by Eve Bradley
“And put the rest of the Djinn and me in danger!” Catryn rounded, whipping around to force him against the wall again. She slammed him back against the wall. “Now they have no homes. They’re not safe. They hate humans!”
Chastising someone? Glend’s voice was prompt and strong in her ears.
Kalif. She sent the thought back, mind stormy.
Why are you aroused? Valryn’s thoughts were sulky and bitter.
He’s...I think he has magic. She said, staring into Kalif’s eyes with fiery determination.
We need you. Can you give the man a break? Darrian’s thoughts were less hostile than Val’s but she sensed his nerves.
“I think you’ll work it out,” Kalif snickered. “You shocked me with your silver tongue when we first met. Now I have no doubt you’ll be able to bend the rest of the world to submission.”
Catryn released him reluctantly, moving away in a flash as if doing it quickly made it easier for her to leave the unresolved issue.
“I’ll discover the truth eventually. You are lucky my Guardians need me,” she told him, and then barged through the doors to the barracks.
Coming.
Gods, already? Glend’s laughter filled mind. He must be good.
Catryn rolled her eyes. I wouldn’t fuck that man if he were the last on earth.
Before she saw them, she decided to stay silent upon her conversation with Kalif. She didn’t know how it would settle with them, and she needed every opportunity to find the truth. She didn’t want them butting in and threatening him. If anything, Kalif would be a useful leader. Especially if she bent him to serve her with the same loyalty he had the Sultan.
The gleaming gold and purple of the soldiers was unified and would have proven a hefty threat if their enemies had bled normal blood. But there were a thousand of her men prepared for a war that would be unable to do anything against the demon creatures. The Sultan seemed to forget that he had other cities in the sand, checkering down, out, and across the sands. He focused only on the loyal citizens floundering right in front of him. His goal was to keep them safe.
“The Sultan’s caravans are prepared. An edict has been sent out to the other cities. Flee or face the consequences,” Glend relayed to her as they walked the length of the barracks, passing men who loaded an array of clinking weapons into wagons. Armor went in another. And another. There were many fanciful wagons readied with supplies, bulking over the top as if it were a chest with riches. In truth, they were. Weapons, armor, and food could give them an advantage over whatever they might face in the west. Those were true riches.
“We’re all running like fools,” she muttered angrily. “What if the Vulzonic beasts are unable to free themselves, and this is all for nothing?”
“What if they’re nearly upon us?” Valryn came striding in the room, carrying a large war-saddle for his horse. “He’s a cornered cat. No matter what he chooses he’ll want to keep his lands and people safe. It’s what a good king would do.”
“But he hasn’t said where he’ll go!” she retorted.
“He has. Malavash,” Darrian also came in, swords on his shoulder. “He’s had envoys there for years. It was his first attempt at making an alliance. He’s already gotten the approval of King Gryndalt and Queen Agerta. They said that Malavash would always be a safe haven.”
Catryn was adamantly confused. She nearly ran a hand through her hair out of nervous habit, but Maru had braided it just that morning. Every time she touched the ornate braids, it reminded her of Maru’s nimble thin fingers treading through her scalp and tugging mercilessly to get the right look. It also reminded her of the painful silence that existed between them.
“How do they expect to take on an entire city of people?” Valryn questioned critically.
Glend was holding a leather-bound notebook, writing in numbers as they walked along the trail of wagons. He looked up at Val, and Catryn saw that Val’s icy gaze was already glued to him.
“Would you want the richest kingdom in the realm in debt to you?” Glend wondered, the end of the quill tapping on his cheek.
“Only if I could be sure he would arrive with compensation,” Valryn said irritably. “It’s the gold that talks.”
“You’ve seen how greedy the man is. He has gold and gems on his doors, for fuck's sake. I doubt he’ll give that up. Even if they are fleeing,” Darrian muscled his armful of weapons into the sturdy creme-painted wagon.
Symbols marked every wagon and carriage with the wealthy serpent sigil. Purple and gold flags fluttered throughout the courtyard, the clay-brick streets, and in the hands of various flag-bearers. Catryn was no master of war, but she was sure that anyone could guess that they’d be an easily spotted target on any form of terrain. Maybe even more so in the hills and dappling forests of Malavash. If they could make it there.
“I think you all take him for a fool,” Glend said as if amused by something they were unaware of. “There’s a reason he’d begun planting his men in Malavash. He knew that whispers of Yamarian gold would be hard to ignore. Not only this, but his soothsayers and mages have been warning him for...I don’t know...over ten years of the Peacequeen and the evil that would come vomiting into the world. His gold and jewels are probably in a damn lockbox wrapped in chains not even a dragon’s flames could get through.”
Catryn laughed.
“You know him best,” she nudged him with her arm.
“I don’t care,” Valryn rolled his eyes at Glend. “I don’t think we should ever overestimate someone.”
“Oh yes,” Darrian came strutting towards them after loading a few more things. “You’d rather say “fuck the world” wouldn’t you? No one’s up to your standards.”
“Watch it,” Valryn snapped.
Catryn looked them over and suddenly became aware of their thoughts. She was able to grab images and clips of their fight in the tower. She noticed the faint healing bruises on Darrian’s jaw and lip, and frowned. Her magic, with her anger, rose like a toxic river.
“You were going to leave?” she said, more in painful askance than anything else.
Darrian’s sea-foam eyes gleamed with guilt, and his broad shoulders sagged.
“And you started a fight with him?” her eyes flicked to Valryn, who instantly set his jaw in stone.
She sighed. She felt guilty as well, knowing that she’d betrayed them by laying with Maru. She doubted it would ever happen again, based upon Maru’s reaction afterward. She thought maybe that’s why it seemed the woman was avoiding her. She had sent Maru to care for the Djinn and make sure all of their needs were met. Still, Maru’s shifting gaze left Catryn’s stomach burning with sourness and questions.
“Catryn...” Valryn started to say.
“It’s my fault,” Darrian stopped him. “I was worried you weren’t coming back. I thought you abandoned us. I didn’t trust that there was a bigger design at work. My mother and sisters are afraid because King Gryndalt is near death, and they don’t know what will happen. She also said there’ve been rumors that that slimy prince of Raspandar has been on the move.”
Catryn’s mind flared with warning.
“Did she say where?” She asked quickly.
“No,” Darrian responded, hooking his hands on the metal of his silver breastplate. “But...I worry for them. I won’t deny that.”
Catryn’s hand went to her forehead.
“I’m sorry...” she said, anguish turning over in her gut so that she didn’t know what else to say or do. “It’s my fault. I left without word. I was so afraid...I can’t even tell you.”
She drifted back to the feelings of helplessness that had racked her before. Taking Kalif’s bit of guidance, whatever his reasoning, had given her a drive to find and conquer herself. Knowing the Djinn, learning that she was half-goddess, laying her eyes upon the god of death and destruction, all of it had led her to this point. A point in which her powers functioned like an elite being within her, like some fantastic mechanism. She still was unaware
of all she could accomplish. All she knew was that she felt that she could do whatever she needed. She was strong. Magic was messy, but now she’d amassed what was rightfully hers.
“I need to tell you all something...well, a few things,” she finally decided.
First she explained her experience with Maru. They were not surprised, as Glend snickered while counting sacks of grain. She even smelled a hint of lust dancing in the air. What did shock them, was when she revealed Aisha’s claim that she was the daughter of Celosia, the goddess of light and fire.
“Why would Celosia mate with a disgusting mortal scumbag?” was Glend’s first, mind-boggling question.
Catryn stopped, not having considered this.
“Seems a bit strange to me as well,” Valryn agreed, eyes narrowing.
“Part goddess?” Darrian’s jaw was slack, and his handsome face registered shock. “No wonder no one can resist you. I guess it makes sense that you have an insatiable sexual appetite.”
Catryn was unable to laugh but offered him a thin smile.
“I don’t know why or how any of it happened...but this is what I know,” she swallowed and clasped her hands in front of her. “No matter what, we have to find a way to stop Vulzon.”
She walked along the train of men and wagons, the city itself tense. It was as if every solid structure was shivering with the premonition of what was to come. The sunny skies beat down upon them. Heat made the smells of sweat and animal droppings to intensify. Catryn thought that this would be what killed them. Not knowing was deadly. They wandered through the mazes of preparing soldiers. She made her presence known, hoping that they could see her as their permanent leader, and not simply a placeholder. She doubted any of them had taken orders from a woman before.
Their world did not promote women as leaders. In fact, she doubted any man would be prepared. Even her Guardians had gone through their own processing of the information, as accepting a woman into a position of so much power was unheard of. But it suited her, and now she knew it. Someday she would change the primitive perception of females. If she could survive long enough to do so.
Women, as society told them, were born to be beautiful and bear babies. They weren’t crafted with the ability to lead men, become intellectuals, or raise up armies. The female had always been like currency. Fathers paid men with daughters to forge peace between lands. Men gifted whores to those they wanted to persuade. Kings married princesses to form treaties and bring new valid heirs into the world, so that little boys grew up to be men who could own land, own slaves, and own themselves. Women brought these valuable humans into the world, and yet women were expendable. But that was the beauty of who she was now. She was a mistress over thousands of men, and couldn’t help but smile. She owned them. Not the other way around.
Catryn was plunged from her thoughts when a horn blew, and her body went ice cold.
Then the screams came.
Margaret
The Raspandian Castle
Margaret met with her ladies. She was meticulous. Only a few nobles hadn’t been interested in the bait she had to offer, but the others? She had courtesans strategically placed, able to listen and learn. Elibeth had also been quite useful. She noticed things that Margaret could not, such as the Queen Mother’s whispers, or guards who’d been sent to follow her. There was a rumble of gossip as to why there were so many new young courtesans, but with her father at court, it was the perfect alibi. He agreed that it was his doing, quite pompously. He was quite happy with himself for bringing the women in because this boosted the Snow Lily’s notoriety. He could never guess that it was actually his stupid daughter that had done so.
“The Queen Mother meets with many prestigious men,” one of the ladies told her, the firelight flickering shadows on the dark stone. “Sir Rathdon feels slighted by her. The Rathdon family is extremely rich. They’ve been supporting the throne for years. I have reason to suspect of her fornicating with the man, perhaps even before King Ludrogan’s death.”
Margaret nodded kindly, urging the woman to continue.
“And what are the nature of these meetings?”
“I don’t know, your Grace.”
Margaret began to dismiss her, but the woman stopped her.
“She meets with Zothar, the Drunscar Clan leader.”
The crackle of the flames punctuated her silence.
She knew that he’d meet with her. Zothar couldn’t ignore her. From the times that she’d been shut away with him, she’d gathered that Zothar’s opinion is that everyone should be wary of Dedreia. Even he. Yet here he was gallivanting the nights away with this middle-aged, spider-cunning woman.
Margaret’s teeth ground together.
“Thank you,” she told the woman, dismissing her.
Anger combusted in her. She was tired of pretending, tired of living in such a meager state in order to pacify Dedreia. She hated the cold-hearted woman. She hated her daughters and their beautiful blonde elvish heads. She loathed that she was supposed to be beneath them, even though Lucarian had named her Queen of Raspandar. One of the greatest kingdoms in the realm. Everyone knew it, and yet here she was bending over backward to play the fool.
When the woman had gone from her chambers, she dressed in all black. Elibeth stood at attendance and stayed silent, but Margaret could feel her nerves as she fidgeted endlessly.
“If anyone comes for me, tell them that I am working with Sir Zothar,” she told her briskly.
She knew the way. Though the castle was snapping cold and empty, she nearly ran across the copper bridges and dark passages as if she were being chased. The way to his chambers was engraved in her mind after multiple times they’d worked upon their lists and planning. But so late at night, there were nearly no torches lit. She didn’t even knock when she arrived, but burst through the door, closing herself inside and praying that no one had seen.
“Margaret?” Zothar’s voice resonated shock.
She spun around breathlessly and then felt her cheeks grow hot. He was shirtless, lying in the great fourposter bed in the corner. Deep blue coverlets were drawn up to his waist, but she had a sneaking suspicion that beneath them, the wild man would be naked. His black hair was loose around his shoulders, and his beard was no less coarse. Deadly eyes scrutinized her.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he warned her in his booming voice, using the Catharsan tongue.
She dug her nails into her palms.
“You are one to talk!” she hissed, pacing only a bit further. “You’re out meeting with the Queen Mother, spending intimate moments in her chambers. You are a liar and an imbecile. You don’t care for me. You only care for yourself and your clan's ability to rape and steal and do whatever they wish! You are the most selfish person I’ve ever met.”
Zothar did not move, nor did he say anything. She swallowed the rage that had tumbled out of her, and stood tall, despising everyone and everything.
“I’m no foolish girl. You think you can string me along and say that you care for me, knowing that I am weak and lonely? Knowing full well that I’ve taken abuse upon abuse? You know what King Lucarian is. You’ve seen it, and I swear if you deny it...” she let out a hostile breath. “I’ve endured too much. Too many things. And if you think it’s funny to play both sides I will tell you that you will regret it. Nothing matters to me, but least of all you and your stupid, idiotic pretend loyalty.”
Zothar’s large body moved from beneath the blankets. He stood and she clapped a hand over her mouth when he revealed his nakedness. At the junction between his thighs stood a thick, bulky cock. It was half-ready, and she was still afraid of it. He was more endowed than any man she’d seen before. Dark curls framed his manhood like decorations around a centerpiece.
“Get away from me!” she nearly shrieked.
“Margaret!” he raged, and came to grip her arms. His muscled chest was heaving with anger.
“You stupid woman. Maybe you really are simple,” he spoke furiously, towering over her.
“Stop!”
She was fighting against him, but he was able to wrangle her. She dared not look at him.
“I’m on your side. I’m the one who stopped the queen mother from killing you your first night as queen. I’m the one who’s been telling her you are worth keeping alive. I’m the only reason you are breathing this very moment. Do you know how many times I’ve stayed her hand? It’s been me. I’ve done it,” Zothar snarled.
“Why?” she questioned, maintaining her fury. “Why? So you can throw me to the dogs when it suits you?”
Zothar’s face was twisted with pain and passion. He gripped her hard and shook his head, as if in disbelief.
“I’ve never done so much for a woman so ungrateful.”
“Ungrateful?” she began to raise her voice again. Who did he think he was? He was impossible.
She was stunned, awash in disbelief when his mouth smothered hers. His lips were firm and unyielding, and she began to cry. Tears mingled with their voracious kisses, and they nipped and tasted one another as if suddenly nothing else mattered. Her fear and agony was what drove her. Giving in was terrifying, but she couldn’t stop herself if she tried.
Zothar quaked as he embraced her. Their bodies bumping and moving against the other in urgent need.
“Tell me no,” he said just as they tumbled towards the bed. “We should not. We cannot.”
She ignored his panicked chivalry, and clawed at his back and chest, persistent in the message she was sending. This was wrong, this was madness, and this was...exponentially dangerous. Her heart pattered in her chest, reminding her that she was an ephemeral being. One drop of poison, one quick stab wound, and she could be gone. It was whatever her mother-in-law wanted.
But right now, this was what she wanted. And she couldn’t care or stop herself because it was too sinfully sweet.
Zothar’s massive shoulders were hunched over her, and his thick fingers clutched her arms as if hers were all but bones.
