shouldered past and her guards followed her.

  Things had only gotten worse. Dedreia had ordered the servants not to send for her when the audiences were held or when great banquets were ordered. Margaret didn’t know who to talk to. She mentioned the issue offhandedly to her guards, who had then begun to remind her of events. She was appreciative of them and thought that maybe, just maybe, they genuinely wanted to serve her.

  That night, she was invited to a private supper in the queen mother’s chambers. As she entered, she saw each of the princesses stationed at the table. Angeliva was dancing around foolishly. She lowered her head and walked silently to her place. A few of the councilmen sat there too, chuckling and jovial. Zothar was at the end of the table far from her, thankfully. It was a quiet and relaxed congregation. She felt that she was intruding.

  “Queen Margaret,” Dedreia bowed her head. “It’s a pleasure to see you. You look lovely.”

  She’d dressed well for any occasion that involved Dedreia. She would not wear something that suggested that she was still the same courtesan. She wanted to remind them all that Lucarian chose her, not any of them, to be his queen. She smiled shyly and returned the compliment. She looked down at the sparkling gown and festively forest-green cape she’d donned and hid this personal triumph.

  She caught Zothar looking down the table at her as if impressed, but she didn’t acknowledge him for more than half a second.

  The food was served. Springtime vegetables, rhubarb soup, a mash of potatoes, and blackberry wine. Bread was also kept floating across the small chestnut table. It was calm, and she could almost imagine feeling peaceful if it weren’t for the wanted sign hanging around her neck.

  “Did you hear, dear sister, our portraits have been sent out to a many great lords and kings,” Angeliva pressed herself forward in her seat intently. “I can only imagine the offers we shall get. It will be so nice...finally coming into our own crowns and kingdoms.”

  “I believe it shall be,” Margaret agreed sweetly.

  But there was something curious about the way she said it.

  “And with a new order, anything is possible. With our sisters building treaties across the lands, Raspandar will be undefeatable.”

  “And Malavash? Catharsa? What do you think you’ll be doing with them?” Zothar piped in through a hefty bite.

  “There’s not a kingdom to exist that would turn any of my sisters away,” she smirked, as if possessing some satire knowledge.

  But Margaret would disagree. Malavash was purely for Malavash. They disliked the cold northern kingdom almost as much as the royals of Catharsa did. Catharsa was a kingdom divided by a court of advanced, overbearing lords and ladies, and then the clans of Southern Catharsa. There were also a few alternate settlements of farmers and the odd closed community. But it was known that although differences of opinion and faith split them, all of Catharsa abided by the king’s laws.

  She knew little of Malavash, purely that they inhabited much of the south and extended as far south as the Citadel and as west as the property lines of Athos. Athos was a remarkably small kingdom for such a central location. It was a miracle it hadn’t been won over by Lucarian or Malavash during the winter months. Lucarian had grumbled his threats towards Yamar, the kingdom hidden in the eastern sands, the entire time they’d been traveling home.

  Evanona, however, was directly south of Raspandar, and spanned from the middle of the landmass to the southernmost tip of the land, containing mainly only land at the edge of the Gabrynal sea.

  “Evanona?” Margaret offered.

  “The fishmonger kingdom? I doubt we’d have any reason to join with them. They’re as good as Athos on the playing board. Their armies are weak and resources scarce,” Angeliva cackled as if it were obvious.

  Margaret forced a dry laugh.

  Dedreia glared over the candles.

  “Margaret, I did have a favor to ask of you. Since you hail from Catharsa, you know the language, I’d ask that you call upon the royals there. We want envoys. We want to show the Catharsans our hospitality. Perhaps you might work with Zothar in this. You can construct a list of the most influential lords you wish to join forces with. We will invite them to a week of festivities. Zothar, you are knowledgeable of these people as well?”

  He inclined his head slightly.

  “Good. Send invites to these people. We will need to make a better impression if we’re to rule the kingdoms from behind the curtains. That is something, Angeliva, that you might have forgotten.”

  Margaret’s stomach dropped, and she suddenly felt nauseous. Working with Zothar on anything would be prohibited if Lucarian were here. Why was Dedreia making a point to do this? It was staged. It was a trap. It was...terrifyingly dangerous. Yet her heart thumped in her chest like a drum.

  “What about Malavash?” Margaret swallowed, trying to keep her dumb airy voice. “How will you get behind that curtain?”

  Dedreia’s lips curled, and for a moment
Margaret could see the youth in her. Although there were fine lines and soft wrinkles, there was a graceful, powerful beauty there who’d probably seen and weathered more than Margaret could even imagine.

  “Their king will be dead soon enough and their queen will be lonely. I think we shall send her something to keep her company,” she explained secretively.

  “You’re going for a full sweep, eh?” Zothar chuckled in his wildly husky way.

  “Indeed, my lord. I believe it’s time to clear the board.”

  Margaret was drenched with fear. Her chest hammered and her heart raced, cold sweat shimmering on her brow. She wrung her hands together as she paced her chambers. What did that mean, clear the board? Were they going to attempt to conquer everyone? To leave no kingdom untouched? Was this Lucarian’s plan all along? To do away with the god's connection to the world and then take everything for his own? Did he know about his mother’s plans?

  She held her forehead with a hand.

  Maybe he didn’t know. Maybe Dedreia had planned this all along. Zothar had come because of Dedreia. She had been the one to orchestrate the extermination of the Vault, of the abolishment of the gods. Maybe she’d planned to strategically place her daughters in order to make the rest of the world loyal to her. What of Lucarian? Was he merely a pawn as well? Margaret was so afraid of Luc, but perhaps there was someone nearer she should fear more. Dedreia had no reason to want Margaret as queen. She had no reason to offer this honored position to a courtesan. The courts whispered about her constantly still, of her illegitimacy and lack of royal blood.

  Lucarian had done as he always stupidly had done. What he wanted. But maybe putting Margaret as queen, he was making a statement to his mother. Did he want her to act as a buffer to his mother’s tyrannical rule? Did he want to take the reins from his mother? Poor foolish idiot, if he only knew her connections; how far her influence touched. Margaret was convinced that any move Dedreia made was well calculated. She saw and knew everything.