Roarke stills, letting go of my chin and following my gaze.
“Yes,” he growls.
Roarke can growl?
He runs for the stairs, and I dash to keep within my new fifteen pace limit.
“If I need to cover your ears, you let me, got it?”
“Not even arguing,” I say.
Of course, I’m not going to argue. I’m also trying really hard not to let his words sink in. We’re screwed. I fight with as much skill as a five-year-old with one arm. His best weapon is his voice – and I can’t even cover my ears.
Screwed.
He pulls his sword from where he’d left it beside the front door. Not sure when he put it there, probably while I was unconscious.
Please don’t knock me unconscious again, I think. Then I’m out the door behind him and into the rain. My light shirt is instantly drenched, and my hair sticks heavily to my neck and face.
The mortal guy pulls his horse to a stop on the other side of the stream and flips his hood back, revealing a youthful face and short dark hair. He’s older, but only just, and those lean muscles of his look more than capable of putting up a fight. His gaze is sharp, and for a few long moments, he just looks back and forth between Roarke and me, watching us approach.
We get within talking distance then Roarke holds his arm out, making sure I stop behind him.
“Neither one of you are Eydis. Where is she?” he asks, his voice a deep timbre that travels easily through the distance and the rain.
“You’d better introduce yourself, stranger,” Roarke calls back.
The guy’s lips tweak at the corners. Clearly deciding that, for some reason, he likes Roarke. “An Elorsin? With a mortal servant?”
Which takes me by surprise, but Roarke doesn’t skip a beat. “And you are?”
All the time we spent traveling here and only one other person picked any of my guys as being Elorsin royalty. This mortal wanders in from Desayer Realm, takes one look, in the rain, and puts his finger on Roarke’s lineage just like that.
By the way Roarke is bristling, he’s pretty pissed about it too.
The guy dismounts. His hand tactfully doesn’t go anywhere near the hilt of his sword. With a confident stride, he moves to the edge of the stream and stops.
“This is as close as I come,” he announces. Which doesn’t seem to make Roarke relax at all. “I’m Leon. I hold the title of the strongest mage on the mortal side. You do realize the girl is mortal?”
“I’ve heard of you,” Roarke growls. I haven’t. “And who the girl is, is none of your business.”
“Shade. Lord Martin’s soot-servant, and a mortal. When the cook said you were purchased, I hadn’t expected by the Elorsins. But then, the Lord does like to play games with power and information.”
“Cook?” I stammer, excited just to hear her name. “You know Cook?”
Roarke's fist closes on the front of my wet shirt, and he pulls me further behind him.
“Not really,” the mage says. “But I work in the information business.”
I haven’t heard of him either. The only mortal mage I’ve ever heard about is the woman they recently knighted in Fairlarn. Hunter or Kemla or something. Leon isn’t a woman, so that leaves me in the dark.
“I’ve been liaising with Eydis for several years, trying to save both our worlds.”
“And?” Roarke’s tone is still aggressive.
I mean, this mortal is ticking all the boxes when it comes to being peaceful and respectful. His smile is gentle even though his eyes are calculating. But Roarke’s disdain is practically dripping over us with the rain. I have to resist the urge to make Roarke turn so I can check his expression. Scowling is very likely, baring teeth and snapping – also a possibility. Angry as chuck and about to ignite – wouldn’t surprise me.
Roarke has a temper – one I never knew about. In a strange way all these little things are making it harder and harder for me to respect his space. The quiet man who gets all the girls’ attention while offering the world nothing but his power is becoming a completely different person. More. So much more. Damn sexy, protective and powerful, confident and in control, caring and considerate, this man’s list just keeps growing. I want to chuckin’ kick myself for taking this long to notice.
“Where is Eydis?” Leon demands, a calm kind of quiet to his tone that sets the hairs on the back of my neck on end.
Roarke doesn’t react.
“She’s dead,” I answer because Roarke clearly isn’t going to.
“How?”
“That’s not something that someone like you needs to know,” Roarke growls.
Crap. He wasn’t this bad when three women were trying to skewer us with arrows. Enter reasonably-hot-mortal, and I have a whole different kind of Roarke to manage. Plus fresh limitations on his ability to use his power around me.
“The border is failing. You do realize that the people out there have no idea what’s in here?” Leon asks, an edge creeping into his tone.
“And?” Roarke begins. He might be about to say more, but I push forward and elbow him before he can.
“What he means is,” I say, having to shout to get my voice to carry over the stream and the storm. “Will you please share your knowledge?”
Leon smiles at me. Roarke grabs my shirt and tugs me back behind him so fast that I almost fall on my ass.
“Eydis was tracing the springs. She’d made some progress, trying to ascertain which had been bled dry and why. We’ve managed to shore up three of the lesser springs close to the border, worked enough magic to keep them out of Lithael’s hands. Mortal magic is not something he was anticipating. However, three springs are not enough to hold the border in place, especially if this spring dies.”
“This spring?” Roarke pushes.
“The Origin of your Silvari kingdom,” Leon clarifies.
Confirmation, then. Whether Roarke previously believed in the Origin Spring or not, it’s definitely real and definitely here – somewhere.
“I have fifteen powerful mages at my disposal, and we have a decision to make. Use our power to hold the border up for a short period of time – perhaps long enough to eliminate the source of this threat, or use our magic to set the forest back on fire.”
Back on fire?
Meaning, the magical fire that destroyed the estate so badly it took a few thousand years just to get the grass to grow.
This world would be gone, the trees, the life. The Silvari people wouldn’t know what to do; they wouldn’t have anywhere to run. Most of them live in the damn trees.
Silva would be destroyed.
Roarke lifts his weapon.
I rush to get in front of him once more, trying to stop him from moving. I know murder is on his mind.
“Shade,” he growls.
“Roarke,” I counter.
His eyes burn into me for the barest second before turning that intensity back to the man behind me.
“Is the border failing?” I ask.
Roarke nods, not taking his eyes off Leon.
“How?” Even as I’m asking this my bigger question is, why didn’t you tell me? Followed by a sharp stab of pain from one temple to the other.
“We’ve definitely talked about it,” Roarke answers automatically before shouting across to Leon. “The border’s been weak for years. Things have always escaped, and we’ve always dealt with it,” he says. “The Springs aren’t just being bled dry – the Masters are being murdered. There’s a bigger problem fueling all of this.”
“I can’t help with that,” Leon says, “but if you have a plan to restore the springs, I can help with that. I can hold the border. I can control the mortal side. If you don’t have a plan, if your Crown Lithael marches a single Saber onto mortal soil, then we will set this realm on fire.”
The threat slams into me, stopping the breath in my lungs. Roarke surges forward. I throw my shoulder into him, putting all of my energy into stopping him from jumping the damn stream and drawing
blood.
A part of me wants to let him – this mortal mage doesn’t stand a chance – but the majority of me wants more answers. A solution. To use this guy to our advantage. Roarke sidesteps me, and I almost end up in the mud, but I spin in time to see him reach the edge of the water at Saber speed.
Yep – Leon is dead.
Roarke jumps – but a magicked wind slams into him, knocking him back so hard that he lands on his ass in the thickening mud. Leon smiles, his fingers twirling around the hilt of his sword.
This is crazy! I think, pushing my wet hair back from my face, but the heavy rain just tugs it forward again.
These two are practically on the same team – they both want Lithael dead, and clearly, I was wrong about the mortal’s abilities.
Roarke springs to his feet, and Leon draws his sword.
Someone is going to die – which I can’t just stand by and watch.
“Stop!” I shout, putting every ounce of energy I have into getting the word out above the wind and the rain and their stupid male brains.
The effort explodes pain through my temples and into the back of my eyes. Bile rises in my throat, but they’ve both frozen, and they’re looking at me. So, I swallow it down.
“Do you want to set fire to this realm?” I demand, my words boiling with anger as I stab my finger towards Leon. He hesitates so I add, “Answer me!”
The anger is enough to keep me focused through the haze eating into my vision and the pounding that is eating into my consciousness.
Roarke glares at me, poised and ready to jump the damn stream anyway.
But Leon’s expression has drawn blank, eyes almost hollow. “No, I don’t want to see anyone die.”
As soon as he’s answered, he looks at me sharply, his gaze accusing me of something I don’t have time to figure out.
“What do you want?” I ask, and when his lips don’t immediately start moving I add, “What?!”
“I want Seed magic to stay in Silva. There’s a reason the border exists. Sabers on the inside, mortals on the outside. The only way to do that is to fell your Crown and put an Elorsin on the throne – but that’s not my job. That’s your job.”
His eyes go a little wide at his words, and I’ll admit I’m quite proud that my diplomacy skills are winning against two headstrong men.
“If the border fails, how long can you hold it for?” I demand, pushing my need into the words.
If I use anything less than a demand, I risk losing both males’ attention. A whole kingdom of lives depends on this one chuckin’ conversation, and I will not let them die just because two men failed to communicate.
Roarke moves back from the stream, rushing to stand almost in front of me. Between me and Leon. He grabs my wrist in one hand, my waist in his other. Holding me like his next move might be to snap me up in his arms and run. His touch makes goosebumps run up my arms and a shiver down my spine. But this isn’t desire – it’s the crackle of power.
“What are you doing?” he asks, the words struggling out from his clenched jaw. “You can’t do this.”
I ignore him.
Leon keeps that curious look on me, not seeming to notice Roarke. Even though Roarke is making it almost impossible for Leon and me to maintain eye contact.
“A week or two – at the most,” Leon answers.
“Kitten, don’t let my power use you,” Roarke says. “Allure doesn’t work like this.”
“I need to know,” I whisper at him.
He turns sideways, his gaze over the stream but his body still pressed to mine. “What would make you change your mind? Unburden your soul, share the reward that would woo you to Lithael’s side?” he asks in his silky smooth tone.
Leon laughs at him. “Don’t underestimate me, Elorsin. My loyalty to the mortal realms is unquestionable.”
“All men are questionable,” Roarke snaps, shifting the subject.
He mustn’t see how important this is – too busy trying to make war when what we need is peace. Everything narrows, the world, the forest, the lightning and thunder – none of it exists. Just this need.
This one last question.
“Can we trust you to do that?” I demand, growling, shouting, trying to make him understand that he’s talking about killing people – lots of people.
And I’m talking about saving them.
I need to know. Whatever our next move is, after we get rid of this bubble, I’m certain it will involve getting very close to Lithael. I can’t have my guys in the center of this realm if Leon decides to set the damn place on fire. The stories I’ve heard from the last fire, the power it took to put it out way back then... There might not be enough Silvari with Seeds left to make that happen again. Maybe that’s part of Lithael’s plan. Bring down the border. Invade the mortal side. Take over the world and remove those who can oppose him. Remove those that could restore the border. Secretly. Slowly. Without creating a war until he’s the only one that can win.
“Kitten, I said don’t. Relax your grip. Let go of my power,” a distant voice says.
War.
Lithael wants a war. Silvari against mortals. Lots and lots of death.
Lithael wants death.
“Can. We. Trust. You!” I scream, my whole body shaking.
White-hot agony shoots through my head, followed by a sharp ringing sound in my ears. I almost miss Leon’s response – I can hardly even see him anymore.
I should be worried about the dizziness, the ringing, and my loss of vision – but there are more important things.
“Yes. If I say we’ll hold the border, then we will,” Leon says, his voice hollow and forced.
“Promise me you’ll hold the border!” My voice is weak. So weak.
I’m aware that it’s a stupid demand. The guy doesn’t even know me. I mean nothing to him, why would he promise?
I’ll make you. The scream echoes around inside my skull. Promise on your life!
“I promise,” he says, but he doesn’t look pissed, he looks almost pleased with the idea. “You have seven days from the moment the border fails. I want to see what you can do – if you survive.”
His words are lost to the ringing in my ears and the pelting rain. He shakes his head, like he’s clearing a thought, then bloody smiles. My pulse is pounding in my ears so loud that the things might explode. I sway, looking for balance and not really finding it.
Leon’s lips keep moving, but I can barely hear him. Just piercing pain and one line aimed at Roarke, not me. “Don’t underestimate the mortal.”
Roarke has one hand gripping the front of my shirt as if he thinks I might try to run.
The world lurches, and my eyes roll back, my head lolling to the side as I struggle just to stay upright. I glimpse Leon galloping off before losing all sense of balance and falling backward. My shirt pulls free from Roarke’s grip, and I hit the ground hard. Water splashes up around me, and mud soaks into my clothes and hair. It feels so good. Reminds me I’m real. Cools the burning in my body.
“Kitten, eeaassyy,” Roarke coos. “Be still.” He keeps talking, leaning over me and cursing too, by the way his lips are moving.
The ringing in my ears starts to throb in time with the rest of the pain, fading in and out. In and out. All other sounds cease to exist.
“Kitten,” Roarke is saying. “Don’t. Pass. Out.”
He pats my cheek sharply, and I roll to my side and heave up everything I’d eaten during the night. When I’ve stopped retching, I’m gasping.
Roarke scoops me up, not caring that I’m covered in mud. I rest my head against his chest, snuggling in under his jaw and finding a spot where I can breathe without inhaling the rain. The scent of old paper fills my nose as he carries me the short distance to the cottage. I concentrate on the smell, trying to ignore each step and its jarring effects on my body. Roarke’s smell, the man who knows so very much about the world and is just starting to let me in. Me, a nobody from the other side of the border. The idea alone is comforting, t
hat I might intrigue him. Roarke, drawing me right in and folding me in his pages. Carrying me to safety, like I mean something. Old paper, books, wisdom – Roarke – comfort.
When I push my eyelids open again, we’re moving off the stairs and into the bedroom.
Then I’m on the floor, and my eyes won’t open anymore. Everything happens in pieces.
“Sorry, Kitten, but you’re wet and freezing,” he coos.
My shirt is tugged, then slipped over my head, leaving me shaking with cold. Or maybe I was already shaking. I don’t know. He slips the wet bandage from my chest; the freedom feels good, but it’s not enough to drown out the throbbing and shaking.
“I’ll get you dry,” he says.
My legs are bare while Roarke pulls the dart-cuff from my calf, and then the ground is replaced by something soft, and blankets are wrapped around me. The world stills, but inside everything is still ringing and throbbing.
“Pain,” I manage to groan.
“I know, Kitten, I know,” Roarke says. His voice comes from nearby, floating through the agony.
I try to hug myself, try to curl into a ball, but everything chuckin’ hurts so much. My arm feels like the pieces of my broken bone are shaking against each other. Small whimpers escape between my shivers.
Roarke’s hand smooths over my head – over my still-wet hair. Drawing the ache out of my body. I press into him, and his arms wrap around me.
“Shhh,” he says, the soft sound carrying on in my mind long after it’s stopped existing in the real world.
It slips through my skull and forces everything else down. My soul goes still.
Empty.
Calm.
Sleep.
Everything is still, except for Kitten’s low whimper every time I try to move. Without direct contact, she slips back into agony. I can sense my power’s effect on her, but I can’t feel what the damage is – Killian would be able to. He’d know down to the exact bone or muscle.
This is torture. The naked length of her back against my chest. Her curves under my hands as she leans into me – like this isn’t hard enough already.
I don’t even care that her hair is muddy. I just want to warm her up and take away her pain.
Shadows and Shade Box Set Page 74
