Court of Shadows

by Miranda Honfleur

  “That night, I was so ashamed and so overcome that I fled. I ran to Gazgan, where Bisar found me, and she helped me use what I’d learned to help others.”

  Bisar… Was she the old woman in the chair? “Do you ever think about your family?”

  “Sometimes,” he said, then pierced her skin anew and began another bout of the incantation. “But fleeing was the ultimate dishonor. I am nameless to them.”

  “What about the little child?” she asked.

  He breathed deeply. “She is every slave whose brand I remove.”

  The rest of the removal passed in silence, her occasional gasps and his incantations the only sounds. Msizi had defied his father’s expectations and done what he’d felt was right.

  Zahib wanted her to go to university, but she already knew enough to help others. She wanted to save lives, ease suffering. And she didn’t need to leave Sonbahar to do it. Maybe she could even help here, with Msizi and Bisar.

  “Your brand is removed.” He helped her up, and she adjusted her clothes and put on her thiyawb. “There will be some lingering pain for a couple of weeks,” he said, and handed her a small jar. “Apply this nightly, and it should ease.”

  She held it up to her nose, and the hot spice was similar to the oil he’d used on her back. “Thank you.”

  He smiled and held open the strung beads for her. “Live your life, young one. Yours.”

  When she exited, Zahib was waiting for her, his hands on his hips, body angled toward the huddled boy. He didn’t trust him, it seemed, and as a Hazael, he could never trust anyone who might have been a slave. Many would want to kill him for who he’d been, for what he stood for, and perhaps they weren’t even wrong. Old, dark deeds released like horses into the plains, who’d always find their way home.

  He lifted his gaze to her, nodded to Bisar, then guided Samara out into the street. The boy already had their camels ready, and despite Zahib’s offered hand, she struggled on her own to mount. The sun had already risen, but it was only early morning.

  Zahib rode ahead, leading them toward the docks. “We’ll arrive just in time.”

  Just in time to board a ship. “What if I don’t want to go?”

  He didn’t turn to look at her. “There is no question that you’re going. The only question is whether you will go willingly, or whether I will make you go.”

  She scowled at the back of his head, at his shoulder-length black waves. “I am a free woman. I don’t have to go.”

  This time he did look over his shoulder at her, his eyes icy. “You are still my daughter. And you will go where I tell you.”

  When he faced forward again, her hands trembled as they gripped the reins. “Where are we even going? I don’t speak any other languages. I won’t know anyone. If I stay here, I can help. I can—”

  Zahib slowed his camel until he was alongside her. “And you’ll end up just like Amaya.”

  Like Umi.

  “In Sonbahar, you’re not beyond the reach of the family, do you understand? Just because you’re my heir, just because you’re Amaya’s daughter and free, they could choose to have you killed at any time.” He blew out a sharp breath through his nose. “I can’t be by your side at all times, and I can’t protect you. So I must take you to someone who can.”

  Umi hadn’t run away.

  Zahibi Nazira, Zahib’s first wife, had ordered Umi to accompany her to the marketplace. When she’d returned, she’d said Umi had run away. “My mother didn’t run away. I knew. She would never have run away.”

  “Of course not,” Zahib said, dismounting at the docks, as did Samara. He stepped around to face her, less than a foot between them. “Amaya loved you, Samara. She would have never left you.” The words were broken, raw, as if they hurt him to speak.

  He didn’t believe Umi would have left him either.

  “I loved her, too, Samara,” he said softly.

  “How could you—”

  “Don’t believe me if you don’t wish to. It makes no difference. But Amaya was my first love, and if I had been free to, I would have married her.” He held her gaze. “It was what had infuriated Nazira so much. She wanted to be my true wife, but what she got was the remnants of a man already in love.” He sighed, a pained frown creasing his brow. “It was my affection that made Amaya a target. Thirty lashes wasn’t enough.”

  When Nazira had returned without Umi, she had received thirty lashes for losing Zahib Imtiyaz’s property. Zahib was right about one thing—it hadn’t been enough. “If you loved her,” she said coldly, “you should have begged Zahib Imtiyaz to free her. You should have married her, run away with her, protected her—”

  He grabbed her shoulders. “You think I didn’t try? I did everything I could.”

  She turned her face away, and he released her.

  “I tried everything I could. But if I’d run away, Ihsan would rule the House now, and neither you, nor any of them would be free. As much as I hated it, I had to stay,” he snapped, while sailors loaded their packs onto a ship.

  She crossed her arms and looked away. “You didn’t seem to hate it so much with your pick of lovers from the slave quarter,” she grumbled.

  “Each one agreed,” he snarled.

  She stepped into his space and looked up directly into his face. “Could they refuse their zahib?”

  He held her gaze for a burning few seconds, then averted his. “I’m not perfect, Samara. But I did my best.”

  “Your best,” she said, tears welling in her eyes, “was not good enough.”

  A sailor waited behind him, their packs already loaded and their camels taken.

  “Board the ship,” Zahib said coldly.

  “No!” she snapped, her face already tear streaked. He’d made a target of Umi, failed to protect her, allowed House Hazael to own slaves for his entire life, taken lover after lover from among them, and he expected her sympathy? Her obedience? Her daughterly affection?

  “Board. The. Ship.” He turned on her, but she shook her head.

  “No!” she shouted into his face while he grabbed her by the arm. “Stop—I don’t want to go! You can’t make me—” He threw her up the gangplank and shoved her aboard the ship. “Let go!”

  She kept repeating no the whole way, and it wasn’t because she disagreed that it was her best chance to survive, or that she had to take this voyage for her own sake.

  It was because she could refuse him, and it felt good. She’d never said no to him her entire life, but now she could say it as many times as she wanted, and she’d get no lashes. No punishment. She wouldn’t have to worry about being maimed or killed.

  No. As many times as she wanted, for any reason, or no reason at all.

  When at last he pushed her into a small ship cabin, she narrowed her eyes at him. “I hate you.”

  He didn’t look away, but faced her like a lion, undaunted and bold. “Hate me all you wish, Samara. It changes nothing. I loved Amaya, I am your father, and no matter how much you hate me, I love you and will always do my best for you.” He jerked his head toward one of the two berths in the cabin. “Now lie down and get some rest. We have a long voyage ahead of us across the Shining Sea to Magehold.”

  “No.” She said it slowly, deliberately, firmly, and moved toward the berth. She sat on the hard deck next to it.

  It was unforgiving, rough, and uncomfortable, but it was her choice. And that felt better than a soft bed and following orders any day.

  Chapter 13

  Rielle hurried to keep up with Brennan as he led her back to their cabin aboard the Mariposa. She’d spent all morning buried in books on the eleven schools of accepted magic, practicing spells, counter-spells, and anti-defense spells. When it came to dueling, she always entered a more primal state, and the magic just came, but it helped to practice patterns.

  The Magister Trials might not even involve duels. They could be oral examinations, or demonstrations, or even combat.

  But she’d still worked on her pillar of flame gesture
on the weather deck, over the sea, trying to get it just right so it dimmed her anima the least. “Do you think the trials will—”

  As she opened the door, Brennan gave her a push, and she tumbled into their cabin as he slammed the door shut and captured her in his embrace from behind, his grasp at her throat as he plied her neck with kisses. She leaned into him, unbuckling her belt as his other hand slid into her trousers, his fingers reaching their mark.

  Divine. Throwing her head back onto his shoulder, she gasped and angled against his touch, savoring his ragged breaths in her ear.

  “Tell me how it feels,” he hissed, and she complied, broken words quivering from her lips as he took her to the edge, then abruptly withdrew his touch, leaving her aching, wanting, incomplete. “On the table.”

  Aside from their berths, they had only a table and two chairs in here, and she heeded him, hopping onto the sturdy table. He dragged off her boots and her trousers, then grasped her face in his hands, taking her mouth with a vigor that promised so much more.

  True to his word two weeks ago, he’d taken her at all hours of the day and night, until she didn’t remember what it had been like before the constant ache and need. These past days had been nothing but magic practice and lovemaking—and that was more than fine with her.

  She reached between them, unbuckling his belt, unfastening his trousers, taking hold of him, making him groan into her mouth. The feel of him was power, as much as he allowed her to have. He still hadn’t permitted her to pleasure him as he did her—perhaps a type of power he didn’t want to give her yet.

  He secured her legs around him and moved her arms around his neck before grabbing her waist and dragging her to the edge of the table, where he took her, rasping panted breaths in her ear with each rough stroke.

  “Divine,” she breathed, meeting his movements.

  “The Divine isn’t taking you right now,” he said, his voice that deep, low authority. “Tell me who is.” His movements roughened.

  “Brennan,” she rasped, as he lifted her off the table and carried her to the door, pressed her back against it. She raised her arms above her, bracing her palms against the ceiling as he took her.

  “Tell me who’s taking you.”

  Between moans, she breathed his name, squeezing her eyes shut to isolate the pulse pounding at her core.

  “Keep telling me,” he bit out, and as she began to repeat his name, he clamped a palm over her mouth, taking her harder, faster, bringing her to the edge, right up against it, right there, there, there, and gloriously over, Brennan, spilling over, making her scream his name again and again and again into his hand, weep, cry, and lock her legs tighter around him as he hissed, finding his own release, grinding against her, deep, deeper, until he was utterly spent.

  He uncovered her mouth and buried his face between her breasts, nuzzling her as his breathing evened. Her heart pounded like a drum, pleasure spreading like music to every corner of her body, its notes lulling her muscles to rest, to melt into him. She circled his neck with her arms, kissed the top of his head as her racing heartbeat slowed.

  His hands secure around her backside, he took her to the bottom berth and gently lowered her to the bed. She moved aside, made room for him, and he dropped into it, collapsed onto his back, holding his arm open for her. With a smile, she wriggled close and nestled against his chest, as was their ritual. His gaze fixed on the berth above them as he relaxed.

  “What are you thinking about?” she whispered, resting a hand on his abdomen.

  He interlaced his fingers with hers. “Taking you again in five minutes.”

  She barked a laugh. “I’m beginning to wonder whether one woman is enough for you.”

  He sighed and cracked a grin. “Now you know the problem I’ve suffered for so much of my life. Tragic, isn’t it?”

  She moved to smack his arm, but his fingers only intertwined tighter with hers. “Smug, aren’t you?”

  He nudged her hair with his nose. “With every reason to be.”

  There was no arguing that.

  “You’re all I want, Rielle,” he whispered, all traces of levity gone. “All I need. Believe me.”

  “Really?” She wriggled closer.

  “There’s been no one since… before Melain. I’ve only been able to think of you. Want you. Love you.” He rested his head on hers. “I’ve wanted you for so long that I don’t think I’ll ever take you enough.”

  She smiled. “Then we’ll have a splendid time discovering how much could ever be ‘enough.’”

  “Mmm. I like that.” He leaned back and breathed deeply. “Have I ever told you how perfect you are for me?”

  She mounted a leg over him and rolled on top, hands braced on his abdomen. “I promise I won’t get tired of hearing it.”

  He seized her waist in his grip, let his palms drag to her hips, and to her backside, where he squeezed her firmly. “Perfect. So perfect.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Now she knew exactly what he defined as perfection. She drew her other leg over him and dismounted, finding shaky footing on the deck. Her queen’s lace was in their packs, and she wouldn’t miss a dose, not even while cuddled up to him in dreamy comfort.

  Once she found it, she uncorked their bottle of wine, poured herself a full goblet, and dosed it. He propped up on an arm, watching her contemplatively.

  “The preventive,” he said, and she nodded. He lowered his gaze, letting the silence pervade a moment as the Mariposa bobbed and voices carried from elsewhere on the ship. “Do you ever think about… not taking it?”

  She dropped into the nearby chair.

  Sometimes when they’d been around children, she’d caught the way Brennan looked at them with that certain wistfulness. It wasn’t about breaking the curse anymore, not for him. He wanted to be a father, wanted a family of his own, and Divine, he was wonderful with his nephews.

  But as soon as those thoughts appeared in her mind, her hand would drift to her empty womb, where Sylvie would now have been just over six months along. At the thought, an ache would form in her chest, hollow and yet painful, bleeding memories she’d never make, visions of a little girl who’d never see the world, of a family that’d never be. And never far from those thoughts was Jon, who—if things had gone a little differently—would have been at her side, expecting their first child together.

  Pressure formed behind her eyes, and she turned away, sipping her wine. That future—all of it—had shattered. Unforgettably.

  “I do,” she whispered, draining the goblet, “but I can’t.” Her composure recovering, she faced him, that lowered gaze, that sullen look. “I know you want children. I know that. But I’m not sure when, if ever, I’ll be ready. I love you, Brennan, so much, and I’m so happy with you, but… I don’t want to hurt you. It’s still not too late for you to—”

  He glared at her, sharp, hard. “Nox help me, Rielle,” he swore, his voice raw, coarse. “Not another word. Not. Another. Word.” His entire body had gone rigid, so taut that waves of tension practically rolled off him.

  They had the perfect relationship now, and despite their different plans for the future, he promised her it would be all right. But that promise wouldn’t end well unless one of them bent toward the other. If they didn’t discuss it, he’d assume she would… and she’d assume he would. And they’d both end up unhappy.

  But as if he’d sealed her mouth shut, the words wouldn’t pass.

  At last, he exhaled. “I do want children—a whole house of them, Rielle,” he said, and her heart broke. “But I want them with you. If that doesn’t happen, then… it doesn’t happen. I love you. I want you. No one else.” He stood from the bunk and approached her, knelt at her feet, took her hand in his. “Don’t ever think you’re not enough. Ever.”

  He meant it now. She believed him. But if she didn’t change her mind, would he still mean it in five years? Ten? Or would he regret it, wish he’d chosen someone else?

  Some distant calls came from the upper decks, and Brenna
n paused attentively, then handed her trousers and boots to her.

  “Get dressed,” he said, rising and buckling his belt. “You’re going to want to see this.”

  See what? But she scrambled into her trousers and tugged on her boots, buckling her belt as they darted out of the cabin. He took her hand, leading her down the passageway and up the ladder to the weather deck.

  A number of passengers and sailors gathered at the starboard railing, and Brennan wedged them between the crowd to find a spot, positioned behind her, his hands on either side of hers on the railing, keeping her from all others.

  Out in the crystalline turquoise waters of the Shining Sea, just beneath the surface, iridescent scales mirrored the afternoon sunlight, and dazzling glowing eyes surveyed them.

  “Mermaids,” she whispered, her hand going to the golden locket hanging from her neck, enshrining the scale she’d been honored with on their way across the Bay of Amar. A pod of mer-people swam alongside the ship, gazes darting about the faces of the sailors and passengers, vocalizing musically to one another beneath the waves.

  “What do you think they’re saying?” she mused aloud.

  Brennan leaned in, his embrace closing from behind as he rested the side of his face against her head. “If I had to guess, ‘Look at that attractive couple. They look like they belong together.’ Or something like that.”

  Rolling her eyes, she tried to look over her shoulder at him, but his hold was uncompromising. She sighed. “Yes, I’m sure that’s it,” she deadpanned, even as a reluctant smile stole her mouth.

  “Like a flash of lightning,” he whispered in her ear. “They can’t help but look, catching a glimpse while they can.”

  * * *

  Brennan offered Rielle a hand and helped her into the carriage to Magehold, out of the rain, eyeing her garnet ring with a smile. He’d arranged to have some of the Marcel mansion’s staff in Magehold meet them here. Once they arrived, she could finally set aside the books on magic for once, relax for a week, and focus on them.

  Perhaps after this, these trials, once she’d won the rank of magister, she could pull back from all of this Divinity work, from this obsession with magic and missions. All of that only got her into trouble, and the future duchess of Maerleth Tainn couldn’t be risking her life regularly.