One Thousand Kisses

by One Thousand Kisses

  Ani had been celibate all these months, dreading the day Warran offered a card from The Thousand Kisses. She planned to refuse it but had been too spineless for a preemptive strike.

  Yet after the first weeks, he hadn’t offered so much as a kiss. If he were waiting on her to offer the card, he’d be waiting forever. She had zero interest in discovering whether they were bondmates and zero intentions of allowing him into her bed. If her one was Warran, she’d rather not know. Over time, she’d grown to, well, not like him.

  But how to tell him? With the clout of the AOC behind them, The Torvals’s displeasure could destroy her future. Her career was at stake.

  Such as it was.

  Ophelia watched Ani as if she could read minds, but the other fairy’s skills were air and earth, not spirit. “How has your sib’s bond affected you?”

  Ani settled on facts anyone might know. “We don’t spend as much time together. Her job and children take precedence.” Not all sibs lived in one another’s pockets. She wondered sometimes if Warran and Ophelia even liked each other.

  Ophelia rested her chin on her hand. She reminded Ani of a spider, spinning so many threads she was connected everywhere.

  And hungry.

  “How did she get a job as a ring agent? Who did she have to…bribe?” Warran and Ophelia both chuckled nastily.

  A question asked by many. Tali and Jake were the first high-level bondmates to serve as agents in some time. “They got a special dispensation from the Primaries. I would think you’d be in favor. Allowing agents the travel freedom of researchers is a step in the direction you’ve advocated in the past.”

  “Travel freedom isn’t quite what we advocate, dear,” Ophelia said.

  “Let’s not debate semantics, ladies. There’s a topic closer to my heart I long to discuss.” Warran waited until they were paying attention to him. “Ani’s future.”

  “I feared you might say your beard,” Ophelia drawled.

  “My future?” Ani’s stomach bottomed out. Was he about to propose a consummation ritual in front of his sister?

  “How do you think Talista’s job affects your chances at Court?” Warran’s question both relieved and irritated her. Only full sibling sets—twins and the occasional triplets—could become Elders. Tali, as a humanspace agent, was automatically disqualified, and thus, so was Ani.

  Good gravy, did they just want to see her squirm?

  “I was told I’d be confirmed for Younger Court in a couple of years.” She sighed loudly and hoped they wouldn’t realize it was put on. “Elder Court wasn’t my destiny.”

  She wasn’t sure what her future held, but she’d come to terms with Tali’s choices. At first she’d considered switching to advanced medicine, but that seemed like admitting she couldn’t handle Court without Tali.

  Were the past twenty years in training wasted?

  No. She could do well as a Younger, and she was still sought for bond tests. A bond increased one’s magic, so joining with a twin was a boost. Bonding with a young fairy also extended the older partner’s lifespan. Most Court members didn’t mind that her upward mobility was limited.

  She wished Warran minded more.

  “Perhaps I’ll become healer for Clan Stonehaus,” she said, naming one of the smallest hill groups. “Theirs is due to retire.”

  Warran sipped his wine. Too much to hope he’d take her seriously and break up with her on the spot.

  “I’m sure you can find a better vocation than that.” Ophelia inclined her head. “There’s more to life than Court. You’re the crown princess of Serendipity.”

  “Our primes are two hundred. It isn’t likely Tali and I will be called to service.” The top-ranked siblings in a clan were next in line for clan primes. Crowns received a stipend, duty waivers and had some influence in clan rulings.

  Little did most of the Realm know she and Talista couldn’t fulfill that role either. They hadn’t decided how to abdicate because they could hardly confess Tali’s bondmate was a onesie who couldn’t remain in the Realm longer than two weeks at a stretch. Who wasn’t even supposed to exist.

  “It’s a shame antique customs hold us back,” Warran said. “Is there really any need for Elder sets to be whole? Primaries, yes, but not Elders. When does the Court join in a single magical endeavor? Too many of our policies are based on myths. Anisette would be an asset to any governing body.”

  Why Warran considered her an asset when she knew she was passive and easily swayed, she wasn’t sure. Or perhaps that was why. Leaders needed followers. Growing up with Tali had certainly taught her the art of following.

  “Warran and I were confirmed for Younger Court by seventy,” Ophelia said. “Long before the Fiertags were born.”

  “Bah.” Warran thumped down his wineglass. “They’re too young to be Primaries. Skythia’s a spendthrift, Embor’s on the verge of collapse and their vendetta against the AOC blinds them. They don’t have enough perspective to see the damage the old ways are doing.”

  Ani stifled a groan. Conversations with the Torvals inevitably turned to politics. She knew more about their desire to topple Embor and Skythia than she cared to. The impending Primary assessments, a series of tests candidates underwent to prove their fitness, had increased their zeal—and their unpleasantness.

  Despite Ani’s mixed feelings about Embor, the Fiertags were competent leaders who’d countered more threats than most citizens realized. The Elder Court had been informed of the Torval foursies’s treachery five years ago but kept in the dark about details. Ani didn’t even have all the details, and she’d been involved.

  But she knew more than Warran and Ophelia, and tonight she had a strong urge to give them a disgust of her.

  Ani dug her nails into her palms, remembering the way Embor had looked when he’d realized Violet had peed on him, and said, “I think the Fiertags are doing well.”

  Ophelia and Warran froze mid-toast.

  “Explain yourself,” Ophelia said in frigid tones.

  Ani swallowed. “In fifty years, they haven’t made any huge mistakes.” Not counting Tali’s escapade. “The leprechauns have accepted ambassadors into Greenland. The Sphinx rewrote their contracts, the survival training program has been fruitful, the gnomes are confined to the Outer Territories—”

  “How can you say such things, you ignorant child?” Ophelia’s voice thinned to a near shriek. “You’re old enough to remember the Incident. How many did your clan lose? How many died in your household when the magic disappeared?”

  Ani peeked at Warran. If he were as angry as his sister, she may have hit upon the exact scheme to disentangle herself. What she wouldn’t give to channel Tali’s skill at annoying people right now.

  “I don’t recall how many we lost,” she said as flippantly as possible. Few of her kin had died during the Incident because the magically weak Serendipity clan had had more experience faring like humans. “It was so long ago.”

  During the Incident, all magic had vanished. Obtaining food, water and medical care had been a challenge hardly any fairies were prepared to face. After a few terrible months, the magic had returned as inexplicably as it had disappeared. Since then, the Court’s highest purpose had been preventing another disaster.

  “I’ll tell you how many we lost,” Ophelia ranted. “Forty-seven. Our clan is still struggling. Then those thrice-damned agents went rogue. Idiots. The least they could have done was kill Embor.”

  Ani’s heart thumped painfully. How did the Elder Torvals know their missing clansmen had tried to commit murder? It hadn’t been shared outside Embor and Skythia’s immediate circle. She chewed her fingertip, her body tense. She should report this. What would Embor say if she came to him with this information?

  What if he mocked her—said people were always threatening to kill him?

  What if he stared into her eyes and asked how he could possibly thank her for her service to the Realm?

  Warran stroked his beard. “Ophelia, really. We don’t condone a
ssassination.”

  “Gallows humor.” Ophelia’s teeth flashed in a grin that looked more like a snarl. “We have a plan for the election that makes such measures unnecessary. Anisette, it’s time you know how you’re going to help.”

  Ani had the urge to grab her table knife and back away. “I am?”

  “Darling,” Warran began, “you’ve proven yourself trustworthy these past months.”

  She didn’t like where this was headed. She wouldn’t be part of any plan against the Fiertags. “I’m just a trainee. This talk of strategy is beyond me.”

  “Once we’re together,” Warran said, “the Court will overlook the unfortunate situation with your sister.”

  If he was set on her, why hadn’t he offered a consummation card so she could refuse it? Did he not want to take that chance? Some fairies tolerated bond tests out of guilt, gambling on the odds it wouldn’t take, but she’d not have done that with Warran. Hades, no.

  Ophelia motioned for the server to replenish everyone’s wine. The level in Ani’s glass hadn’t dropped, so the server pretended to fill it the same way she’d pretended to drink.

  “What I’m about to tell you is confidential,” Warran said. “We might not be in the Fiertags’ cabinet, but we know the Primaries have no idea what caused the Incident. Their investigation has turned up nothing. They tell the peasants it was natural and tell us it was humans. Blaming humans is their excuse to lock the rings.”

  “I’ve gotten reports of Embor’s erratic behavior.” Ophelia’s voice dropped to a stage whisper. “They say he has nightmares. A known sign of instability.”

  “Who says these things?” Ani asked. “I’ve heard nothing.”

  Embor had taken a sabbatical after he’d been kidnapped five years ago. When he’d returned after a month, it had been business as usual. Ani hadn’t heard much before or after that maligned him—from anyone but the Torvals.

  She certainly hadn’t heard he was afflicted with sleep terrors. The reassurance of the sibling bond, of never being completely alone, tended to scotch unpleasant dreams.

  Ophelia sneered. “Why would you hear? We’re Elders, and you are, as you said, a trainee.”

  Instead of arguing, Ani murmured, “I see.”

  “You’d best see.” Ophelia finished her wine. “Soon you’ll be in a position to influence the Elder Court.”

  “I can’t be appointed to Elder Court,” Ani reminded her, surprised how bitter it came out.

  “A woman can sway a husband, dear.”

  Anisette twisted her napkin into a thin snake of fabric. Surely they didn’t expect her to marry Warran regardless of the results of the bond test? She wasn’t even seventy.

  She was going to have to end this. Somehow. Sooner rather than later.

  “Ophelia’s being naughty.” Warran stretched across the table for Ani’s hand, and she busied herself with the napkin. “Your sib is a humanspace agent. She’ll tell you the Incident wasn’t caused by humans. They’re too stupid to have plotted such a thing.”

  “My sister doesn’t share that view of humanity.”

  “How can she not? She’s around them so frequently, their atavism would be difficult to ignore.”

  How many humans have you been around? she wanted to ask, but her best lines remained trapped in her head. Trapped by civility. Tali had always warned her that someday, her dislike of confrontation would get her into trouble. Before this, the only trouble in Ani’s life had been caused by Tali.

  She was about to excuse herself when the server, with a nervous glance at Ani, placed a silver tray in front of Warran. Warran removed the cover with a flourish. Inside was a small gilded chest.

  “I have something for you.” He slid it toward Ani.

  “What is it?” The box was the size of two clasped fists, intricately carved. Aside from compliments, Warran wasn’t in the habit of bestowing gifts.

  “Guess.” Warran was handsome, charming when he wanted to be, but he was hard to read. A man with, say, blue eyes wouldn’t be such a mystery. She’d be able to see his pupils contract and dilate with his changing moods.

  Pale grey eyes would also work. They were often paired with blond hair.

  While Ani considered the box on the table—as well as blond-haired, grey-eyed men—Ophelia waved away the desserts. Ani’s favorite part of the meal was the sweet, but she didn’t defy Ophelia and call it back.

  Crackers and cheese. She was so weak-willed, it was a wonder she could sit upright.

  “It’s smaller than a breadbox,” Ani finally said. “Alas. I like bread.” And dessert.

  Warran flipped the clasp. “You’ll like this more.”

  “It’s not my birthing day.” The last time she’d accepted something from Warran, it had led to months of celibacy and gloom.

  “Quit being missish and open it,” Ophelia barked.

  Ani whipped back the lid. Inside the box was a white card accented with sparkles. Hand-lettered on the card was the number 872.

  A consummation ritual card. Her stomach cramped.

  “I’ve made you wait long enough,” Warran said grandly. “The time has come.”

  “An eight hundred?” She’d never been drawn to eight hundred-level rituals. Too many participants, not enough romance.

  “Oh yes,” Ophelia assured her. “Warran wanted eight hundred and one, but that only involved the three of us. We needed a fourth person to…increase our chances.”

  Ani stood abruptly, her layers of skirt knocking her chair to the solar floor. “I must go. Thank you for a delicious meal.”

  Warran grabbed her hand. “Shall we begin?”

  Eight hundred and seventy-two. Eight hundred and seventy-two. Anisette hadn’t studied the upper rituals as much as the lower ones. Was eight hundred and seventy-two a ritual that involved ongoing consent once the card was accepted?

  “Take off her clothes and tie her up,” Ophelia ordered, rising from the table. She yelled at the servant. “You there. Fatty. Come with me. Time to prove yourself.”

  Ani yanked away from Warran. “No.”

  Warran laughed, his smile toothy and gleaming. “Perfect. The precise note of defiance called for. You’ve done this before.”

  “I haven’t.” Ani’s panic grew. She was a healer. Earth and water. She carried no emergency spell globes that worked Realmside. Why would she need to? This was the stuff of lurid erotica…innocent fairy coerced into a bonding ritual.

  In the stories, the bond always took.

  As soon as Ophelia exited, Warran’s smile faded and he pulled Ani into his lap. Her dark blue dress billowed over his legs. “The eight hundred and one would have been better, but Ophelia’s the dominant twin. You know how that is. We can’t stand against them, can we?”

  “I don’t give my consent,” Ani whispered. Her heart thudded in her throat, choking her. She wasn’t the dominant twin either. She wasn’t the dominant anything.

  “I wanted our first time to be less strenuous. I even considered a four hundred and twenty-seven. I hope you rested well last night. By tomorrow we’ll be bondmates, and you can sleep the honeymoon away.”

  He was that certain? With a shaking hand, Ani took the card from the chest and tore it in half. “I don’t give my formal consent. My answer is no.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “Yes, I do.” Ani squirmed until he released her. “I don’t wish to see you anymore.”

  For a moment she thought that would be the end of it, but then his brows drew together. “There’s someone else. You’ve accepted a card.”

  “Of course I haven’t. Our agreement had precedence.” Who did he think would be foolhardy enough to interfere with the affairs of Elder Warran of Clan Torval? That would be almost as bad as crossing one of the Primaries.

  Unexpectedly, Warran shot out of the chair and secured her upper arms, bared by her puff sleeves.

  Ani jerked at his grasp. Her survival classes hadn’t included self-defense, deemed unnecessary for civilized f
airies. “I’m leaving.”

  Rage blasted from his body like an icy wind. “Tell me who it is.”

  She gasped when his eyes bled white. He’d called his magic, his ether. Cold seared her skin from his hands. Her teeth began to chatter as she wrestled him.

  Ani called her own magic, earth and water. She wasn’t strong enough to numblock another Fey. Agony spells existed, seldom taught or used, certainly not by healers. How did one reverse-heal? Could she bring herself to cause pain instead of erase it?

  She shoved her fingers at his neck, her sleeves constricting as she stretched. Before she could push him, hurt him, Warran staggered back, collapsing onto the ground.

  His skin was pasty, crusted with ice, except for the scalded red of his palms and four scorch marks the exact shape of her fingers against his throat.

  His sightless eyes rolled upward, and a voice so unlike his she hardly recognized it creaked out of him. “Hand of Fire.”

  “What?” Blood rushed to her head and buzzed in her ears like a giant mosquito. “I have no fire. What’s happening?”

  “I saw him. The Fiertag. He’s the one, isn’t he?”

  Ani clutched her hands, fingers hot and cold at the same time. “Are you mad?”

  “No,” he said grimly, “I’m ether. I have a touch of precog.”

  His palms blistered and wept straw-colored liquid. If he weren’t tended quickly, it would grow worse. He could lose the use of his fingers.

  “Do you need healing?” She reached out with more reluctance than she should feel when someone was in pain.

  “Run,” he whispered, right before Ophelia, dressed in white fur from head to toe, charged into the solar.

  “What in Hella’s name is going on in here? The ether surged like a cat was trying to…” Her mouth snapped shut when she noticed Warran prone.

  In a dangerous voice, Ophelia said, “I told you not to use the damned spell, brother. What difference does it make who she’s meant for?”

  “She refused consent.”