by May Sage
He removed his cloak and wrapped it around Mel’s shoulders. She looked up, a million questions and a fair dose of mistrust in her deep, dark eyes.
Good. She should doubt his intentions at all times. The last thing he wanted was her trust.
"It's cold," he said simply, rather than pointing out that his cloak was more suitable to a feast than her rags.
As many pure Aos Si, Caim was svelte and athletic, his frame certainly not Herculean like Red's, or even Mael’s. Mel was shorter by nigh on two feet, and leaner, but her breasts and shapely hips made up for the difference: his cloak fit her perfectly once she closed it over her chest.
Caim's eyes were fixed on the pin keeping it together, and not only because her curves were worth a second look. A sigil of a rose was prominently on display. She was the first woman to be adorned in the silver and green of house Obsberon.
He looked away. It was just a cloak.
Caim redirected his attention to the boy, who wore the same gear, though it was in even worse shape. Perhaps he should have given him the cloak instead. "Shall we see what the banquet has to offer?"
The child perked up, following him to the riverside where musicians had started their bows and strings.
He did the needful, speaking to lord and lady Ironers with as much cordiality as he was able to muster. To his annoyance, his gaze turned to Mel with alarming regularity.
The Ironers were curious, intrigued, taken with the woman who’d shown a singular taste and skill for violence. Caim heard them. They were asking where she'd been kept, and why, professing that they'd had no clue their lords had dungeoned countless darklings without cause. If they'd thought she'd forgive and forget, they were mistaken.
She ignored them. As if she were a queen and they mere insects, she paid them no mind. Mel ate, and drank, and even danced with the Earthen boy whose name Caim hadn't asked. But she pretended the Ironers didn’t exist.
She would certainly be entertaining.
The takeaway at the end of tonight would be that there was a woman of the Silver Circle who believed Ironers entirely beneath her notice. Caim untangled his tongue, chatting with the tedious lords he despised with more ease. She certainly was showing enough contempt for both of them.
Lord Golris seldom left his side. The man was angling for an alliance, and Caim wasn't opposed to giving it to him. He suffered through as much small talk as he could stand before getting to the actual point of his visit. "When you do find the heir of your regent, what's to become of him or her? Do you intend to crown a child of the mortal realms?"
Golris grimaced. “No. By the demon's below and gods above, no. If it was up to me, I would have rounded up all of the darklings and dug narrow graves by the dozen. That would be more pleasant for them. But Lyr likes his games. He hunted them, housed them, so they’re his to do as he pleases.” His tone dropped to a whisper. “And he has other designs.”
Golris desired to hear Caim beg for information. When he remained silent, the lord continued all the same.
“His plan has earned him the respect of most of the lords. See, it is possible that the former regent’s power may have passed to his direct heir, though I doubt a mortal bastard would know what to do with it. If we were to kill them all in one go now, before their strength manifests, whatever power courses in the heir’s veins would dissipate, going back to the ground. Lyr means to bide his time, see that the lord comes into his inherited strength, and absorb it instead."
Ah. They literally wanted to eat the heir to their lord after the strength of the circle came to him—or her. Crude, but Caim could imagine how that idea would have found favor among their kind.
The Aos Si all used to consume the body parts of their fallen families, lovers, and dearest friends. Eyes, tongue, liver, lungs. The heart was only for those they felt the most absolute forms of passion for. Their mates. Their lovers. And their worst enemies.
Eating hearts was more than a display of love, hatred, or respect. It was also a way to claim the energy of the fallen. But as well as their strength, it meant accepting a part of them for the rest of their lives.
Caim had never hated anyone enough to wish to devour their heart. Not even Lyr.
“And then, what?” Caim asked. “I understand you have a claim.”
The warlord inclined his head in assent. “Stronger than Lyr's. My mother was the late regent's first sister. His father was the regent's cousin. Then again, bloodlines will count for little. If all of the regent’s heirs are dead, the keep will open its gates and accept whatever regent we crown, under the laws of our charter. We're to put it to a vote among the gentry.”
Caim narrowed his eyes. If that was the case, Lyr had won. He knew how to be charming when he wanted.
"I'm not kidding myself. There will be a crown upon his brow. But a man doesn't make a kingdom. I would have you as a friend, if you'd allow it. I've heard of your deeds. You've had entire families stripped of their titles, men and women lost their heads thanks to your advice. When they deserved it. The world you're building is one where blood amounts to little. A world where what matters is actions. I would be part of it, if I can."
Unexpected. Still facing the banquet, eyes on the dark-haired woman who swallowed sweet buns by the plateful, Caim lifted his right hand to the man standing on his left flank.
Reluctantly, he turned away and faced the Ironer.
"I do not form friendships lightly. But I do withdraw my affections with ease."
The lord laughed lightly. "You, and everyone else here."
Lord of Silver
It occurred to Mel that this place was beautiful. She hated everything and everyone around her, but for all that, she couldn't deny that the colorful trees glittering in the darkness and the green rivers made for an enchanting picture. So did the people. Stunning, and sick to the core.
And in all this there was Caim Obsberon, more beautiful than any of them, even Lyr. No doubt twice as sick, though he hid it well.
At least, they made good pastries.
"Do you really think he'll let us go home?" the boy asked.
Mel closed her eyes. Caim had said so. Before stepping foot in this place, she might have said yes. But something fundamental had changed in her. Not only because of being kidnapped and brought here. What Lessara had done to her would forever be branded in her mind.
She hadn't realized what was happening down in the cell, where she'd had no clear future, no real hope.
But now, out here, Mel knew. Lessara had gifted her with fear. An anxiety that would forever cripple her, making her guts clench and question everything. She didn't want to burn. She didn't want her family to be killed before her eyes. She didn't want to lose.
Millions of concerns that she'd never stopped to consider in the past were making her halt and think twice.
How she hated that woman.
"Maybe," she told the boy. Seeing his expression falter, she added, "and if he doesn't, I'll find a way back anyway."
The child lifted his head and bit his lip.
"What about me?" he asked.
A fair question. Twice she'd told him she couldn't protect him.
This was different. Her curse—or whatever it was—had never prevented her from being generous. What she was forbidden from was being useful when it counted.
"Depends," she said with a wink. "Hey, what's your name?"
"Quentin Smyth."
"I'm Mel. And you can tag along. You just have to learn to take care of yourself."
"Because you're bound by an oath," Quentin said with a nod. "I can tell."
Mel frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"
Quentin shrugged his shoulders. "I was raised by some witches, and once, they had a client who came in because he'd sworn an oath to his girlfriend, saying he'd never drink again. Only, he just said that, without specifying that he meant drink alcohol. So, when they sealed it in blood, he couldn't drink at all. He was a vampire. They had to use stopgaps while we worked on curing him, like
injecting him with blood."
Mel winced on behalf of the poor bloodsucker. Then she shook her head; that didn’t apply to her at all. "I didn't swear anything. I've always been like this."
Quentin seemed perplexed. "Maybe an ancestor swore something on behalf of their entire bloodline?"
She stilled, failing to find a way to contradict him. "How did the witches cure him?"
Might as well ask. His theory wasn’t entirely implausible.
Quentin winced. "Not easily. We had to remove many of his memories, anything leading up to the event. He was a completely different person by the time we were done. And a drunk again."
She filed that away in the corner of her mind, remaining silent as she saw Caim approaching. She had no clue whether the man was a true friend or a foe in disguise yet, but he was Aos Si. Given what she knew of them, she didn't want him to know her weaknesses.
"We'll be returning to the inn. If you wish to accompany us, we'll book you a room."
"We?" Quentin repeated.
"The two goons following him around," Mel replied. "One has been taking his drinks all evening and the other remains at a distance."
Caim smiled. "Three. But close."
She narrowed her eyes, annoyed at herself for not noticing the third guard.
"Shall we?"
She hesitated. "I don't have any of the currency you use here, whatever that is. Actually, I have nothing on me. They literally dragged me when I was in my underwear."
Caim's eyes darkened, but he smiled. "Now that must have been a sight. And don't fret, I'll foot the bill until you're on your feet."
He must have seen suspicion color her features as he added almost immediately, "We can keep a tab and you'll pay me back."
He was too…nice. Unfae-like. She wanted to ask why he was doing this for the third time, but why repeat herself? He'd either give a half truth or simply stay silent. She just had to stay on her guard and remember that he had a horse in the race. He’d admitted as much.
"Lead the way."
As they walked away from the feast, the music faded in the background. Mel hated the fact that she loved their songs. Loving anything at all here seemed sinful. She didn't want her time in this place to be tainted with any good memories.
They were a hundred feet away when footsteps joined them. Mel looked around, finding the two men she'd already identified, and a third, no taller than Quentin, and perhaps slimmer. He was a beautiful boy with green hair and pointed ears twice as long as Caim's. Everything about him said fae—the little, mischievous fae of the legends. But he held himself in a way that made him appear like a potential threat.
The boy had his fingers intertwined, hooked behind his neck, and he whistled along with the music.
"Mael, Bass, Vlaryn, meet Mel and…"
"Quentin.” The teenager waved his hand in an awkward greeting.
"Mel, this is Mael, the newest member of my guard." The drink-snatcher inclined his head a fraction in greeting. He was shorter than Caim, but also stockier. He seemed a lot more approachable.
"Hi."
"Bass has been with me for an age." Bass was a tower of muscles. He grunted an unfriendly greeting, eyes narrowed. "And Vlaryn is the head of my guards."
The boyish fae waved a hand, almost dismissively.
Him? If Mel had been asked to pinpoint who among them looked like he might command a guard, Vlaryn would have been her last choice, even after Quentin.
"Wait," she said, her brain catching up, "you have more bodyguards?"
Vlaryn grinned. "She's adorable. I'd say either the sweetest ingenue we've ever seen or the best spy Iron could think of."
Mel glared, but Caim laughed openly.
"Don't mind him. Keeping my head on my shoulders is his job. And yes. I seldom enjoy going anywhere with less than a dozen knights."
She blinked. Caim didn't need guards at all; she could tell from his presence, his aura. He was lethal. She wouldn't have liked her odds fighting against him.
“Caim is the regent of Silver,” said Mael. “As we don't have kings and queens these days, it means he rules over it all. So, yeah. Loads of knights everywhere.”
Oh. It made sense; how else could he have invited them, without being challenged or dismissed by Lyr or Lessara? The lord and lady hadn't said a thing, though they’d had other plans for her. Mel was so tired, she'd missed it. All she’d cared about was getting out of here; she’d asked nothing personal about Caim. How desperate was that?
"Am I supposed to curtsy or something?" She was frustrated with herself, and it made her sound irritable.
Mael found her question hilarious. Even Bass, the mountain, smiled.
Vlaryn didn't. “Can you?” He narrowed his eyes dangerously, as though this was a serious test. “It wasn't in fashion the last time I visited Earth.”
Mel rolled her eyes. This was the part where she was supposed to feel lesser because she came from another world? Screw that. Smirking at the highly judgmental boy, she extended her pointed toe in front of her and formed a large circle on the ground before sinking low, her spine straight as she bowed gracefully. She straightened back up. The four strangers had stopped walking, all eyes on her. Even Quentin was staring.
She rolled her eyes. "Ballet. We learn a thing or two."
Mael grinned, sending her a thumbs-up. Apparently, that was a thing here, too. "She'll fit in just fine."
He was the first to resume his walk into the large cream-stone town ahead. Caim followed suit, his pace quickening.
"I'll keep many eyes on you, my lady. At all times," said Vlaryn, with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
What the hell? "You'll have many bored eyes, then, Cap," Mel replied before marching forward to catch up with those among her new companions who didn't distrust her.
The Silver City
Though Melpomene had been spent, just hours after booking her a room at the inn, when Caim walked around the outer edge of the harbor to clear his head, he looked up to the room she shared with the teenager and found it lit up.
A shadow—unmistakably hers—was perched on the windowsill. She looked toward the sky.
Caim had never entered Lyr’s keep, but from what he knew of dungeons in the Iron Circle, they were typically underground. Had she been kept locked up without seeing the sky all along? It had been over a month since the regents' assassination. Four months, in her world.
His hands had fisted at his sides.
"She's something, I'll give you that."
Caim frowned, glancing to Vlaryn. "You could have been nicer."
"I could," the knight replied, unapologetic. "But she's from Earth. The girl is an open book. Insouciant." He wrinkled his nose in distaste. "She trusts too fast. If I have to be the bad guy so she doesn't get trampled at court, I'll do it."
Caim's jaw was tight. He hadn't wanted to bring her to court. He'd planned to drop her and the boy off at an inn in the city, pay their expenses for a year, and put them both out of his mind. He didn't have time for either of them now.
She was skilled. Being kind to a powerful woman was smart. Caim believed in forging alliances when it could be beneficial to him. And if his interference pissed off Lyr, it was a bonus.
Then, she'd curtsied.
Fuck.
She might have just meant to tease Vlaryn, but the move had been elegance, devotion, beauty, sensuality, all wrapped in the most fascinating package he recalled seeing. And his cock had twitched in his pants, suddenly awakened. What was he supposed to do about that?
After all these years, Caim still remembered what it was like to care for someone and to lose them. His older sister had been his companion in mischief. They'd trained and played together. They'd been close enough in age that she'd been a true friend before she was taken from him.
Never again.
Caim would keep bedding the kind of men and women who wanted nothing but pleasure. In time, he'd name a successor. That was it. He had no intention of ever letting himself care
for anything but the good of the Circle—and the good of Sidhe.
Still, regents were expected to have lovers, at least. One glance at her, and no one would doubt she was his. He knew few ladies in Silver who'd dare challenge the likes of her.
Fate had handed him a sharp tool. Not making use of it would be foolish. Caim had been called many things; a fool wasn't one of them.
"Whatever you do, she'll be scrutinized. You cannot hope to enter the Circle with a wildflower by your side and have it unnoticed. Might as well reap the benefits."
Caim hooked his hands behind his back, inhaled deeply, and closed his eyes.
What choice did he have? He'd sealed their path the moment he'd invited her. "Two knights around her. No one obvious, she'll spot them. I'll see her at banquets and feasts. Other than that, keep her away from me."
He hoped he wouldn't have cause to regret his decision.
Caim had expected surprise, but Vlaryn was amused. "Sure, whatever you say."
He narrowed his eyes, looking straight at the sylph. "I will use her to avoid dealing with court harpies, for as long as she stays among us. But I have no interest in any woman beyond that."
He had no time nor inclination for relationships.
Caim stole another glance at the window before returning inside the inn.
She was gone.
He found that he didn't like it.
“Let us rest. I must rise early, visit the Tower with Golris and purchase some iron on the morrow, if only for appearance’s sake. Have the ship ready by ten.”
On her first trip inside a spaceship, Mel had freaked—no doubt because she’d had no clue where she was or where she was going for most of it. This time, she was fascinated, looking around, trying to understand everything. Humans were still far from space travel on Earth, and while some Enlightened occasionally made the trip from other dimensions, they normally used portals directly transporting them from one point to the next. She'd never seen a portal, and until recently, she'd never been in a spaceship.