by Eve Langlais
There was time wasted with those escorting him insisting he bathe. Then they dressed him in pants, a shirt, and even shoes. He felt like a winner, which boosted his confidence as he was led through a place that displayed a grandeur and wealth he’d not ever actually seen. Sure, he’d come across ruined remnants of greatness. But the castle and then the throne room showed opulence.
A wealth and prosperity Roark supposedly built. What kind of man inspired that kind of work and loyalty?
Gunner tried to keep his awe to himself as he was shown into the presence of the king. It took control to keep from running when he saw Sofia stood at the bottom of the dais, hands clasped, the tension in her evident through the stiffness of her posture.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he called out.
She didn’t move or reply.
That kind of worried him. “Are you okay? Has the king treated you well?”
That merited a slight nod.
“You didn’t agree to anything, did you?”
No reply.
He stopped in front of Sofia, and instead of looking at the king, he took her hands. “I won’t have you promising anything on my behalf.”
“Promise what? I can’t do anything,” she whispered stiffly. Her eyes were wide and full of fear.
“That’s the right answer,” he said softly. “Don’t worry.”
“I am worried, though.” She clasped him tight.
She’d yet to figure out luck wouldn’t kill him. Not here. Not yet.
“If you’re done making false promises, we have to settle your prize,” the king interrupted.
Gunner cast a heated look at the king. “You know I want my freedom.”
“Then you can have it. But just so we’re clear, while you can leave, Sofia stays here.”
Immediately, Gunner shook his head. “Like fuck. Sofia comes with me.”
“That requires a second boon. You won only once. Your choice. Your freedom or hers. You can’t have both.”
He spoke without hesitation. “You will free her and never bother her again, nor will any of your people, for so long as she lives.”
Despite it being a multi-part wish, the king snapped his fingers. “Agreed. Sofia, you are free to go.”
Her mouth rounded. “Go where? I have nowhere to go.”
“Not my problem,” Roark said. “Now move away from the rat.”
“Why?” she asked, blinking up at the king as soldiers grabbed hold of Gunner and pulled him away.
“Let me go,” he growled, shaking free.
The guards blocked him from approaching Sofia.
She and the king still spoke. “Your companion chose to save you over himself. Altruistic of him. Also stupid. Someone shoot the man. He’s selected his prize.”
“No!” Sofia yelled. “He won. You can’t do that.”
From his position behind the soldiers, Gunner’s blood ran cold. The king planned to use Sofia’s affection for Gunner against her.
“You agree then to work for me?”
“Yes, I’ll heal for you. Are you happy? Now leave Gunner alone,” she yelled.
“I think you’re lying. Shoot him.” The king flicked his fingers, and Sofia, expression horrified, screamed.
Nineteen
Sofia winced at the loud crack of the firing gun, but Gunner recoiled, his shoulder flung back by the impact of a bullet. Red stained his chest, soaking his shirt. He went down to his knees, expression incredulous as he bled out.
Her heart stopped.
She took a step, but the king barked, “Don’t touch him.”
If she didn’t do something, he would die in front of her. “Why would you do that?” she screamed, turning on the king. “I told you I would do what you wanted.”
“But would you have done it properly? Or would you have held back? I can’t have you holding back. There is too much at stake.”
“Why are you doing this to me?” she sobbed. “Why won’t you leave me alone?”
“When are you going to let go of what the Enclave hammered into you over and over? When will you realize the good you can do? Why do you insist on hiding your ability?”
“Because…” She looked at her hands, flexed her fingers. “Because I am afraid.”
“Afraid of what? Being great? You could save him.” The king pointed to Gunner, who appeared dead on the floor, and yet it was almost as if she could also see a shadowy version of him standing there yelling at her.
The king said nothing as she stumbled to his side. “You’re cruel.” She dropped to her knees beside Gunner. Poor dead and dying Gunner.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he whispered, his eyes half shut.
“Gunner.” She breathed his name.
He took one last breath. His body heaved a final time. Then he died, and for a moment, she wanted to die with him. Then she reacted, slapping her hands to his chest, only they went right through his body. His entire frame disappeared, and she was left staring at the floor.
Her vision warped as reality snapped back into place. Gunner stood off to the side yelling at her. “Ignore what you see! He’s playing with your head.”
No, what Roark had done wasn’t playing. He’d shown the possibility through a vision. What might happen. “He’ll kill you if I don’t help him.”
“Fuck him. You don’t have to do shit.”
Yes she did. Gunner had not seen what could—would—happen. Not felt the crushing despair. She wouldn’t let him die.
Whirling from Gunner, she tucked her hands in front of her stomach and stated, “I’ll do it. I’ll be your witch.”
Gunner yelled, “No. I won’t let you trade yourself for me. Get the fuck out of my way, assholes.” Gunner fought the soldiers, and while he might not be injured, there were plenty of them converging on him.
“Don’t hurt him,” she exclaimed, pleading with the king. “I said I’d help, but you have to promise you won’t hurt him.”
“Put him to sleep.” The king snapped his fingers.
Gunner bellowed. His body heaving, his eyes wild, his step wavering as the drugged darts took effect. He sank to his knees, reaching for her. “Don’t.”
Didn’t he understand? For him, she’d do anything.
Gunner was caught before he hit the floor. The king gave his orders. “Take him somewhere he can recover.” He joined and then surpassed her, a tall ominous figure drawing a cloud around him that licked the senses.
“Follow me,” Roark commanded.
It no longer occurred to her to refuse. The horror at seeing Gunner die clung to her still. She didn’t want to feel it again.
The path they took through the castle brought them all over the place until they ended up in a tower similar to hers, but they went higher, the steps winding around and around until they found themselves in the peak, where there was a massive open space with windows all around.
The room was bright and white and so very clean. The windows were closed, the white drapes hanging without a flutter or speck of dirt. The shelves running the length of the wall underneath appeared quite tidy with perfectly aligned books and objects. There was a round table surrounded by a few chairs. On it was a partially completed puzzle. She’d received one once as a present. She’d never had time to actually complete it. Who did puzzles in this childish place?
There was a swing with a cushioned seat and a rocking chair with a rounded base. The bed she avoided looking at was massive, with four posters rising to form a frame from which draped a canopy. The light pink fabric panels hanging from the top rail were drawn.
Beside the bed was a trolley covered in bottles. The smell of sickness filled the air and worsened when the drapes around the bed retracted, tugged open by ghostly fingers. Sofia heard a slight wheeze.
She looked down upon a child. A small girl child with long white hair pulled to the side in plaits. Her features were sunken, a sign of malnutrition or dehydration, maybe even both. Except Sofia didn’t think it was from lack of food or water. She noted the carafe besi
de the bed, the bowl with fruit in it and, beside it, wafers of some sort.
“What’s wrong with the child?” Sofia asked, moving away from the king and closer to the bed.
“She has the Marsh sickness.”
“Meaning?”
“Lack of appetite. Aches and pains. Convulsions. It varies from child to child. Those that survive never get it again.”
“Do most survive?”
“Not once the fever turns to chills.” Said in a low monotone, even though the child slept.
She put her hand on the girl’s forehead. It was cold. Too cold. Yet her skin felt damp. “I’ve never seen a sickness like this,” she had to admit.
“You have to help her.”
Sofia glanced at the king. “Why didn’t you tell me it was a child who required my help?”
“Would it have made a difference?”
The answer should have been no. Yet, looking upon the frail body, she realized it did matter. She remembered a few other kids while growing up who got sick. One of them—apprenticed with her—fell ill, left, and never returned. It never occurred to her until now to wonder if that person died.
“I don’t know what to do.” The truth.
“Help my daughter.” The anguish in his words almost excused his behavior. He obviously loved this child, like she loved Gunner.
People sometimes made hard choices to save those they cared for.
“I will try, but I can’t make promises.” Sofia placed her hands on the girl, one on her forehead, the other against her midsection. She closed her eyes and concentrated, forcing some intent. Heal.
Her hands didn’t warm. The child moaned, and her father shifted, grabbing the girl’s hand, bowing his head against it.
Why wasn’t it working? It took some inward looking to realize she still feared. Feared that she’d fail. What if she wasn’t special after all? In some ways, that might be the worse thing of all.
She looked at the wan face of the dying girl. She had to try. What if she could do good? What if…what if she could be a person who made a difference? Who saved?
The heat started, pulsing from her fingertips then infusing her whole hand. The girl stiffened, and her breath halted. Stopped and didn’t restart.
The father uttered a broken word, but Sofia no longer listened. She felt, aware of the child in a way that showed her what was wrong. Showed her the illness attacking.
For a moment, as she hung suspended in a place that wasn’t here or there, she agreed with Gunner when he called it magic. The warmth streaming from her was more than just an ability she wielded; it was an indescribable force that understood how to repair. It swept in and killed the bad. Slammed into it and burnt it to nothing, and then, that same power, her magic, reinforced the good.
By the time Sofia pulled away from the child, she was shaking and breathing hard. Opening her eyes caused her to see dancing spots, and she realized the only reason she didn’t fall was because she’d landed on her knees.
“Papa.” The little voice, hoarse and high-pitched, brought a sob strangled by laughter.
“Is that you, my stinkweed?”
The giggle was enough to bring a wan smile to Sofia’s lips, as did the hugging between the king and his child. She’d done it. She’d saved a life.
And now she felt as if she’d pass out.
She stood and wavered on her feet. “I need to rest.”
Roark turned to face her, the child on his hip, a genuine smile on his lips. “Thank you.”
She wanted to ask him what happened next, but she teetered on her feet as exhaustion sought to make her its next victim. She barely noticed when she was picked up and carried to her room then practically dumped on her bed.
She couldn’t have said how long she slept. When she woke, she realized she wasn’t alone. Someone spooned her body. The frame at her back hard and big. It felt right, familiar, and she tingled, but what if it wasn’t him?
“I know you’re awake.”
She relaxed. It was Gunner. “How are you here?” Was this another horrible mirage where the king made her see things?
“The guards brought me about an hour ago. I tried to wake you, but you were sleeping hard.”
“I was tired.” An understatement. Lethargy still clung to her but more the type that happened when lying abed too long.
“You healed someone for him.”
“I did.”
“I told you not to.”
“I had to. I couldn’t let him hurt you.” That earned her a squeeze and his warm breath caressing the shell of her ear.
“You’re not supposed to need to save me.”
“What if I want to? I don’t want you to die.”
“And I don’t want you to be forced to do things. I want you to be free.”
The very idea seemed outrageous. “What if I wanted to heal?”
“Do you?” he asked.
“I don’t know. For so long I’ve been scared to admit that I might be different.”
“Something has changed with you. Who did you heal?”
“His daughter,” she admitted softly. “She was dying. I don’t know if she would have made it another day. But I had the power to help her.”
“A sick child, eh?” Gunner grunted. “Might explain why the king is acting a little crazy.”
“A little?” she retorted. “He killed a man in front of me for not doing what he wanted.”
“In the Wastelands, we call that being brutally efficient.”
“He could have just told me. He didn’t have to play games,” she complained, and yet, at the same time, she had to wonder at his earlier accusation. Would she have tried as hard if Gunner’s life weren’t at stake?
“The man hasn’t managed to make himself king and a force to be reckoned with by being too open and nice.”
“I guess,” she said with a sigh. “How come you are here? I thought you’d be far from here.”
“You asked I not be harmed, not for my freedom.”
She grimaced. “I should have worded my request better. I’m sorry. I—"
“Don’t you dare apologize.” He covered her, his body heavy, his gaze intent, his words soft as he murmured against her ear, “Be careful what you say. We’re probably being watched.”
She didn’t care if they saw her hugging him. “I’m so glad you’re not dead.”
He grumbled, “It would have been better if you let me die. Now the king will use me against you whenever he wants something.”
“I couldn’t let you die.”
He reared back enough to grin at her. “Which I’m good with. What I don’t like is the fact you had to save me in the first place. I won’t let you be a slave to that prick who calls himself king.”
Her mouth rounded. “You shouldn’t call him names.”
“I’ll call him whatever I like.”
“He was doing it for his daughter.”
“Which is super chill for him. But he’s still a dick.” He rubbed his forehead against hers. “I missed you.”
She hugged him. “I wish…”
“Wish what, sweetheart?”
She eyed him. “Wish we’d had a chance to be together.” Now that she’d cured the king’s daughter, would she have her freedom? Would Gunner go back to his cell to be used every time the king wanted something from her?
“Fuck me. If only I knew they weren’t watching.”
“Are you sure they are?”
His lips quirked. “How do you feel about being undercover?” He tugged the sheet over them, even their heads. “Now they can guess but can’t see.”
“See what?” she asked.
“Shh. We probably don’t have much time.” He kissed her, his mouth hot and hard.
It brought a moan to her lips, a sound of need that he swallowed as his hands fumbled to yank at the gown someone had put her in. He wore only a shirt and trousers.
She yanked at his top, pulling it over his head until his skin rubbed against hers, providing a sen
sual friction. His lips meshed hotly with hers, igniting her blood and making her wonder how she’d ever believed that fake version of Gunner. Only this man set her alight.
His mouth moved over hers, tugging and teasing, while his hands tucked the sheet behind and under her head. With them fully covered, he knelt under the makeshift tent. She wondered his intent until he leaned down and grasped the tip of her nipple in his mouth. She made a sound and arched as he sucked, moaning and moving, the sensation of his mouth on her incredible.
He switched breasts, sucking and tugging anew on her other nipple until she squirmed and gasped his name. “Gunner.”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
She didn’t have a reply, just more squirms and moans as he lavished attention on her breasts, teasing them until she gasped and ached for something more. Something to soothe the pulse between her thighs.
He kissed her, his body crouched over her, meaning he had room to slide his hand between them to toy with the flesh between her legs.
“Fuck me, you’re wet.” He stroked her, teasing her sensitive flesh, stroking until her hips gyrated, and she moaned.
Only then did he position himself over her and kiss her again. She pulled hungrily at his mouth, feeling that tension inside her, that need.
He pressed against her, the tip of him huge. But he stopped rather than penetrate her. Took a moment to whisper, “Do you want this?”
She did. More than anything. “Yes.”
With her consent, he slid into her, thick and long, stretching her in a way she’d never imagined. She gasped into his mouth, clutched him as he moved inside her, rocking and pushing, drawing her tension higher and harder, faster and faster, until she sobbed as her body sat poised on the edge.
“Come for me, sweetheart,” he murmured, and with those words, she climaxed.
Cried into his mouth, her body undulating in pleasure. He shuddered against her, his big body trembling, his shaft pulsing inside her.
“I love you,” he whispered against her lips. “I love you, and I promise we will find a way out of this.”
“How?” she whispered.
It seemed hopeless. Now that the king had seen what she could do, he’d never let her go.
