Blackstone

by Shea Godfrey

“Are you in over your head and in need of my help?”

  “Do not concern yourself with such complicated things. You are the stick that men such as I use to beat our enemies. You are above your station at the moment.”

  Darry noted that the tension within his body did not match the scene he had so carefully prepared.

  “I see your lickspittle delivered my message. Thank you for coming.”

  “You need to leave me alone now, Mal,” Darry said plainly. “I am no longer in your way, and I have no more concerns as to the affairs of the crown. I have relinquished my title and my command, as I’m sure you know.”

  Malcolm let out a breath of amusement. “Yes, thank you for that.”

  “So why am I here?”

  “Do you enjoy fucking my wife?” Malcolm inquired and his tone had changed. It was slight, but Darry felt the sharpness of it like the taste of a misplaced needle. “Does her spirit taste hot and sweet upon your tongue when you make her spend?”

  Darry resisted the urge to step forward before the impulse had fully formed within her muscles. “Your wife?”

  “Does she moan and writhe beneath you?” Malcolm lowered his voice as if they were sharing secrets, and his smile was filled with condescension. “Does she cry out your name?”

  “We can discuss that later.” Darry struck quickly. “When did I miss the wedding?”

  Malcolm ignored her and Darry felt his eyes rake over her from head to toe. He seemed to consider several comments, as if the confrontation he had plotted within his mind did not match the one he was actually a part of. “If only you had a cock to push inside her, your life would be complete.”

  His comment took Darry by surprise, though she was not sure why and her sharp tongue took the lead. “I know a rather naughty shop where I can purchase one, but I appreciate your concern,” she returned in a wry voice. “For the love of Gamar, Mal, you sound like Melora.”

  Malcolm scoffed. “Why do you always assume you may have whatever you want? If something catches your fancy, no matter the consequences, you do as you please.”

  Darry waited, her eyes keen upon the flush of heat along his throat. She watched his blood pulse beneath the meager protection of his skin, and she wondered if he understood how fragile he was. How fragile we both are, she reminded herself.

  Malcolm made a face of disgust as he pulled his leg back and sat straight upon the throne. “First you take an innocent, beautiful young girl and force her to engage in…well, I’m not sure what you made her do, but you soiled her without a second thought as to her fate.”

  Darry’s eyes narrowed as they rose to his.

  “And now the Princess Jessa, yet another innocent girl taken in by your false charm and diseased blood.” Malcolm leaned forward, his eyes bright as if he had his victory already in hand. “And little did anyone know that your blood actually is diseased. You truly are a mongrel now, aren’t you.”

  “You do not sound like a prince,” Darry said softly. “You do not sound like a man who will be a king.” She took a small step forward. “You sound like a jealous little boy, Mal, who’s had his toys taken away.”

  “I have plans, Darrius,” Malcolm responded. “Solid, exceptional plans for Arravan’s future, and yet you care for nothing but your own pleasure as you discard the rules along your way.”

  “To marry Jessa and put your son upon the Jade Throne?” Darry asked with some degree of caution. The tension within his body had changed and not for the better. He felt his prey was in reach and the advantage was his. Beyond the confines of the maze, she felt Hinsa turn in the deepest forest of the Green Hills. She felt the spray of moisture as she exhaled, and the shiver that moved beneath her fur. “Was that your plan? Was your pet prince to be your regent until the boy came of age? Or should I say your puppet? And what of Jessa, Mal? She is not yours to take and do with what yo—”

  “No?” His voice was raised. “But she is yours to take?”

  “She is not anyone’s to take, Mal. We’ve had this discussion before. Jessa is not a pawn in your game. She is a free woman, with all the rights and privileges that such a thing provides. And if that is not clear enough for you to comprehend, then understand that she is a Princess of the Blood and comes from a line that stretches back a thousand years before the first Durand was even born.” Darry looked at him with a mixture of shock and rage, both of which she could feel within her chest. “I will not stand before you ever again and be belittled by you. This is beneath you.” Darry spoke and felt her many years of frustration push against the door. “Move on. Make new plans. Find your own pleasure. Be a bloody prince, for the love of Gamar, and stop fucking with people’s lives!”

  Malcolm leaned back upon the throne and chuckled. “I don’t know why I always engage with you,” he responded. “I really don’t. You never understand. No one really sees what the future can be here, least of all you.”

  Darry spied the movement within the darkness beyond her mother’s throne, but she did not turn her head.

  “You make me angry,” Malcolm admitted and his tone was dark. “You are a backwards cunt and I am the Crown Prince of Arravan, poised to take the throne. And yet, here we are.”

  Darry waited, uncertain of what else she should do until he made his move.

  “You’re the hero of the realm who has dispatched our enemies in brilliant fashion, and me, I am left to pick up the pieces of Arravan’s future.” He leaned forward again. “Perhaps I’ll make a new plan, if my old one doesn’t work out. Perhaps I’ll still get what I want. Perhaps Jessa will enjoy a change of pace. Do you think a cock for a tongue will please her?”

  Darry realized that his words so far had served very little purpose but to provoke her. He disliked her, but so what? He disapproved, but who should care? He was jealous, but what did it matter in the end? Jealous of what and why, was perhaps the better question. She saw his moves played out into a endgame she had no intention of participating in. “I’m not going to hurt you, Mal, if that’s what you’re waiting for. I’m not going to beat you bloody again, so you may call the guards and have me thrown in a cell.”

  His eyes flashed and his jaw clenched.

  “And I would not be so little-boy eager, if I were you, to pit your desires against a woman such as Jessa.”

  “A woman such as Bharjah’s daughter?” Malcolm inquired. “She is still his dregs.”

  Darry laughed, unable to stop her reaction. “Have you not been paying attention?”

  “Better than you have, apparently,” Malcolm replied. “Have it your way, yet one more time, Darrius.” He pushed to his feet.

  Darry heard the crack and twang of the trigger and cord and reacted within the same instant, her instincts pure beneath the unmistakable sound. She was not at her best, though, and her muscles would not obey as they should have.

  The crossbow bolt took her high in the left shoulder and she let out a hard breath as she was thrown back the other way. The pain burst throughout her chest and the impact as her right shoulder hit the floor sent a blast of light through her head that was its own agony.

  Hinsa stumbled as she ran and her powerful shoulder hit the ground, the undergrowth and brush caught beneath her unruly slide and filling the distant night with noise. Birds lifted from their rest in a rush of wings and the call of a startled owl screeched out.

  Darry caught one breath and then another as she craned her neck and looked to the open door in the distance.

  Malcolm’s boot pushed at her wounded shoulder, and Darry rolled onto her back with a cry of distress. The bolt shifted with her and she sucked in the pain as the broadhead of the arrow ripped through the skin of her back.

  Hinsa’s fierce scream echoed within Darry’s head and drowned out her brother’s words.

  The smell of blood filled her nose, and she stared at his mouth as she tried to pull back from Hinsa’s emotions.

  Malcolm leaned down slightly, a curious expression on his face as he stood over her. “I said your temper is not wh
at it once was,” he repeated. “Is this better than a cell?”

  “What…what have you done?” Darry asked and her voice was rough and unfamiliar to her own ears. The shock of it hit then, and she was swept along in its cold tide. She could feel the blood leave her body and settle beneath her back.

  “I’m putting things back where they should be. It’s not my fault if you wouldn’t play along,” Malcolm answered and his voice had softened. “So now you will disappear into the night, never to be heard from again. We shall all grieve, of course, and there will be tears. Mother’s heart will be broken, but she’ll bear it, just as she did when Jacey Rose left us.”

  Jacey Rose, Darry thought and she tried to focus. The daughter whose place I took, in order to soothe a grief that would never go away. I brought you lilacs, Jacey, and cleaned the dust from the carvings on your tomb.

  “And I will console the Princess Jessa until she accepts her intended fate, you shouldn’t worry.” Malcolm crouched beside her. “And come Summer Solstice a year from now, we shall be married beneath the shadow of the gods, and she will know what it’s like to have a real man in her bed. Not a pretender.”

  Darry licked her lips, the metallic flavor of blood upon her tongue. “I think…you’re in…for a surprise.”

  Malcolm rose with a smile. “Then the joy shall be all mine, as she fights against me. Though either way, Darrius Lauranna Durand, I shall plant my heirs within her womb.”

  Darry blinked and felt her thoughts slip sideways as the familiar smells of the maze filled her nose. The ground was soft beneath her feet and she felt Hinsa’s fear as the panther moved.

  “Come and finish it, Marteen,” Malcolm ordered quietly.

  There was a loud clatter of noise and Malcolm turned with a start.

  Bentley Greeves held a dagger at the base of Marteen Salish’s throat as they walked clear of the shadows and moved about the dais. “Back away from her.”

  Malcolm moved to the side. “What you’re doing is treason, Greeves. Let him go.”

  Bentley smiled and it was not an expression Malcolm had seen from him before. “Shall we speak of treason?” Bentley asked him. “Etienne!”

  Malcolm looked over his shoulder and another man slipped from the shadows near the entrance of the throne room. He hurried down the aisle, the crossbow held before him and aimed squarely at Malcolm’s chest as he approached. Malcolm took several steps toward the dais as he reassessed the situation. The man was another of Darry’s bastard boys, Etienne Blue.

  “Get her up,” Bentley ordered.

  Etienne set the loaded crossbow onto the stones and went to a knee beside Darry. “Hello, Captain. How’s your evening going?” he asked as he inspected the wound. Darry lifted her right hand and Etienne leaned close as she whispered.

  “You’re both making a very bad mistake,” Malcolm said and looked to Bentley. “And I promise—you shall all end your days in the same grave.”

  “Perhaps.” Bentley flashed another smile beneath his mustache. He tipped the blade and Salish flinched within his arms as a thick line of blood ran down his throat and disappeared beneath the collar of his tunic. “But it won’t be the first mistake we’ve made.”

  Etienne slipped a hand beneath Darry’s neck. “That’s true,” he replied in a tense voice. The streak of blue within his hair caught the lamplight and flared silver. “The Solstice masque at Madame Salina’s three years ago comes to mind.”

  Darry grunted in pain as Etienne sat her up in one smooth move.

  Bentley shifted and tightened his hold upon Salish as they backed down the aisle several steps. Darry cried out as Etienne lifted her into his arms and stood up straight. “We’ll leave the toad’s body where you can find it easily,” Bentley said.

  “Mal?” Marteen Salish spoke and his voice was filled with an odd mixture of fear and disbelief. “Love, please!”

  “Move a bit faster, my brother,” Bentley ordered and Etienne quickened his pace toward the doors.

  Malcolm’s heartbeat was painful within his chest, as if a fist had reached in and closed about his lungs. He shoved at his panic as Bentley tipped his head to the side. “Love?”

  Marteen Salish’s eyes widened slowly but Malcolm looked away from him, intent upon Bentley’s next move. “Do not mistake your place in all of this, Greeves. Do not presume more power than you have right now.”

  Bentley looked across the distance between them. “That explains quite a bit, actually.”

  “You’re a dead man,” Malcolm promised softly.

  “Wouldn’t you rather fuck me?” Bentley offered and Malcolm could feel the sudden flush within his face. The heat of his discomfort and shame rose up against every measure of his will and claimed a bold victory. “I’m told I can be quite a bit of fun.”

  Malcolm pulled the small blade from behind his belt and struck with speed, his lunge smooth and precise.

  Bentley pulled his dagger back but he was too slow as the steel of Malcolm’s knife sliced across the back of his hand. His dagger clattered to the stones and Salish stumbled and fell to his knees.

  “Guards!” Malcolm shouted and his voice filled the throne room. “Guards!” He bent over and picked up Bentley’s fallen dagger, regarding Marteen Salish who sat back upon his heels.

  Malcolm considered his situation. The Greeves family held substantial power, but they were no match for the full might of the crown. “A price beyond blood,” he said.

  He grabbed Marteen Salish by the hair from behind and pulled Bentley’s dagger across his throat.

  Marteen’s hair was soft within his hand, as soft as it always was, soft like the finest silk sheets. Soft like his lips about the shaft of Malcolm’s manhood. As soft as his cries were, when he was taken from behind, the sounds of his pleasure at having a prince’s favor muffled within the pillows.

  Malcolm blinked and felt the the dagger’s handle bite into his hand, and then Salish fell, the strands of his hair pulled beyond Malcolm’s grip by the weight of his body.

  He dropped at the base of the dais as Malcolm watched.

  The blood was instant, and though Salish struggled briefly and tried to crawl away, it took very little time for the stillness of death to overcome him.

  “Greeves?” Malcolm’s voice shook as he turned about.

  The throne room was empty before him, and Bentley Greeves was nowhere to be seen.

  “If I were you…” Malcolm tossed Bentley’s dagger to the stones as a strange surge of heat rose within his chest. He felt dizzy as he swallowed hard upon a tight throat and wiped his bloodstained hand upon his tunic. He stepped farther away from the body, unable to look.

  “If I were you,” he whispered. “I’d run.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Darry struggled as her left hand found the small jut of stone, but her fingers would not grab hold. As bits of shale crumbled and sprayed downward, Darry was forced to close her eyes and turn her face. Her left side ached as if she had run for many miles, but she was determined to reach the top. A flutter of fear moved within her chest, though, for no matter how hard she tried, she could not make her left hand work as it should.

  She spit dust from her mouth and looked up along the sheer face of the rock. “Bloody hell and hounds.”

  There would be two good pulls before she reached a narrow shelf where she might rest, and she wasn’t entirely sure she had the strength. She shifted her weight upon the toe of her right boot and glanced away from the rocks.

  The landscape poured away from her in a vast roll of earth, the wheat-colored grass in constant movement as the wind moved south across the plain.

  Darry could feel the sweat trickle down her back, and her legs trembled from exertion as she looked up once more. The dark gray rock seemed to rise straight into the sky, the brightness of the blue above almost too much to bear as Darry squinted her eyes.

  She took a breath to calm her nerves and then she reached. Her fingers finally gripped and she pushed off with her right foot, b
ut her strength did not last.

  Darry grabbed with her right hand in a panic of movement as her left boot slipped free of the foothold and she bounced against the rock and lost her balance.

  An iron grip seized her left wrist and held strong. “I’ve got you.”

  Darry looked up with wide eyes.

  “Put your right hand to the left of where it was, and a bit higher…there’s a notch.”

  Darry obeyed, found the notch, and held on tight. She established her feet once more and raised her eyes as her heart beat wildly in her chest.

  The deep scar upon the left side of the woman’s face crinkled in a curious manner as she smiled. “I know you’re tired, but you can do it. I won’t let go.”

  Darry struggled to catch her breath, but she did as she was told and pulled herself upward. Her feet found an outcrop of shale on the left and a divot within the rock on the right, and before she knew what was happening, she stumbled onto the shelf and into the strong arms of the scarred woman.

  “Essa-oh, my friend,” the woman said and smiled. “It is a hard climb, this rock.”

  Darry leaned against the wall of stone in weakness and tried to catch her breath. “Then why…am I climbing it?”

  The woman laughed and looked happy. “That is a good question.”

  Darry leaned over at the waist and grabbed the fabric at the knees of her trousers. She gave a hard cough and wiped at her mouth with her sleeve.

  “All of this land here,” the woman said as she looked across the plains far beneath them, “this once belonged to my people. There is a heavily forested grove that grows past the horizon there,” she explained and pointed into the west. “There is good clean water there, and the rabbits like the shade.” She looked at Darry. “Do you like rabbit?”

  Darry considered the question and stood up straight, though it took only a few seconds before she gave in and leaned against the rock once more. She pulled her left arm close and cradled it with her right. “With sauce, yes.”

  “Sauce?”

  “Gravy.”

  “Yes”—the woman nodded—“I like that, too.”