by Alex Lidell
“Who am I?” I demand, my body screaming to reclaim the connection.
“A mortal,” Coal says between clenched teeth. “One who will pay for this.”
I show him my teeth, nipping the air the way I just did his cock. “One day, no doubt.”
“No. Now.” The post holding Coal buckles, the ropes around his wrists snapping like so much twine. Stripes of blood encircle his forearms where the rope cut into his skin.
I stumble back, but there is no escape. Grabbing my hips, Coal lifts me into the air as if I weigh nothing at all.
“I find I’m over the fear of taking you,” Coal rasps into my ear. “We’ll address your demons another time.” His breath is hot on the back of my neck as he shoves me over a saddle stand. Padded leather pushes into my stomach, the saddle’s horn and high back bracketing me on the right and left. The scent of leather fills my nose.
I writhe, trying to reclaim my feet, but there is no purchase. Not with me bent over, my backside high in the air and neither hands nor feet reaching the floor. Coal presses a hand into the small of my back, his other yanking my trousers down in a single motion. Cold air brushes my exposed flesh, my sex so wet that I feel moisture slithering down my thighs, before Coal sheathes himself inside me so fast and hard that I scream with the pure force of it.
20
Lera
“You smell like you had a good evening yesterday,” Autumn says, stepping from thin air into the middle of my bedchamber.
I yelp, dropping the washbasin onto the floor, the liquid soaking my flowing green dress. Fortunately for my soaked clothing, a servant toed into the room while I was sleeping and stoked the fire, leaving the chamber toasty despite the approaching winter. Of course, that also means someone was in the room while my connection with Coal visited my dreams, and if Autumn can smell the arousal even now . . . My face blazes.
“Isn’t there something to keep this from happening?” I ask, waving my hand in the female’s general direction.
Autumn cringes. “Well, there is common decency. You know, that same barrier that stops beings from striding through doors and windows without an invitation. Sorry, Lera. I lost track of where I was.” With a sigh, Autumn hoists herself onto the edge of my bed, her usually lively gray eyes drooping with heavy bags.
Stepping around the puddle on the floor, I pull myself up beside Autumn, my feet dangling down from the tall mattress. “What’s wrong?”
Autumn pulls up her knees, wrapping her slender arms around them until she looks like a pointy-eared ball wrapped in coral silk. “What’s wrong is that I’ve studied wards for over four centuries.” She lays her cheek atop one kneecap. “I had sound-warded the throne room by the time River was just learning to pull a bow. I’ve built more stable folds and passages through the Gloom than any being in Slait. And I help the Elders Council itself adjust the Citadel’s ancient wards. You know what I’ve not studied during the past four hundred years? Ways to go about opening a bloody portal from Lunos to Mors. Because what insane idiot would ever think to do such a thing?”
“And you’ve been trying to catch up on four hundred years of delinquency in two weeks?” I tug one of Autumn’s many blond braids.
She sighs. “Talk to me about something else. River—no, not River. I don’t want to know the details of anything River. Coal.” Autumn’s eyes perk up, her face lifting slightly. “He’s pounding a training dummy into its tenth death of the morning, by the way. That’s after welcoming the dawn with a freezing dip in the lake. What exactly happened last night?”
I clear my throat. “We had . . . an intellectual discussion on safety while coupling. The first in what I think will be a series of studies.”
Autumn blinks once then throws back her head with a melodic roar of laughter. “No wonder the poor bastard can’t stop moving. I don’t think their cocks can actually explode, but I’d wager my best talisman that he feels like it might.”
I smack her with a pillow. “How do you know what Coal’s been up to anyway?”
“Kora.” Autumn makes a face. “The nosy, overprotective, controlling warrior princess that she is. I swear she combs the bloody grounds every hour. Not even the library is safe.”
I open my mouth, then shut it, my eyes narrowing. “Did you step through the Gloom into my bedchamber to avoid her?”
A tiny glint sparkles in Autumn’s gray eyes. “Maybe.” She cuts her gaze toward me. “Kora might or might not believe I spend too much time thinking and not enough time resting. And she might or might not have some nasty ideas for how to—what does she call it? Ah, yes—give me a break from myself.” Autumn bites her lip, her face shifting from outrage to something softer, more vulnerable than I’ve seen on her. “I’ve had lovers before, you know,” she says quietly. “Male, female, long stints, quick flights of fun, everything. But Kora . . . She sees through to what my soul needs, whether or not my mind even knows it. It’s infuriating and intoxicating and . . . Stars, it’s so intense I don’t know what to do with myself. How do you do it, Lera? Keep being you with four overprotective males at your side?”
I consider the question, the answer rising to my lips before I fully know what it will be. “I love them.” The words settle through me. “And every time I’m with them, I discover there is more to each one than I thought. As for being me, I’m not the same version of me that those four rescued from Zake’s barn. I’m something new, something that’s so intertwined with River, Coal, Shade, and Tye that I can’t imagine separating. I know that’s not much of an answer.”
Autumn twines one of her braids around her finger. “It is. It’s just a more complicated one than I wanted to hear.” A grin flashes across her face. “Maybe I better try doing to Kora whatever you did to Coal last night. I’ve never seen the male so exquisitely confused as this morning. Speaking of your four”—her voice drops—“what’s that like? I mean, is it always one or . . .?”
“Yes. Well, kind of.” My face blazes as I remember that one night with Tye and Shade on this very bed. I hop off it immediately, restoring the dropped washbasin to its home atop the dresser, my thighs clenching in spite of myself. “I don’t even know how anything else would work . . . I mean . . . Never mind. Yes. The answer is yes. One at a time.”
Autumn raises a brow.
I grab a towel to soak up the water still on the floor. No. No. No. “So what exactly are you conjuring up in that library of yours?” I ask in a pathetic attempt to change the topic.
“Static shields.” Autumn’s usually musical voice suddenly holds a steel edge. A reminder of the power flaming inside that impish body and brilliant mind. “Something like what Viper tried at your trial, but a great deal more refined.” She grins without humor, showing sharp canines. “Once my bastard of a sire shows up, he won’t be leaving again without my say so.”
Once he shows up. “How long, do you think, until that happens?” I ask. “I feel a bit like we are all bait inside a faulty mousetrap.”
“We aren’t bait. We are challengers.” Autumn’s somber tone matches mine at once. “As for how long—not long now, I imagine.” Walking to the window, she points to the tallest of the golden-domed towers, where a new flag—this one maroon with a lion of gold—whips in the wind. “If the weeks-long trek to get here wasn’t enough of a message, River ran up the king’s standard this morning. A claim that Slait Court’s rightful ruler is currently in residence.”
“So, unless Griorgi wants all of Slait to know he’s being challenged, he needs to return at once and be quiet about it, make people think he’s the ruler in residence.” I shake my head. “If this works, it will be the most silent dethroning in history.”
“It has to work.” Autumn’s face darkens. “But either way, we’ll find out shortly.”
21
River
Bitter cold bit River’s face as he leaned against a great oak in the palace gardens, watching the king’s standard flutter in the wind. He’d expected his father to appear within a day of sending
up the challenge.
That was over a week ago.
Eight days of checking and rechecking wards, sending out fresh patrols, going over the plan and then going over it again. Eight days of constant vigilance. Vigilance laced with boredom. Coal had broken every post in the training yard. Shade had spent more time in his wolf form than fae, if only to fend off the anxiety.
And now the Slait subjects were starting to ask questions; demand audiences with Griorgi, who they believed was truly in residence; bring by goods the king favored. Even the well-trained palace staff, who knew better than to discuss what was—or was not—truly happening in the palace, were starting to whisper. Yes, on occasion King Griorgi had sequestered himself in his chambers for days—but a week? How could River explain that?
Rumors of an illness would work in the short term, but they were dangerous. Still, better to have servants whispering of a cough than the truth—that Griorgi wasn’t there at all. That the prince of Slait had challenged his father’s rule and the whole kingdom stood at the edge of turmoil.
The serene gardens were an almost eerie contrast to the tension permeating the air, with their gently rolling lawns, neat stonewalls, and trickling fountains. Weeping willows and broad oaks presided over intimate nooks with moss-covered benches. Vibrant red and orange leaves covered the ground, awaiting the groundskeeper’s rake.
River fingered the sword he wore at all times now, as well as the tiny crossbow hanging beneath his coat, a poisoned dart already locked into place. He hoped he didn’t shoot his own foot with the damn thing, but it seemed the lesser of the risks.
“I’ve always considered wars difficult enough on a killing ground,” Coal said, leaning beside River on the tree trunk. “Fighting one while pretending no war is happening adds a bit of a new dimension.”
River ran a hand through his hair, then stopped, remembering that Leralynn called it a tell of his. “I little want all of Slait taking up arms and killing each other in the name of whatever side of the throne they support. That’s the one bloody thing Griorgi and I probably agree on. Where is Leralynn?”
“Attempting to evict Shade from her bedchamber so she can bathe. Last I saw, she was threatening to dump a pitcher of ice water on the bastard’s fur.”
River nodded, forcing himself to keep his thoughts private. Striking the balance between keeping Leralynn safe and keeping her prisoner was proving . . . difficult. The last time River tried suggesting that she remain with a male at all times, the girl actually removed a set of castration shears from a satchel and silently laid the instrument on the table between them.
Kora was not having any easier time keeping tabs on Autumn. That was the other problem with this weeklong wait—no one could stay at the height of vigilance all the time. Restrictions and precautions that had been followed to the letter on day one were now stretched to accommodate the needs of life.
“River,” Coal said.
“I know. I’m trying to balance her safety and needs, but—”
“Quiet.”
Coal’s suddenly hard voice gripped River’s chest. Straightening, he followed the direction of the warrior’s gaze to a shiny gold pennant that now flew beside the king’s standard. King open to receive petitioners.
“Get the others, but stay clear of the throne room,” River said, already striding to the palace. “We don’t want to spook him.”
Despite the long, anxious wait for this moment, a cold hand still gripped River’s throat as he strode into the throne room to find King Griorgi sprawled on the great chair. The long hall was empty but for the male. Between them, the white marble floor where petitioners usually waited gleamed in the sunlight streaming through two-story-tall arched windows. Vases of fresh flowers formed a corridor toward the dais, the bright petals filling the space with perfume. Usually, the smell would help balance the scents of dozens of bodies. Today it simply fed the tension.
Seeing River enter, Griorgi sat up, steepling his hands beneath his chin. As tall as River himself, with broader shoulders, hawkish features, and cold gray eyes, the king was dressed in finely cut blue wool and brown leather. With golden trim and tiny ruby buttons, coupled with an intricate vambrace encircling one muscular forearm, Griorgi looked every inch the ruler he was. Besides the jewelry, the only other change to the male’s appearance was a fresh scar carving a jagged line down one cheek all the way to the edge of his right nostril. Leralynn’s handiwork. River felt an odd twinge of pride—before remembering where he was.
Years of training made him relax his shoulders and stride toward the dais with the casual confidence expected of a prince. Getting close to the king was vital for the plan to work, making the throne room a better location than River had dared hope for.
“Welcome home, Father,” he said, stopping at the dais’s edge, just paces from the throne. “I trust both you and your new ally escaped none too scathed from Karnish?”
Griorgi’s eyes flashed, his gaze cutting from River to the floor.
Face schooled to stone, River went down on one knee, fist touching his left breast.
Beneath his thick velvet coat, the tiny crossbow was easy to feel, and the small bump made River’s heart pound against his ribs. He had to do it now. Get the weapon and fire, leaving no time for discussion, no chance for a magical duel that would bring the palace down around their ears. Anything but a clean shot and people would die. Servants. Innocents. River couldn’t allow that. But the male on the throne—he was a rabid dog who needed to be put down before his disease killed more than it already had.
With a tiny motion, River pulled free the knot holding the weapon in place and felt it start to slip down his coat, one inch, two inches—before getting stuck, stars take him.
“That little outburst in Karnish destroyed a good deal of the town, you know,” Griorgi said, shaking his head mournfully and gesturing for River to rise. “Warriors buried alive. Limbs crushed. Blood running down the streets.” He lowered his voice. “Between you and me, the qoru who weren’t adding themselves to the body count were quite pleased—for a short time though. They have little use for corpses.”
“And the emperor?” River said, shifting slightly to dislodge the crossbow. The smooth metal handle dropped like ice against his wrist, and River’s heart stuttered as he pressed the small weapon into his hip, holding and hiding it with nothing but friction. With painfully tiny motions, he shimmied the crossbow toward his pocket, the image of the thing dropping onto the floor or catching a bit of light making his mouth dry. “Did he find the feast to his satisfaction?”
“The coward stepped into the Subgloom the moment things got ugly. Have you been there, River?” Griorgi shuddered. “If you think the Gloom is dark, the next level down is worse. You feel as if you are beneath water in the dead of night, fighting black liquid each time you move. It’s a miracle one can breathe in the Subgloom at all, though the qoru have little trouble. Different anatomy. It was a one-way trip for Jawrar, unfortunately—he can’t come up from the Subgloom in Lunos, so back to Mors it was.”
A thread of relief ran through River despite his racing pulse—at least Jawrar was no longer in Lunos, just as Autumn had predicted. If Griorgi was telling the truth about the emperor’s departure.
River’s heart tightened with another thousand questions he wanted to ask now that the crossbow sat inside his pocket, the poisonous dart aimed at Griorgi’s chest. He’d thought it would be easy to pull the trigger, had dreamt of doing so countless times since his mother’s murder. But now that the moment was here . . . to snuff out his own father’s life. He swallowed. Steeled himself.
“Why work with Jawrar?” River asked. “Why not—” He squeezed the trigger.
22
River
The small dart ripped cleanly through the cloth of River’s trousers, speeding straight at Griorgi. River hadn’t gotten fancy, had fired in the middle of his own question, when the bastard would be least expecting the assault. And he’d aimed for the king’s center mass. This wa
s not time for a show. It little mattered where the dart hit—the poison would spread quickly enough.
His body tensed, waiting for the soft slither of needle into flesh. The hiss of surprise.
Clink.
A melodic ring along the floor froze River’s blood. There should be no ringing, his mind insisted numbly. A swoosh perhaps. Maybe a grunt of pain. Or a cry of shock. Not the ringing of metal on marble. River was three paces away. Griorgi could never have gotten a shield up, not at this small distance with no hint of warning. It was impossible.
And yet . . . yet there was the dart, rolling innocuously across the marble floor.
Silence as thick as the Gloom settled over the throne room, until a deep, booming laugh shattered it into a million shards.
“Oh, River, you truly are still a colt.” Griorgi adjusted his vine-like vambrace, the deeply inlaid rubies now glistening with mercurial blood. “Mors magic. A present from Jawrar.” Griorgi waved his hand in dismissal of River’s confusion. “This pretty piece of bloodwork is an armor of sorts, reacting without need for direction from the wearer to shield against physical assault. Takes a bit of practice to use, but quite worth the investment. The qoru find it useful when herding their livestock. The bucks, especially, can be unpredictable.”
River’s mouth was dry, his heart beating so fiercely against his ribs that it was a wonder the bone didn’t crack. “A useful trinket,” he said, his mind racing for the next step and conjuring nothing better than stalling. Autumn’s static shield ward was working well, as of yesterday, and she would likely bring the amulet with the inscribed rune once she heard Coal’s summons. River pointed toward the vambrace with his chin. “Where might I get one?”
