by Gwynn White
She faced him square on. “Then you won’t like what I want you to do for me—for us. All of us. Warrendyte included.” Her pulse raced again; clearly, whatever she wanted had her worked up.
He stopped a couple of feet from her. “Are you sure no one can overhear us in here?”
“My poison garden was built for a reason. People don’t come here unless they have to. I assure you, we can talk.”
For all that, he listened intently. Nothing but the creak of the mirrors and the rustle of leaves disturbed the silence. He folded his arms. “What is it you want of me?”
“I want you to kill Raith during the trial.” To an outside observer, only her hands clutching at her skirt betrayed a chink in her confidence. To him, the reek of uncertainty, mingled with shame, on her skin told a different story. She wasn’t sure what he would say to her request, and that worried her. That his opinion mattered to her brought a small smile to his lips. He pursed it away.
Had he failed to mention that he had come here with just such a quest, should Raith have entered the trials? Apparently. Still, he couldn’t resist teasing her. He stepped back and stared at her. “It’s not enough that you get to marry me? You want a dead incubus for a wedding gift, too?”
She blushed. Scarlet. It made her ears glow. And her heart gallop.
He suppressed another smile.
Her hands worked her skirt. “You know that’s not what I mean.”
“Do I?” He canted his head, enjoying playing with her. “All I know is that you’re a woman with an interesting way of choosing a mate.”
“Mate? Is that what dragons have? Because we humans have partners.”
He couldn’t resist brushing a stubborn curl away from her mouth. Her skin was soft. Silky. And very warm.
When his knuckle stopped at the corner of her lip, she started. Her lips opened and closed uncertainly around his hand.
Fingers resting against her skin, he twirled the lock. “I like your hair. It’s wild. Like you.” He narrowed his eyes. “And I hate to break it to you, but you aren’t human. You’re a nymph. You are anything but human.”
Her throat wobbled, and the blush spread down her neck—to the swell of her breasts.
He jerked his eyes back to her face, not wanting to acknowledge how his pulse had spiked. If she had his ears, she would hear the blood pumping in his veins.
“And I d-doubt Jorah Thalyn would ever consider taking a mate who was human.”
He laughed his derision. “Never in a million years. Puny, insignificant creatures.”
Her flush deepened, and her eyes glinted. Now he smelled anger—hot and spicy on her skin.
Niing’s warning about Aurora’s view on the Untalented came back to him. He wasn’t ready to fight that battle with her—yet.
He allowed a slow smile as he pulled his hand away from her face. The curl slipped from his fingers and bounced back against her lips. “So . . . Raith. My wedding gift to you. Tell me more.”
Her hand trailed to her mouth, where his fingers had been only moments before. Then she looked around. “Th-there’s a bench. Somewhere.” A frown. “Right . . . there. Let’s sit.” She turned her back and stomped to a stone bench under an arbor of white roses. She flounced down and glared at him.
He cursed at his stupidity.
A woman like Aurora probably hadn’t had many beaus growing up—if she had, she wouldn’t have had to hold a death match to find a consort.
It had been cruel to play with her when he didn’t return the feelings she so clearly had for him. But no matter that he didn’t feel the same obvious passion, it didn’t detract from the fact that he liked her. A great deal. She was a woman he could be friends with.
He walked slowly to join her but didn’t sit in the spot next to her.
She hesitated, watching him expectantly, but when he didn’t sit, she said, “Even if we marry tonight, I can’t immediately take the Guardians down—”
The patter of feet.
“Quiet!” Jorah interrupted. He cocked his head, certain he’d heard movement. He strained to see who it was, but the verdant growth hid its secret.
Every muscle tensed as he prepared to defend himself and his soon-to-be wife from this unknown threat.
Aurora stood. “It’s probably Zandor and Niing.”
The rustle of footsteps grew more marked.
“Are you willing to take a chance on that? You know what we are dealing with.” His voice dropped. “I would not put it past the parasite to send his brother in here to try and kill me.”
Her lovely eyes widened. “I hadn’t thought of that.” She clenched his hand. “You don’t even have a weapon.”
His stomach flipped at her touch.
Stunned at his reaction, it nevertheless made him even more determined to defeat the parasite and his brother so neither of them got their fangs into her. He gritted out, “I don’t need one. Wait here.”
Like a shadow, he slipped across the cobbles to intercept whoever it was before he broke cover from the poison garden. He crouched low, ready to pounce.
Behind him, footsteps.
Aurora.
He glared at her, but she ignored him.
Like a sunbeam, she flitted across her garden and then slipped down next to him. A cocky smile. “I don’t stand down from fights,” she whispered.
“Even when you’re a liability?” he mouthed back.
She pinched his arm. Hard. “Watch that mouth!”
Even in his irritation, he suppressed a smile.
Aurora would be unstoppable when she gained access to her magic. He whispered, “Leave the big one for me.”
“There are two?” came her whispered reply.
He nodded, fully intending to deal with both intruders before Aurora could even gather her skirts together to stand.
On the walkers came.
“Aurora!” A muffled voice called. “It’s me and Niing.”
Zandor.
The tension drained from Jorah’s muscles. “Niing, you almost got clobbered by Aurora,” he shouted.
“And well deserved it would be,” she added.
Jorah’s eyebrows spiked. Forgiveness was clearly not a word in his nymph’s lexicon. Something to bear in mind when he didn’t forgive readily either.
“It would be an easy victory,” Zandor called. “I almost had to carry Niing here. The run from the forest has almost finished him.”
Glimpses of Niing and Zandor appeared through the undergrowth—and then they broke cover.
“I’ve just met with Peckle,” Niing called, out of breath and looking all of his five hundred years. “The news is grave. They have enough blood to make a potion.” He stopped on the cobbles, dropped his hands onto his knees, and wheezed. “We’re all doomed.”
Aurora grabbed Niing’s arm and guided him to the bench. “No, we aren’t. Jorah is going to ensure Raith doesn’t survive this trial.” She looked up at him with determination. “Aren’t you?”
How could he refuse?
Chapter Thirty-Six
Aurora read agreement in the hard line of Jorah’s jaw and heaved a sigh of relief. She had anticipated—steeled herself—for a fierce argument with her dragon.
No. He’s mine in name only. But as she recalled the touch of his hand on her face, every cell tingled. That cold heart will never relinquish Lila for me.
Irritation fueled by jealousy made her want to stamp a foot in frustration.
She didn’t.
Instead she moved on to the next vital item on her agenda that had to be decided before the next trial.
“Artemis.” Missing Keahr’s steady presence, Aurora looked at Zandor and Niing. They had agreed that Keahr should stay in the villa to recover from her attack until the trial. “He’s as dangerous as Raith.”
“The Untalented human? Then let’s kill him, too.” The scathing disdain in Jorah’s voice was chilling.
Her mouth gaped. Niing shifted and glared at him. Zandor coughed and looked away.
<
br /> “What?” Jorah demanded. “It’s okay to want me to kill a Magical parasite but not okay for me to rid us of an equally dangerous”—a hard look at Aurora—“your own words not mine, unwanted Untalented?”
He had a point, but when she finally claimed her throne, this was not how she intended to rule Ryferia. The sooner the prejudiced Jorah understood that, the better.
She snapped her jaw closed and glared at him. “I hate Artemis more than anyone, but I can’t start my reign by killing him. The Intelligentsia and my Able courtiers will not tolerate it. They will see it as an attack on them. They will fight back. Who knows how it will end then?”
“With the Untalented back in their rightful place as soon as the Guardians come down,” Jorah said.
“And where exactly will that be?”
Jorah seemed unmoved by her flashing eyes and clenched fists. “At the feet of the Magical, where they belong!” He threw his hands up for emphasis. “And this time we make sure they stay there.”
“Jorah, those days are gone,” Niing said. “They can never return because they were wrong then, and they are wrong now.”
Jorah rounded on him. “And look what that thinking got you. Artemis could very easily derail everything for us long before I even get my mate to the wedding altar.”
She tossed her head, letting her hair fly. “Right now, I’m not even sure I want you as my mate!”
Jorah’s shoulders slumped. “What?”
“I believe in peace, Jorah. I’ve lived my whole life as an outcast. Despised because I am different. Infirm in a world where only the Able are valued. If you want to continue that kind of thinking, then, regardless of how you make me feel when you touch me, I don’t want you.”
Her frenzied words dropped into a pool of silence
The only thing that moved was the blood in Jorah’s face. It drained away, leaving him pale and gaunt.
She stood her ground, although her whole world rested on a knife’s edge as she waited for him to reply.
Finally, he almost snarled, “You would trade me, Niing, Zandor, and Keahr for Artemis?”
She closed her eyes, searching for words to make him understand. “Not trade, Jorah. Never trade.” She glanced at Niing and Zandor, wishing they were somewhere else. They weren’t, so she barreled on. “I’m often accused of being blunt, so I will be blunt now. I—I think I’m falling for you.” She held up her hands to hide his expression and to ward off anything he might say. “I know you don’t feel the same way. But please understand, I would not trade you for the world. But I also cannot be a queen of extinction. That would be the result if I follow your chosen path.”
Jorah’s eyes burned, and a dozen emotions, some of them tender, flashed across his face. In the end, though, all that remained was reptilian stubbornness. “Aurora, the only way to get the peace you want is through destruction.”
She sighed. “I agree. I do it every day when I prune my garden. I cut away the rotten wood to make way for new growth. But I fear killing Artemis, no matter how rotten he is, will merely destroy the whole tree. I can’t risk that. At least not right now.”
Jorah’s hard face remained unconvinced.
Niing stepped into the space between them. “Time is marching on. People will be gathering for the final trial.” He looked first at her and then at Jorah. “Save this discussion for your wedding bed. Now we need to get you both to the dryad.”
The wedding bed?
She blushed, then cursed her stupid face. But really, what else would she and Jorah do tonight after they were married other than continue to fight their differences? This dragon was hardly going to make love to her no matter how much she wanted him to. And she would never risk the humiliation of throwing herself at him.
Still, Niing was right to call them to order. Just as she was right to lay down the law —which is what she intended to do.
Hands on her hips, she said, “No one will kill Artemis or any of the Intelligentsia. However, we need to prepare for their wiles.” She drew a deep breath and then shared her greatest fear. “I believe that the moment Jorah wins, Artemis will accuse me of murdering Lazard with digitalis. That he died of digitalis poisoning is almost certain—almost as certain as that Artemis killed him. I can’t prove that, but he has a case against me. My potion did not save my brother. Just that looks bad for me. And then I wore that provocative dress to the send-off. Artemis will have little difficulty convincing the Intelligentsia that I’m guilty.”
Jorah hissed. “And you will take that?”
She glowered at him. “I have no choice. Artemis and the Intelligentsia will never let me saunter onto the throne. They humored my trials because they enjoy watching people die.”
“So what will these Untalented scum you seem to love so much do to you?”
She ignored the fury in Jorah’s voice. “Artemis will probably have me arrested. There will be a hearing in the forum at which I must at least attempt to prove my innocence.” Her voice hardened. “I don’t intend to go down without a fight. Until then, you must wait for me.”
“Wait for you?” Jorah almost yelled. “While they drum up charges against you?” And then his voice softened. “I can’t do that. Aurora, you ask too much.” Pain leached the color from his face. “I watched my mother and my sisters die thanks to drummed-up charges by people just like these. I will not risk losing you, too.”
The agony in his tone chilled her. It also gave her pause to think.
Could she prove her innocence? Since she had no access to the plate of food that killed Lazard, she wasn’t convinced. None of the masters and physicians who attended Lazard would risk fighting against Artemis for her. It seemed hopeless. But killing Artemis would turn the Able against her, too. They could retaliate by lashing out at the Magical in Ryferia. Far too many could die. She didn’t want that on her conscience.
She took Jorah’s hand. Her thumb curled circles around his calloused skin. He didn’t resist. “I hear what you say, Jorah. I cannot risk that either. But I also cannot kill him because of the damage it will do to my people. Help me find a middle ground.”
He squeezed her hand gently and then let it go. “There is no middle ground. It’s them or us. It has always been that way, and it will forever be that way.”
She turned to Niing in despair. “Help us solve this.”
“Jorah is right. We cannot risk you falling into Artemis’s hands. We all know you won’t get a fair hearing.” Niing tapped his pipe against his thumb. “But you are also right. To kill Artemis will lead to war.” He cocked his head. “The passage you escaped from on the night Lazard died is in your apartment, is it not?”
She nodded. “Under the bed. Peckle almost showed it to me. I never even guessed it was there.”
“Yes, very unobservant of you,” Niing said dryly. “And it shows a marked lack of attention to my history lessons. With assassination a game of kings—and queens—every royal bedchamber has a secret passageway.”
Pity Niing hadn’t told her about it while growing up. She would never have been caged.
But there was time to argue that later.
“So what you’re saying is that I should ensure Artemis sends me to my bedchamber when he arrests me?” She frowned. To achieve that, she would have to be very docile and unthreatening. Any rebellion, and he would no doubt chuck her in the dungeon. There would be no escape from there.
“But won’t Artemis know about the secret passage?” Zandor objected. “I told no one she’d escaped through it the night Lazard died, but still. Can we risk it?”
“He ordered it sealed when you moved there as a girl. I opened it a few weeks before Lazard’s death.” Niing’s sage eyes looked to Jorah. “I may be a man of peace, but I recognize a snake when I see one.”
“So Artemis doesn’t know—”
“That I used the trickle of magic my pipe gave me to move the rocks he had commanded fill that passage? No, he doesn’t.”
That explained the dust and rubble in t
he passageway.
“Where does it lead?” Jorah demanded.
“The beach,” she said. “To a mermaid Guardian at the far end of the spit.”
Jorah touched her face with gentle fingers. “Listen to me, nymph, if the snake strikes, get yourself to that Guardian. I will be waiting for you.” His blue eyes bored into hers. “Promise me that.”
Her skin tingled, and her eyes grew misty. “Where will you take me?”
She would never agree to leave the borders of Ryferia.
“Somewhere safe, where you can connect with your magic. When you are comfortable with it, we will come back and take what is rightfully yours.”
She could live with that. “I promise.”
His hand fell to his side. “I give you the same promise. I won’t fail you.”
She murmured, “I know, and as for the rest, we will work it out.” When he didn’t reply, she turned to Niing. “Whatever happens, keep Keahr with you. She’s been through enough. I don’t want her arrested. And that stupid cat. Zandor will be with me, as he always is.” She smiled at her bodyguard. “It seems you and I are in this together.”
Zandor returned her smile. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. If everything goes to hell as you suspect it will, I will get you to that Guardian or give my life trying.”
Jorah shifted, his face uncertain as he stood on the outside of the intimacy between her and Zandor. “Then let us go to battle,” he drawled nonchalantly.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Carian hadn’t exaggerated. The Guardian must have reached at least ninety feet into the air. If not ninety-five. The branches of the tallest trees edging the forest only just brushed the dryad’s metal face—a face that peered out of an iron body that resembled a tree.
Raith grimaced.
At the base of the trunk, where it joined the turning spindle, there was very little he could use to pull himself up. Not until at least six feet off the ground, when the cogs and creative metalwork were exposed, would he find easy handholds.
