by Gwynn White
Jorah’s smile faded, and the care in his remarkable eyes vanished. “I didn’t come here to fail.”
Aurora’s smile died, too, at the harshness in his voice. Why had Jorah come when he was still in love with Lila?
It didn’t make sense to her. Perhaps it was time to sound him out about that. She opened her mouth to ask the question—
But not here, not now, in front of all the suitors and courtiers. She didn’t want to embarrass him, or herself.
Later. She would ask him later.
She moved down the line to the next man.
Lord Lardel. He held out a plume of hogweed resting on a tray. His other hand was bandaged.
She grimaced in sympathy—hogweed contained a particularly virulent poison that could keep blistering the skin for years to come. Thankfully, she had concocted a potion to counter it. As she had for all the plants in her poison garden.
Cheeks as scarlet as cherry juice, either from pain or embarrassment, Lord Lardel said, “Princess Aurora.” His voice was rough. “I have failed you. Please accept my apologies.” He tossed the tray onto the sand at his feet. “I won’t inflict this vile thing on you.”
With the lightest of touch, she trailed a finger across his bandaged hand. “I’m not just a creator of lethal gardens, I’m also a skilled alchemist. I’ll brew you a potion tonight that will cure you.”
“Cure me?” Lord Lardel sounded doubtful. “The nurse said I would suffer for years to come.”
“The nurse doesn’t know my skill. While you and my other suitors are at dinner, I will brew you a cure.”
Serendipity. That meant she didn’t have to find another excuse not to eat with them in the dining hall.
Still, Lord Lardel hadn’t bothered to see the clue Jorah had found so obvious. There was nothing more to say. She turned to the portcullis to see who was next.
Her heart skipped—and then sank.
Raith.
He held a bunch of flowers, but he also sported a change of clothing, suggesting that he had fallen into the lake. If he had seen her clue, he would have found the flowers at the gateway, as Jorah had.
It forced a reassessment of the man. Perhaps he wasn’t as smart as she had first considered him. That certainly didn’t play into his favor when he was also pretty hopeless with a sword.
He stopped in front of her in all his beautiful splendor.
To stop her face twisting with disappointment at his failure, she bit her lip.
And then he smiled at her. A lopsided smile that showed off his dimples, it snagged her like a hook in a fish.
His dark eyes were soft, pleading for forgiveness. “I also failed you. I saw the flower at the gate but felt that was too easy a challenge. Turns out, I made things unnecessarily hard for myself. It won’t happen again.”
So he had seen her clue?
He must have, or was he lying so blatantly?
Jorah shifted in line. She glanced at him. He looked at Raith with utter contempt.
She tapped her chin as she considered the interaction between the two men. Did Jorah know something about Raith that she didn’t? Or was it merely a continuation of his obvious hatred for her favorite? She didn’t know.
His eyes tender, Raith’s smile widened, swallowing her whole.
Before she knew it, her concerns had vanished and she was drowning, losing herself in his gaze as if he were the only person in the world who mattered.
She took a step closer to him, pulled by an overwhelming desire to offer him her neck to kiss.
The weirdness of it pulled her short. Get a grip!
If she offered anything to Raith to kiss, it would not be her neck. But still she leaned into him.
From the portcullis, Lord Mahlon cleared his throat. Loudly.
It pulled her back to the present. She flushed scarlet. But even so, it was with difficulty that she managed to tear her eyes away from Raith.
Lord Mahlon stomped over to join her—and, crazily, she almost resented his intrusion on her very public “private interlude” with the alluring Raith.
Lord Mahlon’s face was swollen and his hands twitched, drawing attention to his lack of flowers. “What nonsense was that, woman?” he yelled. “To send a warrior into a hellhole like that to look for trifles?”
“I thought warriors liked going into hellholes,” she spat back. “And it distresses me that you see no charm in my garden. Perhaps it is just as well that you came back late and empty handed, as a marriage between us would hardly be likely to succeed.”
Lord Mahlon’s eyes flashed back. “Charm! You call that swamp charm! It killed Coven.”
Her stomach plummeted. She spun to the portcullis.
Two musketeers waited with a stretcher. The crowd chanted its delight as they strode across to Aurora.
The violet Jorah had given her dropped from her limp fingers as they laid the prince’s withered body at her feet. Prince Coven’s armor clung to his legs like onionskin.
Aurora swayed on her feet. She steadied herself and then cleared her throat of the rasp that would lay her pain and disappointment out for all to see. Prince Coven had been a mere boy—another one—whose life had been cut short thanks to her. She wanted to weep.
A weeping heir apparent would never take the throne in Ryferia. She steeled.
“I’m sorry for his loss.” She bowed her head to Prince Coven’s body and then looked up into the eyes of his second, who had followed the stretcher into the area. “His family is free to take his remains for a proper burial.”
Her mind working to remove the image of Prince Coven’s shriveled body, she picked up the winner’s wreath and stumbled across to Jorah.
A moment’s hesitation, and then he knelt before her. She placed the laurel-and-violet garland on his head. The violets were a fitting prize for her observant winner.
He looked up at her. “I have my keen eyes,” he said, so softly she wasn’t sure she heard correctly. “You have your talent with gardens. He has the compulsion of a snake. Beware you do not walk straight into his mouth. It will not be well with you if you do.” Jorah stood and stepped away from her as if he hadn’t said something outrageous.
She considered his words as she and her suitors made their way to the carriage that would take them to the palazzo.
Had Jorah noticed that she seemed to lose control around Raith?
And why was that?
Why do I lose control around him?
Jorah was every bit as handsome as Raith, but he didn’t lure her in like a moth to a flame.
Something to discuss with Niing while she brewed Lord Lardel’s potion.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Jorah didn’t join the rest of the party for the post-trial feast. He and Peckle had an assignation beyond the Guardians, and he didn’t want to be late.
The moon hung low over the sea as he left the palazzo. A few days more, and it would be a mere sliver of silver in sky: the solstice when he and Aurora would wed. Strangely, for the first time since this idea had been presented, he could think that without something breaking inside him. That had to be good.
Not wanting to be seen and challenged, he avoided the path to the broken Guardian and slipped into the forest hugging the hills.
A wolf howled in the distance, and he had to strain his ears to hear it.
He was cursing his human form when he caught a closer sound—heavy footfalls behind him cracked a branch in the undergrowth.
Now why would anyone else be avoiding the path tonight? It would never be Peckle—the cat was too light-footed for that.
Jorah slipped into a thicket to see who followed him.
A large man puffed through the trees. He carried a sack over one shoulder.
Jorah didn’t need his enhanced sight to know who it was.
Carian. Trojean’s younger, human brother.
The sack took on a new significance, especially as Jorah’s nose—as keen as his eyes—caught the metallic whiff of blood.
Not just a
ny blood. Magical blood.
He couldn’t resist following.
Carian’s colossal size wasn’t designed for tiptoeing through a forest. Every step he took cracked another fallen branch. It meant Jorah could stay well behind, following Carian’s path of devastation, without the risk of being spotted.
Carian reached the giant and went straight through its iron legs into the forest beyond.
Jorah sighed inwardly. It seemed he and his allies were not the only ones taking advantage of the breach in Ryferian security.
He waited until Carian vanished between the trees. He was about to step through the legs himself when Peckle sauntered in front of the giant and stopped.
The cat wiped its face with its paw. “It seems our meeting is no longer necessary. You can see for yourself what I was going to report.”
Jorah stepped past the Guardian to join Peckle. Like water gushing into a breached ship, his magic surged through his veins.
He gasped in satisfaction and flexed his muscles, reveling in the power surging through them.
Peckle snorted. “Want to dig your claws into that tree over there for good measure?”
Jorah smiled and clipped the cat gently with the tip of his boot. “Be careful my talons don’t slip into you.”
Peckle’s eyes narrowed. “You’d have to catch me first.”
“Child’s play.” Then Jorah’s mirth stilled. He pointed at the forest where Carian had vanished. With his dragon hearing restored, he knew exactly where the oaf walked. “Who did he kill?”
A disdainful scowl. “Five beggars in the city. All Infirm. Totally random, but at the same time, brutal killings. I watched him do it. The man is heartless.”
Jorah’s jaw dangled. He snapped it closed. “Why? Surely the parasite needs to sink his fangs into flesh to steal power?”
Peckle brushed first one ear, then another with his paw. “Earlier today, the human and the incubus spoke about two schemes. They’re brewing a potion that I suspect will allow the bloodsucker access to his magic regardless of the Guardians. Perhaps a refinement of Niing’s pipeweed—except with blood.”
Jorah swore.
“Indeed. And if that isn’t bad enough, the bloodsucker also spoke about something called the ‘smoke.’ From what I gather, it increases the amount of magic he gleans from each victim.”
Jorah rocked back on his heels. He knew without doubt what the smoke was. He had interrupted and killed Trojean while she was trying to perform a magic-reaping ritual on Lila.
“I know exactly what the smoke does,” he snarled. His muscles flexed to change form. “Keep Artemis in your sights. Any trouble from him, let me know so I can plan a defense for Aurora.”
“You and Raith both. The leech has taken a dislike to the man. We should use that.”
“I prefer not to use evil to fight evil.”
Jorah loped to the forest to change in privacy. A split second of familiar pain as his bones warped and scales and wings emerged from their hidden places under his skin—and then he was free. His folded clothing fitted neatly in the pouch under his scales.
He sprang into the air. An eddy of wind caught the leading edges of his wings. It was enough to get him airborne. With powerful flaps, he clawed his way into the sky—and caught an updraft coming in from the sea. It soared him above the trees. He climbed higher and higher, reveling in the freedom, even though his heart burned with anger that he again had to confront the evil that had robbed him of Lila.
The trees were mere specks when he had his anger firmly enough under control to quit his spiraling and focus on the task at hand.
Logic told him to land and to rip both Raith and Carian apart before they could cause more harm.
Here, beyond the Guardians, there would be no sanction to stop him. No watchful eye to condemn him.
No one but his own honor code. A code that would never bow to mere logic.
He and Raith were pitted in a challenge to own the Magical. For Jorah, it was to ensure the safety and freedom of every Magical creature under the sun. For Raith, it was to possess and consume. And between them stood a fiery, red-headed nymph who deserved better than what either he or Raith could offer.
Aurora had earned his respect. His reluctant regard.
More than anything, if she was ever to claim her destiny as leader of Ryferia, she needed to know what Raith was. If Jorah cut the parasite and his brother down here, Aurora would remain under Raith’s spell, hankering after a man she thought she understood, but knew so little about.
The only way to free her was to let Raith live—and then to expose his true nature for the world to see.
Jorah flexed his talons, promising himself he would yet tear Raith and his brother apart. He dropped lower to spy.
In a clearing, the pair huddled around a fire built in a pit. Carian opened the sack, releasing the reek of Magical blood. He tipped out a pile of body parts.
Even though the two seemed focused on each other and their gory haul, Jorah furled his wings and dropped below the tree line in case they spotted him.
He transformed back into his human form the second his feet touched the leaf litter. Fully dressed, he grabbed a low-hanging branch to pull up into a tree some distance from them. The foliage and darkness hid him as he settled down to watch his quarries.
Carian’s voice carried clearly across the distance dividing them. “She had deformed legs, so I lobbed one off. Here. Toss it in the fire.”
As the incubus obeyed, the image of Lila’s dead body draped across a fire overwhelmed Jorah. Her clothes burned as Trojean leaned over her husk of a body, breathing in the smoke and grinning manically.
Jorah had wasted no time, and it had only taken a second to kill the succubus and to drag Lila out of the fire. Her clothes were ash and her hair singed, but her skin remained untouched.
Normal fire wouldn’t hurt a fire fae. Even one drained of all her blood. Lila had dared him to rain his fire on her; he had always refused, terrified he would hurt her. In the end, he hadn’t managed to save or protect her.
He had to do better by Aurora.
Carian’s laugh broke through Jorah’s memory. “Brother, you should see yourself as you inhale. It’s like I’ve given you all the treasures of the world.”
“I have a sudden urge to hunt fish.” Raith’s voice sounded hazy. It firmed into disgust. “In the sea.” He kicked the embers, shooting sparks into the air. “You brought me a selkie’s leg. How is that going to help me take down Jorah? A selkie is so far down the Magical food chain that I doubt we can even use its blood for the potion.”
Carian frowned and rubbed his cliff-like jaw. “I honestly thought that the worst deformities would hide the strongest magic.” A pause. “Finding five noble branches of magic is all a bit random.”
“A bit! We have a time constraint, or haven’t you noticed the days passing?” Raith ran his hands across his eyes. “I may live to regret this, but I have a suggestion.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Aurora is surrounded by at least some of the magic we need. The bodyguard is a centaur. The maid is a fae. Niing is a dwarf. And she is a nymph. All of those are from the noble branches. Find a necromancer or a clairvoyant, and we are probably good to go.”
Jorah held his breath while Carian stared at Raith for a long moment. Finally, the human said, “You want me to target Aurora and her entourage?”
“You have a better idea?”
Carian threw up his hands. “Getting them will be nigh on impossible.”
“Thus far, I have done everything you have wanted me to do.” Raith’s voice hardened. “Now it’s my turn. You start by bringing me the fae’s lungs and a vial of her blood—” A long hesitant pause. “Or the deal is off.”
Carian’s mouth opened and closed in obvious surprise. What deal he had struck with Raith, Jorah didn’t know, but the threat incensed him. The big man hit the nearest tree with his open palm. Pine cones rained down. “You cannot dictate terms. Not now. Not a
fter I’ve shared everything I have with you.”
“After you turned me into a slave, you mean?” Raith’s voice was low and icy. “I’m the one living with the cravings. I’m so desperate, I’ll even breathe in these other body parts you mangled. This wasn’t my life before you had me kill our father.”
Jorah frowned. Alone in his burrow, Niing would be an easy target. So would Keahr, who was physically too weak to fight. The centaur would present a real challenge to Carian—and killing Aurora while the trials ran was almost impossible. But with enough other random killings in the city, Carian could fill his quota.
Carian stooped to pick up a severed head. “And who killed him? And the leg you’ve just breathed in? Me. I’ve given you power. And this is how you react?”
Raith grabbed his head and moaned.
Carian clasped Raith’s shoulders and pulled him into a tight embrace. “I know it’s hard, brother, but it will all be worth it in the end. I can’t promise you the fae’s lungs, but I will bring you a vial of her blood.” A shallow laugh. “As for the remaining blood, trust me. I will not fail you. I will have that potion brewed for you before Jorah and Aurora take down the Guardians.”
A snort from Raith as he pulled away from Carian. “So you believe he will win?”
“Toss that head on the fire, and let’s see what it gives you.”
Jorah waited to see what happened as the parasite breathed in the smoke.
Raith grew in height, and his shoulders bulked up even huger than Carian’s. His skin blackened, and black hair bristled, covering every inch of him. But it was when curled horns sprouted above his flared snout that Jorah cursed: the parasite had morphed into a minotaur.
A cheer of delight from Carian as Raith resumed his incubus form. He held up a vial of blood. “Strike one off the list. Four to go.”
Jorah scrambled down from his tree.
He had to warn Niing, Keahr, Zandor, and Aurora before the night was out.
