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

by Val Saintcrowe

  Then he was gone, and she was alone in the bed.

  Outside, the rain had stopped, leaving droplets of water against the windows.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  THE NEWS THAT Loretia had killed herself rushed through the fae encampment like a fast-moving river. All of the women in the lower quarters were talking about it, and everyone had some bit of information about how it had happened.

  She’d shot herself.

  It hadn’t been easy for her to get hold of a gun, because Akiel was very sensitive to metals of all kinds and couldn’t bear the touch of the human weapons. He didn’t have any in his rooms, for instance, but she’d gotten hold of one somehow, a rifle.

  She’d fitted the thing under her chin and sat back against the wall and pulled the trigger, and the bullet had exited through the top of her skull, which had caved in.

  Women knew this because they’d seen the body being drug out.

  She’d been buried on the edge of the encampment, not burned, as was the custom amongst humans. No funeral pyre for Loretia, just her mangled body tossed into a shallow hole in the ground and covered with dirt.

  This shouldn’t have been a surprise, they all supposed.

  Akiel had never treated any of the women any better than animals.

  Still, they were shaken.

  The officers seemed shaken too.

  That morning at breakfast, it was all they talked of, what could have driven the woman to do such a thing to herself, what abominations Akiel could have visited on her that would make her think that death was better than her lot. There was an odd undercurrent to the conversation amongst those men, a certain amount of defensiveness and a tendency of the officers to distance themselves from Akiel’s habits.

  The officers all insisted they would never be so cruel, that they were not nearly as demanding nor did they visit such indignities on their girls.

  The undercurrent was guilt, Onivia realized.

  This made her angry for some reason, and she supposed it was because these men could feel such things toward human girls at all. If they could recognize that what they did wasn’t right, why did they keep doing it?

  Eventually, Akiel appeared and took his seat at the head of the table.

  Then, it was deadly quiet.

  No one said a word.

  Breakfast continued in silence.

  Akiel didn’t look well, for whatever that was worth. He had dark circles under his eyes as if he hadn’t slept well, and he slouched in his chair, barely picking at his food. When he looked up, he seemed to realize everyone’s eyes were on him.

  He left the meal early, even though he’d arrived late.

  It was snowing.

  Onivia didn’t know if this was a storm wrought because of the drumming around the fire that she’d witnessed, but there was no denying that snow was blanketing the area surrounding them.

  The men in the courtyard had fortified their tents and built semi-permanent lean-tos out of mud and recently-felled tree trunks. Smoke rose from a sea of small chimneys in rows in the courtyard, which was currently covered in white.

  Akiel didn’t come to lunch or to dinner, and all the men were nicer to all the girls, peppering their requests for refills of drink with “please”s and “thank-you”s.

  Outside, the snow came down harder and thicker.

  By nightfall, there was also a wind, howling in the distance, blowing the thick snow into drifts, and making it fall sideways. Stepping outside met being pelted in the face with tiny points of sharp icy snowflakes.

  Onivia stood at the window in Larent’s quarters and looked into the darkness. There was nothing to see. She was thinking about Albus out there.

  She couldn’t help but think of that last interaction between them.

  Her aunt had said that she must cut off all communication with him, that it would be the height of impropriety. Besides, dear, it will likely be easier for him that way, not to see you.

  But Onivia had felt as if she owed him.

  Maybe because of the kiss?

  She didn’t know.

  She’d sent word to meet him in the library, after the messages had been delivered and his suit of marriage had been formally declined.

  The library was rarely open in those days, of course, because of the riots in the city, so it had been one afternoon on a Fateday, which were one of the few days the library open its doors, and even then, only for a brief spat of hours.

  He was waiting in the stacks in the language section when she arrived.

  She’d had to sneak out, and she hadn’t brought anyone along with her, not even a maid. If anyone discovered what she’d done, it would damage her reputation, and she thought—belatedly—looking at him there, down at the end of the channel between the two long, tall shelves of books—that he might have a reason to wish to hurt her, and he might attack her reputation.

  She turned, looking over her shoulder as if someone was with her. “No, leave me here a bit. I’ll rejoin you shortly.” She pretended to wait for a response and then made her way towards Albus.

  He had his hands shoved into his pockets. He was primarily looking down at his shoes but occasionally he would lift his face to glance at her. The expression he wore broke something in her.

  He was angry and hurt.

  She had done that.

  She stopped moving when she was close enough to speak, but she didn’t speak to him.

  He didn’t speak to her either.

  Silence stretched out between them, like the bookshelves on either side of them.

  “I thought I owed you…” An explanation? An excuse? “A goodbye.”

  He raised his gaze to hers then, and he held it steadily, looking deeply into her eyes. “You don’t want your name tied to mine. I understand that, I suppose.”

  “I… it is not only my decision. My family—”

  “It would have died down eventually,” he said. “The talk. My brother is hardly the only man to have done such things.”

  “I don’t know about that,” she said.

  “My father always had fae women about,” said Albus. “And that girl of my brother’s, she is three-fourths human. She is practically—”

  “I didn’t come to argue.” She cocked her head at him. “But perhaps I am pleased that I am not going to tie myself to a man who sees nothing wrong with the practice. At the very least, it is a betrayal of the marriage vows, and I see how seriously you take them.”

  He scoffed. “I am not my brother or my father. You cannot lay that at my feet.”

  “I-I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s not… if things were different—”

  “Well, they aren’t,” he cut her off. “And for what it’s worth, when my father was cut down at the hand of a fae, I determined I would never be as foolishly trustworthy as he was, or my brother was. The women are just as treacherous as the men, and that woman of my father’s, she trained up a little murderer.” He let out a low, bitter chuckle. “So, you needn’t have worried on that score. I’d never take one of them into my bed. Despite what you may think of me, I am not the sort of man who takes marriage vows lightly. You, on the other hand, made promises to me, and you take them back—”

  “Women are allowed to change their minds,” she said. “And we were not officially engaged. I… I still care about you, Albus.”

  “Spare me,” he said.

  “I do,” she said quietly, and her lower lip started to tremble.

  He seized her by the arm and he moved very close to her.

  She almost thought he was going to kiss her again, and the thought of this was so alarming that she couldn’t move. She was frozen in place.

  But he didn’t kiss her. He put his mouth near her ear instead, and he began to speak in a caustic whisper. “You will make a match that pleases your family, of course, but don’t be alarmed when it’s some man twenty years your senior. When he first puts his mouth on yours, I want you to think of me.”

  She tried to pull away from him then.<
br />
  He clamped his fingers down tighter. “And when you see me at some society dance later, on his arm, me across the room somewhere, I’ll look at you, and I’ll look at him, and I’ll tell him with my eyes that I kissed you first.”

  “Albus, stop it.”

  He let go of her. “I’ll always be the first. That is something you can’t escape.”

  “I am sorry,” she said. “But you don’t have to be so ugly.” She turned her back on him and ran up the stacks, clutching her skirts to keep them out of the way. She hoped he wouldn’t follow, that he wouldn’t see that she was alone. He was more angry than she might have imagined.

  Eventually, she turned away from the window and from her reverie. She wasn’t sure whether she really would be rescued by Albus. It had been years since that had happened between them, but she hadn’t spoken to him since.

  Had his feelings mellowed, or had he ruminated on that hatred?

  Well, the hatred had been borne out of desire. She could see that. He had been jealous of her future husband. He had been possessive. Even then, he’d thought of her as his.

  I can use that, she thought. When he arrives, I can use that.

  Of course, would he arrive? There were no armies marching in this storm. She was not even sure that an army could make an encampment in such weather.

  She lay awake in the darkness on the couch in Larent’s sitting room, worrying over the future, wondering what she should do. If Albus was really coming, should she attempt to get away and go to meet him?

  No, not in the snow and cold. Better to stay here, with Larent, who protected her. She felt a surge of something toward him at the thought and she hated herself for it.

  His fucking me shouldn’t have made me feel things towards him, she thought. Especially not with the way he fucked me.

  It must be some awful malformed part of a woman’s body or mind, perhaps. Some sort of instinctive ability to bond with a man after such a thing occurred. She despised it, but she was falling prey to it.

  Larent is not so bad, she thought. There are much worse men.

  Ah, well, that was such a rousing endorsement. Yes, best to throw in her lot with him, then. Of course, she didn’t have much other choice, not at the moment.

  She fell asleep thinking such thoughts, but she slept fitfully, which must have been why she awoke in the middle of the night to hear Larent thrashing in his bed, moaning in his sleep.

  She got up from her couch and went in there, thinking to wake him and calm him. The noise was enough that it was disturbing her own sleep.

  She went to his bed and touched his shoulder.

  One moment later, she was pinned down beneath him on the mattress, her arms over her head, held down at the wrists by his large hands, his thighs trapping her legs.

  She gasped.

  He panted, blinking. He was just waking up. “Domina,” he wheezed.

  “You were dreaming,” she said in a tiny voice.

  His grasp went gentle, but he didn’t let go of her. “You shouldn’t touch me while I’m sleeping.”

  “I… I see that.”

  She waited for him to release her. When he didn’t, she decided he must still be feeling the effects of his nightmare. She might try to soothe him. “What were you dreaming of?”

  “The uprising on my villa,” he said. “Running through bullets, blood everywhere, women screaming.” He shuddered.

  “It’s all right.” She made her voice soft and gentle. “You’re not there anymore. You’re here. You’re with me. You’re safe here.”

  He let go of her wrists. He didn’t move off her. “Safe,” he echoed, his voice bitter.

  She supposed he wasn’t safe. He was always fighting, wasn’t he? A whole life of danger and torture and captivity, only to change to this war—constant violence. She touched his face, feeling sympathy for him, a powerful rush of it.

  “Domina,” he murmured again, his voice ragged.

  She traced the lines of his face. His beard was still only stubble after shaving to go to Akiel. She rubbed her thumb over his chin. She gazed into his eyes, and she felt that sympathy surge and twist in her, changing into… into something else.

  She kissed him.

  Oh, why am I kissing him?

  His mouth moved obligingly against hers. They kissed all the time, after all, in the dining room, with her perched on his lap, his hands all over her body, and it was familiar, even natural. It felt good. She opened her mouth to him.

  He claimed her with his tongue.

  Now her hands were on his shoulders, and she suddenly realized his chest was bare, and she’d never seen him without a shirt before. His bare shoulders were… well, sort of glorious. In the scant light coming from the moon through the window, the swells of his muscles glowed silver-blue, and the feel of him under her fingertips was glorious too. He was firm and warm. His flesh gave, but his body was so hard under the thin, silky covering of skin.

  Her fingers found a raised bit of scar tissue, circular. She explored it.

  He broke the kiss, pushing up on his arms. “Bullet wound.”

  “Did it hurt?”

  “No, it was just like a bee sting.” He was gently amused.

  She let out a giggle, taking in the better view of his bare chest now. He had a mingling of black and shimmering green hair—but it just accented him, clinging to the bottom the muscles on his chest and his stomach.

  Oh, his stomach.

  She ran her fingers over the muscles there. The hair was soft where it clung to him. She liked touching him.

  “What are you doing?” he breathed.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  “I don’t need you to do this.”

  “Do you want me to stop?”

  He didn’t answer.

  She realized—just at that moment—he was hard. She could feel his cock under the drawstring pants he was wearing to sleep in, and it was pushing into her, insistent, right next to her hip bone. She rolled her hips against it, and she didn’t know why she did that either, but it simply seemed like the thing to do. She was wearing the dress she always wore, but with nothing under it, no corset or drawers. She could feel him through the layers of fabric they were both wearing, however, and he got harder.

  “Domina.” His voice was strangled. “I don’t… I’m not…” Abruptly, he rolled off of her. He lay on his back, looking at the ceiling, and his cock was standing straight up, making a tent of the pants he was wearing.

  She felt the absence of his weight like a missing limb. She sat up in the bed.

  “I realized I was trapping you there with my body. You should have asked me to move.”

  “I should have,” she agreed. Maybe… maybe I could use this, if I made him think I was actually falling for him, that my feelings for him were genuine, and that I enjoyed what he does to me. I could pretend.

  Yes, she was only pretending.

  She seized his cock.

  It felt good when we did it in front of Akiel. I don’t mind doing it. Maybe I can even enjoy it a bit. And it can be useful if I pretend. So, why not? Why not have him inside me again, all of his thick, stiff girth crammed into me again?

  He choked.

  She stroked him. “Do you want me? I want you.”

  “No, you don’t.” His eyes were closed, and his hips were moving, barely thrusting against her strokes.

  “I do,” she said. She let go of him.

  He opened his eyes.

  She grasped handfuls of her dress and tugged it over her head. It’s only pretend, she reminded herself as his gaze crawled greedily over her bare skin.

  “Domina.” His voice was gravelly. “This… what are you…?”

  “I’m yours,” she said. “Isn’t that what we said?”

  “No, this…” He shook his head. “I shouldn’t do this. You don’t really want this. You’re confused.”

  She climbed on top of him, knees on either side of him, breasts hanging down to brush against his chest. That
was nice. She brushed them back and forth purposefully, letting out a little gasp.

  “I’m confused too,” he breathed, but his hands were at her waist now, resting there comfortably, like they belonged there. He slid them up, leaving trails of shivers in his wake, and gathered up her breasts.

  She sighed.

  He rubbed her nipples until they were hard and then put them in his mouth, which he’d never done before, and she liked it.

  She arched into him, wriggling her hips against his pelvis while he sucked on her tender flesh, and she didn’t even attempt to try to stifle the noises that wanted to escape her lips. Before, when Akiel had been watching, she had tried to be quiet—failed, of course, but tried—and now she didn’t try at all.

  His mouth was on one of her nipples, his thumb and forefinger teasing the other. He was gentle, not like the time with Akiel, when the pleasure had been an assault. This was slow and sweet, building in her like effervescent, bubbling wine. She moaned and bucked, and he made answering noises against her flesh.

  She reached down to find the drawstring of his pants and she undid it. He was hard and hot against her palm.

  “Domina…” His voice was strained. “We don’t have to…”

  “I want to,” she panted, and she rubbed him against her sex. She was wet and slippery, and so he just slipped right in, like before.

  She mewled. She liked the way it felt to be invaded by him. She had missed the feel of him in here.

  He grunted, hands on her hips, holding her, stopping her from moving against him. “Just… just… wait. We shouldn’t. We can… like before, I can just please you?”

  “This pleases me.” She pushed her hips against his hands, trying to get him deeper, wanting all of him.

  He groaned, surrendering. He made one swift thrust, going all the way inside, stretching her, filling her.

  Yes, she thought, settling onto him, pressing her hips down, taking him as deep as she could. Yes.

  He looked up at her. “Good like this,” he breathed. “You can… you set the pace, domina.”

  She didn’t understand what he meant, but when he moved against her, her hips rocked against his movement, instinctively, and then she realized that she liked the way he fit in her from this angle.