Battles of Salt and Sighs (Rise of the Death Fae Book 1)

by Val Saintcrowe

  “And how did she seem?” asked Larent.

  “Well, she was locked inside her bedchamber, so I did not see her, and we only spoke through the door. But she is kept in the csaerina’s old rooms and there were whispers that the Croith himself had stayed there with her the night before, so I suppose she is—”

  “What?” Onivia’s voice broke.

  Larent let go of her.

  She turned on him. “You said that he wanted her magic, only her magic.”

  Larent shook his head. “I thought that was true. I’m sorry.”

  “But if she’s being…” She wrung out her hands.

  “We’ll speak later,” he said to her, warning in his eyes. She knew she was not to allow the messenger to understand how he favored her, if that was even what it could be termed.

  She forced herself to swallow her words, but tears were springing to her eyes again. She had just finished crying, and now she wondered if she would ever stop.

  “Thank you, Maven,” Larent put a hand on the other fae’s shoulder. “I appreciate this.”

  Maven looked down at the other man’s hand and then up at Larent’s face. He ducked out of his grasp. “Anything else you’re going to need assistance with right now?”

  “Not that I can think of,” said Larent.

  “I suppose you’ll be sure to keep certain things about my, er, interests to yourself.” Maven sounded bitter.

  “I’m sorry if I misled—”

  “I see where your tastes lie.” Maven looked at Onivia’s drawers on the floor. “It’s all quite clear to me, Larent.”

  Larent’s upper lip curled. “Well, I suppose you’ll think what you like.”

  “And so will you.” Maven shook his head, sighing. He turned and walked out, shutting the door firmly behind him.

  Larent folded his arms over his chest. “I don’t know if we should use him for passing any more messages to your sister after all. He seems to have taken that worse than I thought he would.”

  “Why is my sister in the Croith’s bed?” Onivia snapped.

  “I think it was the other way around. He was in her bed,” said Larent, staring at the door. “Perhaps I should have kept up the ruse that I was interested in him. I only thought that would be too cruel, but perhaps it was cruel enough as it was, since he is so angry with me. I wanted Maven to be an ally, but now he thinks I’m a human sympathizer too. You are destroying everything for me, do you realize this?” At this, he turned to look at Onivia.

  She fixed him with a glare. “My sister. If she’s being assaulted by the Night King—and Fortune could only say what kind of wretched tastes a man like that might have—then I need to get to her now.”

  “We’ve already discussed this.”

  “Let me go with Cassus,” she said.

  “No.”

  “Please, Larent, she is not like me. She’s not the least bit resilient, and she will be completely broken down—”

  “If you think you could get your sister away from the Croith—that anyone could—you’re fooling yourself. He can kill with touch.”

  She knew this. Of course she knew this, but hearing the words seemed to pierce her with despair. “So, my sister is the Night King’s whore, and I’m yours, and there’s nothing I can do about it, is that it? I should just accept this?” Her voice was shaking.

  “Yes,” he said flatly. He cast one last glance at the door, where Maven had disappeared, and then he turned his back on her and headed for his bedchamber again. He was in the midst of closing the door when he stopped. “I have to ask, the ancestors only know why, but what did I do that made you cry?”

  She pressed her lips together, shaking her head.

  He sighed. “Fine,” he muttered and started to pull the door closed.

  “Why did you put your hands all over me when Maven was in here? What did you need to prove to him?”

  He paused. “Oh, that? Maven is attracted to men. He’s not particularly good at hiding it, though most of the others don’t seem to notice. I may have… encouraged him in order to get him to deliver the message to your sister.”

  She blinked for a minute, thinking that over.

  “Anyway, then I wanted him to understand that I wasn’t actually attracted to him. I think I went about that badly, though.”

  “But…” She furrowed her brow. It was a common enough practice, especially amongst the imperial legions, for men to lie with each other. Often they were on long campaigns without any women about. Besides, the legions encouraged it, thinking that it bonded the men more strongly, made them better soldiers. She likely wasn’t supposed to know about it, because it wasn’t a subject meant for a young girl’s ears, but it was discussed easily enough in the capital, or at least it used to be. “Aren’t all men attracted to men under the right circumstances?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “I… don’t think so.”

  “It’s only that in the legions—”

  “The fae don’t hold with such things,” he said. “The ancestors have decreed it an abomination.”

  “Well, that’s stupid,” she said.

  “I happen to agree with you,” he said. “That’s neither here nor there. If Maven found another man, it would not be the least bit threatening to me. But the fae wish to separate themselves from the practices of humans and to embrace the old ways, which means all of the fae beliefs, even the stupid ones. It’s also one of the reasons they are so insistent on making sure they are taking human women for, um, for their use.”

  She flinched in spite of herself.

  He hesitated, looking down at the knob of the door, where he rested his hand. “If you tell me what I did that displeased you, I can be sure not to do it again.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” she muttered.

  He raised his gaze to hers.

  “It was only…” How could she even explain it? “It was awful for it to be pleasurable somehow, awful to surrender in that way, awful for you to have conquered that part of me.”

  He blinked, taking this in.

  She wished he would close the door now. She wanted to be away from him, separated as much as possible.

  “This is why I said the thing about breaking you quickly,” he said in a very soft voice. “And I could… with Akiel, it could just be brutal, I suppose. It would be harder for me, but if it would be easier for you…?” He let it hang there, as if he wanted her to answer him.

  But she didn’t want to acquiesce at all to this. Making her a participant in her own debauchery hurt her.

  Eventually, he seemed to realize she wasn’t going to say anything, and he shut the door, leaving her blessedly alone.

  MAGDALIA WAS GOING to refuse to dine with Duranth. She decided it and held firm to the idea all afternoon, practicing what message she would have sent back to him. She put together long strings of insults, debating between whether to call him a half-wit or a puss-filled windbag.

  And then, when the summons came for dinner, she didn’t refuse.

  She couldn’t even say why she’d agreed to the dinner. It didn’t make any sense, because she hated him and she didn’t want to be near him. She certainly didn’t want to eat with him.

  It’s because I’m bored, she decided.

  Yes, that was what it must be. After all, Duranth had always been the one thing that amused her. He had been her playmate as a child, and so now, she looked to him for entertainment. It was instinctual. It was an impulse.

  Perhaps it didn’t hurt anything, because it was a way for him to serve her, not the other way around, and if she continued to enforce the natural order of things, making him do things for her, then perhaps that would not be the least bit damaging. Perhaps it would even be a force for good.

  Once the legions came back, invading the capital and taking over again, Duranth would already be used to serving her again, and it would make him more likely to surrender to the humans.

  He was influencing her—or attempting to—but she could influence him.

 
Then she saw him, and she knew all this was folly, just a silly story she was telling herself.

  The truth was that he was evil, and he had evil influence over her, and she was in danger here.

  They ate in the vast dining room, at the vast table, which stretched out through the huge room with enough seats for at least twenty guests, but they both ate at the head of the table, because there was enough room there for two place settings.

  The food was not lavish today, not one of her favorite dishes, as she had been fed since her arrival. It was simple fare, instead, rice and lentils along with some greens.

  She decided not to comment on it, but Duranth told her that she would eat like everyone else from now on. She said that was fine with her, and she knew that this was not evidence that she was influencing him at all, or that he was serving her.

  He was not.

  “Well,” he said, “what did you do today?”

  “Nothing,” she said, “as prisoners often do.”

  “We could practice magic together if you’re in want of some entertainment.”

  “No.”

  He laughed softly, drinking some wine from a earthenware goblet. She noticed, however, that the utensils were metal. Upon examining the fork, she determined it was pure gold, and she had to admit that she had no idea if fae were sensitive to gold, because there was little chance of them handling it as slaves.

  Duranth saw her staring at it, and he launched into a long explanation of how the weaknesses of the fae were giving way, that more and more fae were being born with the ability to handle iron and steel, that even fae that weren’t half blood could bear it in some measure. “After all, you saw yourself that the iron piercings I was forced to wear never dampened my magic.” Absently, he fingered his ear lobe with one hand, and she could see the mark from the iron ring he had once worn.

  She was struck by the notion of all the marks on his body from his time being on her family’s villa, and this made her feel—for a moment—like she might lose the three bites of rice and lentils she’d eaten.

  But then she schooled herself and all was well.

  It’s only because I loved him. He was my beloved playmate when I was young. It always hurt me to think of his being hurt.

  “It does cause me discomfort, of course,” he said. “Even this…” He picked up the gold fork. “But I’d rather not eat rice with my fingers.”

  “What about wooden utensils?” she mused, remembering the spoons from the fae huts at the villa.

  Suddenly, the door burst open and several fae rushed into the room, all of them wielding gleaming swords.

  One of the men dove for Duranth, knocking him off his chair and onto the floor, the tip of the sword to his throat.

  Two of them came for her, and they pulled her away, each holding fast to one of her arms. She was so startled, she didn’t even make noise. She let the men hold her and she gaped down at Duranth. Why wasn’t he doing something?

  The man stabbed Duranth in the throat.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  MAGDALIA’S LIPS PARTED, but still, she didn’t make any noise. She only gaped at the blood, which was pouring out of Duranth.

  The fae who’d stabbed him stood up and turned to her. “Whatever you did to him, it’s over now. We’ll find another leader, one who doesn’t cater to human girls.” He pulled her away from the other men and threw her down on the ground.

  She skidded on her knees, next to Duranth, who was twitching there gurgling, bleeding—still alive.

  She put her hand on his chest and pushed her magic into him.

  The point of a sword—she felt it at the back of her neck.

  She pushed the magic, trying to heal Duranth, and she could see that it was working, but it wasn’t going to be fast enough, so she did what she’d done before—when she’d pushed Duranth. It had been easier that time, because he’d been pushing magic into her, and this time, he was bleeding out and dying, but his magic was there.

  She found his magic, and she pulled it into herself, and then their magic mingled and strengthened like it always did.

  She reached back with one hand and wrapped it around the ankle of the fae who had a sword to the back of her neck. She hurled magic into him.

  He thudded to the ground, and she snatched up his weapon.

  Taking another moment to pump another bit of healing magic into Duranth, knitting him together enough that he would not bleed out, she broke contact with him and stood up, picking up the sword with both hands.

  Their combined magic still swirled within her as she advanced on the men.

  “No, please, we’re only following orders,” said one of the fae, one of the ones who’d been holding her. “You can ask him. We only did as the Night King bade.”

  She turned to look at Duranth, who was sitting up. “Cut it a little close there, didn’t you, Magda?”

  She let out an animal sound—disbelief or rage or both, she didn’t know.

  He examined the man that she’d felled, turning his face this way and that.

  She leveled the sword at Duranth and advanced on him instead. “What are you thinking?”

  “This,” he said, reaching out to touch her, even as she brought the sword to the tip of his not-quite-healed throat.

  Suddenly, the man she’d killed convulsed.

  She was so startled, she dropped the sword.

  It clattered against the floor.

  The man convulsed again, a sort of jerking motion, and then he stood up.

  Horrified, Magdalia could feel him. It was a strange sort of other sense, not quite as if she was seeing through the other man’s eyes, but that she was somehow connected to him, that she had some semblance of control over his limbs. She wanted him to lie back down, and he did.

  Duranth let out a laugh that horrifyingly resembled a giggle. “It’s very strange sharing him with you.”

  The man stood up, and she felt that Duranth had done that. Their magic mingled inside the man.

  “You’re dismissed, by the way,” said Duranth to the other fae, who were watching all this with wide eyes.

  They nearly tripped over each other getting out of the room.

  “These men are not going to continue following you if you’re always so careless with their lives,” said Magdalia.

  “Mmm,” said Duranth noncommittally, pushing the dead man toward Magdalia. The man walked with sure feet, but there was something about the way that he stood and carried himself that also betrayed his lifelessness. The walking dead man was the most horrible thing that she’d ever seen.

  She stopped him, halting the dead man where he stood. “I won’t do this with you.”

  “You just saved my life,” he said, smiling at her.

  “But only because…” She clenched her hands into fists. “Because they would be worse to me than you are.”

  “Exactly,” he said, smiling at her. “Don’t forget that.” He wiped at the blood on his neck.

  She shuddered. He’d really been stabbed. He’d ordered a man to do that to him, trusting her ability to heal him. “You’re insane.”

  “Yes,” said Duranth. “That’s why I’m going to win.” He made the dead man walk again. “It’s much better, Magda. I’ve done this before, raised a corpse, used it—”

  “Everyone has heard the stories.”

  “It’s exhausting,” he said. “After doing it, I have to sleep for ten hours to replenish myself. But with you… us… our magic? This is effortless.” He laughed again, that horrible giggling sound, and it made him sound insane.

  “I’ll never save your life again,” she said. “I’ll never help you.”

  “We’ll see,” he said. He stepped around the dead man and pulled her into his arms.

  She struggled, pushing at his chest.

  “Oh, aren’t we going to kiss again, little Magda? You’re so prim and fussy sometimes.”

  “Let go of me.” She pushed him with magic again.

  He staggered backwards, but he was
laughing. “Fine, fine. I’ll keep my hands to myself.” He touched the dead man, and the fae crumpled back to the ground. He snatched a napkin off the table and wiped off his neck free of blood and then sat back down and continued his dinner.

  She felt a scream building inside her throat, but she didn’t let it out. Instead, the sound seemed to explode against her skull which throbbed in pain and horror and helplessness.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “I HEARD THAT you were bleeding,” Marta said in a low voice as they were slicing loafs of brown, lumpy bread, “and that’s why you didn’t accompany Larent to Akiel.”

  “Does everyone know everything in this place?” muttered Onivia. She was surprised they were giving them knives sharp enough to cut the bread. On the other hand, maybe they did it because they preferred the humans to handle the metal, even though there were enough fae who didn’t seem the least bit bothered by it. “The gossip here is worse than the capital, I swear.”

  “But you’re not bleeding,” said Marta.

  “Did you say that to anyone?” She turned on Marta, eyes very serious. “Please tell me you didn’t tell Dandren.”

  “I didn’t,” said Marta. “And most of the women likely aren’t paying attention, but they aren’t on the same laundry schedule as we are.” The women who lived together on the first floor all seemed to have their cycles in sync, so they were all doing their washing together, but she and Marta seemed to have only synced with each other. “Still, it raises questions for me. You’re holding out on me. Why did Larent lie?”

  Onivia looked around the kitchen. There were fae women on the other side, stirring things in pots, likely far enough away to be out of earshot, but she was frightened to speak of this at all.

  Marta continued, lowering her already low voice. “No one can hear.”

  She would have liked to have confided in Marta, but she hadn’t. For one thing, she didn’t want to do anything that might endanger her ability to see her sister again, and she knew Larent didn’t want their arrangement made public. For another, she thought that Marta might take it badly, because—from a certain point of view—she was receiving better treatment from Larent than Marta had received from fae men.