by A. K. Koonce
“Who are you working with? Where are you getting the ingredients?”
An odd twitch passes over Aisha as she squints her eyes shut tight. When she re-opens them, she wrinkles her nose.
“This interrogation is going so very well.” Her hoity laugh fills the small space between us.
“I don’t need your commentary. I need your answers. Real ones, honest ones.” I don’t bother to protect my dress from the old blood and shallow puddles this time as I turn. Each step is loud as my heels tap against the old stone floors.
Outside the cells, along the wall, is an assortment of weapons or what we would also call torture toys. Metals twisted, curved, and sharpened at all angles shine as they hang off their hooks. A host of small knives are slid into a row of pockets neatly tucked away under something that makes my teeth hurt just to look at.
My fingers wrap around the leather hilt of a short but wide knife. I ignore the way my fingers stick to the clearly unwashed handle. Sunlight filters through the small windows in the cells. The pointed edge of the weapon gleams nicely.
I pass the blade between my hands, twisting and turning it. At what angle should I plunge the weapon into her flesh? Which hand would be better?
Aisha’s red-rimmed eyes don’t widen when she sees me approach. Yet, her shoulders shudder like a cowering animal.
“You can’t hurt me. I’m under protection of the church. Plus, you need information from me.”
“You’re wrong. I can hurt you. I just can’t kill you yet.” I poke the blade under her chin, lifting it so she’ll meet me gaze. “If you don’t tell me what I want to know, then you’ll wish that you were dead. I wonder how pretty you’ll look when I cut off your eyelids and peel your cheeks away from the bone.”
Slipping the knife away, I give her the opportunity to let her mouth fall open in shock. Her lips only open in the briefest of breaths.
“So, which finger would you like to lose first?” With a gentle tap against her pinky, we’ll call this a warning tap, I ask another question. “The little finger? Or maybe we go right for the thumb?” I snort with a wicked laugh. “I’d die to see you trying to do just about anything without your thumb.”
Her fingers curl under her palm. She tilts, trying to look past me to Iri. Blond hair falls over her shoulder as she leans dramatically in the chair.
“You’re going to let her do this to me?” Aisha asks.
Iri shrugs, his features schooling into indifference.
“Have you ever heard of the game Stabberscotch?” I pry each finger out of her balled-up fist until her hand is forced to lay straight under my own palm. It’s easy enough to force her hand below mine. I’m surprised at how weak she actually is. Maybe she really had been living off the land. Maybe she is just putting on a show for Iri.
“N-no,” she stutters. Her eyes flitter from the knife to my face to her hand to Iri, repeating the cycle like it might change her fate.
“It’s a game they like to play in the bars. The drunker you get, the less likely you are to win or vice versa for some people. You take your knife, and you bounce it between your fingers.” With a soft thud I tap the blade against the table. “Each pass, you go faster and faster, praying you don’t miss the table and your finger goes flying across the room.”
I mean, my dramatics may be unnecessary, but oh Goddess, are they fun.
“You would know of the games they play in lowly bars.” She sneers, hair bouncing around her face.
“Hey,” The blade digs into the table. “I met some wise people in those bars. Some of whom were wise to your shit.”
You know we have people to do this, right? You don’t have to literally get blood on your hands. Iri’s steady voice sings inside my head.
He’s right, but we are too far for that now.
“So, let’s try this again.” Easily enough, I lift the knife from the table and twirl it between my fingers.
THUD. Blade to table.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
“How are you spreading the poison?”
Every noise created by the sharpened steel hitting the metal table makes Aisha flinch. Her eyes are so tightly closed that it creates clear wrinkles on her normally flawless skin. I haven’t even hit a finger yet.
“I’ll go faster. Perhaps it will help you think.” Sweat makes me feel damp in every part of my body from the adrenaline and effort of the situation.
THUD.
THUD.
THUD.
No answer. Aisha’s lip quivers.
“Faster it is.”
THUD. THUD. THUD.
Behind me, I can feel Iri’s hesitation. His want to yank me away from the table or the need to call for Mathis and let him give it a go. I can also feel the strain of him holding himself back. And a little of something else?
Is this turning you on? I ask. He shifts his weight from foot to foot behind me but doesn’t respond.
You bastard. I push to move the weapon as fast I can manage, a small laugh bubbling over my lips at the absurdity.
Aisha growls in frustration. “I-I can’t think with him in here.”
“Iri, leave.” I pause, pointing toward the cell door.
“Like hell.” His shoulders roll with a laugh. With a small step, he plants his feet firmly in response.
“No.” She shakes her head. “I can’t think when he is gone either.”
“So basically, you can never think?”
Her bottom lip trembles with a strained sob as if she's fighting to hold it in. “I don’t know what's wrong with me. I know we are meant to be together, Iri. I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop wanting you. When you’re near me, my mind becomes a flurry of desire, and when you leave, my thoughts are so broken, it's all I can do not to run back to you.”
Really? Really?
“Is this a fucking sonnet you wrote while you were gone? Goddess, no. I’m done.” Strolling past Iri, I tuck the knife back into its sheath. With my hands empty, I run my fingers over my face, dragging my features down. “Call Mathis, and he can do whatever he pleases with her as long as he gets the information.”
Aisha’s face hardens. Her fingers, safe from my knife, curl back under her palm. Tears well in her eyes even as her lips press into a straight line of defiance. Mathis will break her of that defiance. We will have answers soon.
The walk up the stairs and through the halls is a quiet one. Iri stalks behind me like a silent, grumpy cat. His thoughts screaming inside his head. Not at me, no. His thoughts just bounce around his mind with such ferocity that through the bond, it feels like yelling.
He hates Aisha for everything she has done to his kingdom, the absolute loathing kind of hate, his distaste for her from the get-go a repeated echo. Yet he mourns for her. He feels for her. She was once just the little girl of an advisor that ran about the castle with him, making those awful googly eyes and trying to trap him with a kiss. They were kids then, her flirting innocent and naive. Something had changed between her red-cheeked confessions as a child, their announced, then renounced engagement, and now.
When I first met Aisha, she looked at Iri like a prize to be won. Every gaze was a hungry one. In this prison cell, her gaze was meant to devour him. It is unsettling for both Iri and me.
She wanted what she could never have, and the feeling had become like a drug to her. Aisha is looking for her next hit. It feels more sincere in the way she professed herself to us.
It feels possessive.
11
Coming to a Realization
Syren
My room remains off limits. Iri’s simple yet impressive suite becoming my sole escape from prying eyes. Not that I’m complaining. It comes with quite a few perks, I think, as Iri saunters in. One hand undoes the button of his jacket, the other propping against the back of a chair as he eyes me.
The bottom of my gown looks worse for wear, though admittedly, it gives it quite the badass aesthetic with the dotted layer of filth and flaking blood. It makes me feel like a warrior. For a mo
ment, it makes the world feel smaller, less like I am holding it in the precarious balance of my hands. A warrior is made to serve their king and country. The only task is to stand before them like an unwavering shield. What would I give for my world to be that simple again?
An extra wardrobe has been brought to the room to hold my clothes while I continue my stay in the King's room. The whispers be damned. With my eyes still trained on my husband and his sleek muscular build and suit fitted perfectly on his body, I mosey to the wardrobe. I skim through the gowns.
“Would you wear blue for me?” His voice is a startling rasp over my shoulder, his breath a tickle against my neck.
I would do almost anything for him.
Softly, Iri runs his pointer finger down the curve of my neck. It creates a path over my shoulder until it stops at the zippered back.
“Are you finally going to complete your to-do list?” I whisper.
“If you’ll allow me.” His lips seal like a promise to the top of my shoulder, the sharp points of his teeth grazing the skin like a threat.
Desire peaks at my breasts, then curls with wanting smoky tendrils in my stomach. My lips part. My eyes falling to half-hooded contentment under his coaxing touch.
Beads chime as the zipper travels lower down my back. Cold would normally nip at the exposed skin, but with Iri there, a comfortable heat remains instead. A heap of material piles at my feet.
Strong arms wrap around my abdomen, pulling me tight against his burning body. I balance both hands against the wardrobe. His hands sweep up and down my naked skin, seemingly chasing away any goosebumps from the cold and creating new ones from his tantalizing trails.
One polished boot nudges my legs further apart until I’m standing like a willing and waiting figure X. His seductive touch draws circles down my abdomen to hover for a moment above my panty line.
Then he spins me around. The movement so smooth; in a blink I go from looking at mahogany wood to Iri’s heated attention. His tongue slips over the curve of his bottom lip as I breathe in his features.
He bows his head till our foreheads touch, and his words can be felt against my parted, wanting mouth. “Goddess, Syren. You are so fucking . . .” His throat bobs as he swallows hard. “You’re so fucking reckless. And . . . incredible.”
A curved finger lifts my chin to him. His arms pinning me so tightly to his body. At the moment, my magic seems to curl against the bond, splashing like waves against his heat as they dissolve into mist that fuels our want. The surge of magic is so strong, I can taste the sea salt on my lips.
Droplets of water form in the air around us; they bead against our skin. Sunlight from the cracked curtains bounces off the water around us till they look like hanging crystals strung throughout the atmosphere. Our magic calls us to one another in a way I have never felt before. But I need this. We need this.
Roughly, our lips collide, parting only for the rolling slip of our tongues. I grab ahold of him, my fingers digging into clothing as I pull him as close as I can. With confidence, I pluck away at the buttons of his shirt. Iri shrugs off the jacket, gasping for air before our lips meet once more.
It’s a wild need that needs to be met. The churning feeling of desired pleasure that wets between my legs. Red material falls away from his chest, then soon his legs. His belt buckle easy enough to undo before I tug both layers down.
Our naked bodies meet, his cock hard and ready, pressing against me. I mean to reach for him, to stroke the inches of him that I need so badly, but he doesn’t let me. Iri presses me into the wardrobe door. His teeth nip at my neck, his hands grazing my breasts.
He’s claiming. Right now, it feels every bit like a fiery claim of a powerful mate.
In one swift movement, he pulls me into his arms, picking my legs up off the ground and sliding his cock inside of me. I gasp at the suddenness of it. He hums his pleasure, flashing a devilish smile before he rocks me against the wardrobe.
My hands travel over his scars then twine into his thick hair. But it’s only for a second before I reach behind me to hold the top of the wardrobe. The wood shakes with us, loudly tapping against the wall. I don’t care who hears. I don’t care what people say.
Iri plunges into me once more. Gravity pushes me down on him till he is fully inside me and thrusting me back up with the jerk of his hips. My body sings, tightening around him as we grind in rhythm together.
Every inch of him is as deep as he possibly can go, and with every hard thrust he gives, my breath is stolen from my lungs. And he watches. He watches the air he steals from me with hooded sexy eyes. He does it over and over and over again. His pleasure seems to derive from the simple way my nails sink into his skin, the way he makes my body hot and tight against him. He seems completely enamored with the way he affects me at this moment.
My lips part with a moan, an orgasm building to climax. Iri growls, pushing into me faster and faster. A slick slapping as he pounds against me harder and harder, making a chorus with the wardrobe that taps the wall.
Everything in me shatters. It’s reckless. It’s beautiful.
Just like us.
Iri groans, pushing me tighter between him and the wardrobe. His arms curl over my shoulders to keep me from bouncing too high and to allow him to push deeper within me.
His breath hitches, a tremble traveling through him. The powerful strength of his orgasm travels so intensely between us, it sends me over the edge yet again.
And I cry out, unable to contain it.
Iri’s hips slow until he pulls himself out of me and sets me back down. He watches me with contentment. His hands press slick against my back, sliding lower and lower down my spine. It calls to a memory that slips into our thoughts, shared between us.
Stone features manicured to the likeness of Goddess Celeste. A vase meant to hold the powers of the universe just to be poured into the world. To create our world. Or so the story is told for those who believe in the power of Goddess Celeste instead of her rival Goddess Nature.
I can picture the intricate carvings of the continents etched against the pale stone. The shine of water as it glints off of it and splashes into the pool. Water shines off of Iri, too. Naked except for the thin pair of underwear, and a cunning look of want mixed with hate transcribed on his face.
He touches me, sending shivers down my spine. I can feel the strength of the memory heighten. The starless smell of his desire, like he burned the light from the sky. Nearness of his lips and the half a thought to taste them.
Iri’s lips tweak into a small smile. The memory of my thoughts traveling through his mind. Would his kiss be as blessed as he says he is or as cursed as these plagued lands?
I know the answer now. His kisses are sweet blessings that drive a sense of pleasure straight to my lady bits. Glorious.
If only his physique was shining in the dripping water of that fountain he was so proud of. It was a feat of engineering that he was able to get it up and running for more than just the capital. Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea to play in the fountain that runs plumbing to his entire kingdom. Is that considered contamination?
Contamination.
Contamination of the whole Northern Kingdom.
Fuck me.
Iri’s lips hover near mine, but I yank myself backward, smacking my head against the wardrobe.
“It’s the water.”
Iri’s eyes widen as the thoughts travel through the bond, and my words register at the same time.
Mathis hadn’t made it down to her cell yet. I could tell by the shock in her eyes of seeing me so soon after my departure. Could she smell Iri’s touch on my skin? Would that make her even more mad?
Guards stand at attention on either side of the cage. They bustle at the speed of my incoming fury just like the guards at the top and bottom of the stairs. Urgency pushes me forward till I feel like a tornado sweeping through the building. And I want to wreck Aisha Joveth in my wake.
“It’s the water, isn’t it?” My voice is
surprisingly calm. The realization of her actions settling into my bones feels like the truth. Honestly, how I couldn’t have come to the conclusion earlier is beyond me.
Aisha’s lips tilt in a lazy smile. “Of course it’s the fucking water.” She says the words slowly like time no longer matters to her, and a soft chuckle escapes her lips before she continues. “Goddess, you’re such a stupid fish cunt.”
Metal feels cool and smooth under my fingertips as I run my hands over the tall cell bars separating us. Each finger drums loudly like the ticking of a clock nearing its end.
“Why?” I run the other hand over the bars. “Why poison the entire kingdom?”
Every soft thud of my fingers echoes in the tick of her face. Thud. She blinks. Thud. She crinkles her nose. Thud. Her jaw clenches. Thud. Her head cocks to the side.
“Stop,” she quietly hisses, her shackles rattling against the table as her fisted hands pound against it. “Some things . . .” She closes her eyes, straightening her shoulders to regain her poise. “Some things are more divine than revenge, Syren. Some things are bigger than you and me.”
“Bigger than the entire kingdom?” I hum. My body almost feels cold and too still now. The frenzy that had carried me from Iri’s bedroom to the feet of a monster fizzling out along the way.
Aisha trails her attention from me to the space behind me that remains empty. Has her mind really become a never-ending loop of distraction poised around the King?
“He isn’t with me.”
Because he is trying to fix your mess. We split like wood being parted with an ax, flying in separate directions, propelled by momentum from the hit we just took. Iri is meeting with his advisors as we speak. Aside from a certain someone’s father, that is. They would soon have confirmation about how so many people have died and are still dying.
Hoofbeats pound outside, the sound of a calvary. Messengers. Iri is readying them. People will have to stop drinking the water, bathing in it, and using it to clean their homes. They are unknowingly spreading the poison around.
