Mikelle sat across from him and Shayleen to his right. “We play with other pieces,” Mikelle explained and drew a small box filled silver drops of glass, pressed on one side, so they would not roll. “Once ten pieces have been laid, you have the chance to use one of four of these Watchmen to stop an attack on your kingdom. Once played, the person who has laid the attacking tile removes the piece and cannot attack again for another round. Should you choose not to use the Watchman, it will add an extra two points per unused piece.”
He lifted a piece and weighed it. “Cinibarians play with Soldiers who mount attacks and prevent you from building.”
Lace nodded. “Shalabane have more tiles for bodies of water and use Ships to do something similar. Each culture makes the game their own, but no one knows who began it.”
They sat silently, laying the pieces they drew to form walls and ramparts, roads and mountains, sipping wine and watching the broken star burn brilliantly in the black sky. Gabriel could still feel the excited energy the palace gave off, even if it was more a subtle brush than an actual feeling. Before the Castrofax he could often tell someone’s mood just by their energies, and feel them several rooms away.
Bianji returned and reported people were both excited and frightened by the star. Everyone had a theory, saying it was an omen heralding someone’s birth, or the beginning of Shalaban’s destruction, or the end of the Novacula ruling. The few Mages in the palace tried dispelling the claim that Gabriel had anything to do with it, for every Mage knew their Elements did not even stretch to their moon, but there were skeptics. Some were clamoring for Gabriel’s release, exile, and even his death.
Bianji took a seat behind Gabriel and with skillful fingers mended the tears in his shirt and other abrasions taken during the scuffle. The scratches on his neck from the attack mended with a tingle that made him itch, and the back of his shoulder blades and elbows stop burning where he scuffed them. Bianji leaned over his shoulder, wrapping one arm around his chest much like a lover would, but the Arconians were accustomed to physical touch far more than Anatolians. She reached her free hand for a forearm and lifted it above his head to better look. When he realized she was looking at the rope burns on his wrist, he pulled it back down with some resistance.
“Let me fix those,” she whispered in his ear and put her fingers against his hand.
“Leave them,” he replied.
Lace was mounting an attack against him where Shayleen kept her kingdom to herself, and Mikelle seemed to be attacking everyone.
“Axa doesn’t believe your stories,” he said suddenly.
Mikelle popped her head up, her look of concentration remaining. “And I do not believe hers.”
“What is she saying?”
She waved a hand in dismissal. “A great load of nonsense. It’s your turn.”
“This party will be all a-flurry in the morning when they found out you stayed with us, so we will spread new stories, and no one will care what Axa has to say,” Lace chimed in, laying a green tile between Mikelle’s unfinished wall, breaking it. Mikelle huffed and took her revenge setting a blue piece in Gabriel’s lake, preventing him from joining it to his river.
He watched the two of them carefully. Lace had taken Mikelle’s side and steered away from his question, which meant Axa was saying some truly terrible things—and they believe her. He tried to come up with a better question to answer his fears, but Bianji took that moment to begin running her fingers through the back of his hair, quoting there was still evidence of the scuffle, and all sense of intelligence left him. He even misplaced two tiles before he realized Mikelle was grinning over his shoulder at the redhead. They were in cahoots.
In the end, he lost. Mikelle beat the two of them, but Shayleen had built up a solid defense against her, and Lace managed to keep all her Watchmen.
“Secrets!” Mikelle declared as they put the pieces away. “That is your price for losing.”
He leaned back against the chair Bianji was sitting in. “Secrets are meant to be kept.”
“And we are excellent at that.”
He searched for something that would not damn him. “Queen Miranda will not hold the throne more than a moon’s turn.”
They stopped cleaning and gaped at him. “Explain,” Bianji said, leaning forward.
“She is not the rightful Queen. The true heir to the throne will come of age in the next week and claim her throne. Miranda has known this for ten years.”
“How do you know all this?” Lace asked. Mikelle flicked her eyes at the woman a moment before returning them to Gabriel’s. It seemed she knew.
“Many people know Miranda is only keeping the throne warm, but not many know the heiress is alive and coming for her Kingdom.”
“How do you know she is alive?” Mikelle asked levelly, her narrow eyes pinched.
“You only beat me at one game, and I do not plan to lose again.”
And he did not.
After two more games, they conceded. Their tricks could not distract him. Shayleen tried conversing in his tongue to get him to focus on correcting her speech, Lace attempted massaging the leg closest to her—which ended up distracting her enough to lose—and Mikelle tried talking as much as necessary, but he had long ago learned how to tune out a woman. In the end, he barely made it ahead though lost all his Watchmen in the process.
“Another refresh?” Bianji asked and held up a jug of wine.
He waved a hand away. “You harpies are trying to get me drunk.”
“Be more subtle,” Mikelle whispered to her companion.
Gabriel eased himself off the pillows and into a chair with a sigh. He glanced outside at the dark night frosted by the crescent moon and broken star.
“Can you feel it?” Bianji asked, sitting on the edge of the table with a mug in her hand. “The energies the palace gives off?”
“Very faintly, right here,” he nodded putting a finger on his breastbone. Lace opened a window and threw out a net of gray threads from her hands, listening to the conversations drifting on the winds.
“What does it make you feel like?” she whispered and touched a nail to his neckpiece.
“Like a wrung-out towel.”
Shayleen slipped away and returned with an ebony violin that she softly played in the window seat by Lace.
“Maybe a soft tune will sooth you,” Bianji smiled and put a hand over his. “Shayleen’s family makes the violins, and she is quite talented. I think this is yours,” she said and put the mug in his hand. “Excuse me.”
She left him and slipped into the other room. Gabriel took a draught of the warm wine and realized, ‘No, this is not mine. That girl is craftier than I estimated.’ He shot Mikelle a glare, and she beamed behind her own mug.
“You better change out of those.” Mikelle gestured to his clothes, “We’ll send them to be cleaned by morning.”
“You have nothing for me to change into.”
She gave him a long stare and slowly tilted her head forward in a way Gabriel could only translate to mean ‘obviously’.
“What hour is it?”
Shayleen looked up from the gentle song she played with experienced fingers. “Ten.”
Mikelle took a few steps closer to Gabriel and threw a look at the door. “Quick, out of your shirt at least.”
“What—no,” he began, but Lace heard something he did not and snapped her fingers at Mikelle. Mikelle quickly plopped herself in his lap. The doorknob behind him rattled just as Shayleen began a swifter tune. The door swung open as Mikelle put her face up against his cheek and gave him a loud kiss.
Her arms were around his neck, and she gave a laugh as Queen Cathlyn let herself in. The Queen had her hair down, and it framed her square face matronly. He could not see the rest of her honey-colored dress, for Mikelle pulled his head back around.
“I will have him first—oh, hello Your Majesty,” Bianji said as she strode from the other room wearing a sheer garment very nearly see-though, cut at the thigh to sho
w off her long muscular legs.
“I thought we agreed I would have him before you,” Mikelle said and tightened an arm around his neck, digging the Castrofax into his skin. “It is my right as eldest.”
Gabriel surprised himself by replying “I think I can manage you both at the same time.” Shayleen missed a string, and the violin gave a sharp squeak.
The Queen gave a peppy titter. “I am glad to see we did not come all this way for nothing. Goodnight ladies, Mage.” She closed the door behind her as she left, and they waited a few moments before Shayleen’s music returned to the soft song.
“You will do what now?” Mikelle asked and raised a brow at him. He put a hand on her side and tried to push her off, but her arms remained around him. “I quite like it here actually.”
“You did not tell me the Queen would be making rounds.”
“I was not sure you would play believably. Apparently you are rather convincing.” She put a kiss on his forehead and hopped off him. Bianji threw on a robe that was far less transparent. “You will be sleeping in my bed, and I want clean sheets, so out of your dirty clothes. It will look best if we leave them out to be washed because my people and Nolen will know you were here and…without garments.” Mikelle smirked slyly.
He pointed a finger at her. “You’re going to give me problems.”
“You will like them.”
Mikelle never had much of a mind for trusting people, and as a result she found it difficult to be loyal when so many people mistreated one another. She had spent many years in the Shshonan Palace of King Victor in Arconia, and she had seen countless tyrants, traitors, and mutineers with the faces of powerful men. She trusted King Victor who never had a reason to misuse her, but she disliked the Queen and even the Princes Quinn and Virgil. But as morning rose, and she looked down on the sleeping face of the most powerful man living, she could not resist the loyalty forming to him.
Gabriel was a quiet sleeper, but he had awoken in the middle of the night suddenly and took time getting back to sleep. Thankfully, he did not steal the covers nor mind when she did. He remained asleep, half covered and tucked into his pillow even after the sun rose and breakfast was brought up.
Mikelle rose and brushed her long hair with orange oil until it shone. Unlike Lace and Bianji, who had jewels set into every facet of metal, Mikelle had more of a modest upbringing and was without the precious stones save the gifts King Victor had given her. She did not mind, for a woman with power did not adorn herself with finery to make herself beautiful; rather, she acted with dignity and grace to adorn herself with light. She chose a deep green dress with copper slashes in the skirts and sleeves. In the cold autumn on Anatoly, she wished she had brought something warmer. Arconia sat further south and would be warmer this time of year. Satin was proper down there, but here she would have preferred a stout cotton or even a fine wool.
Gabriel slept soundlessly on the edge of the bed, and she almost hated to wake him. He was as handsome as a painting and looked so peaceful. The Castrofax stood out on the white background of the sheets, and she resisted the urge to touch them. Though Arconia had remained neutral in the Mage Wars, they still whispered of the fabled Six, and most people dared not even speak the names. She wondered if Ryker was still making more.
“You’re watching me sleep again,” he whispered, jumping her out of her thoughts.
“Get up then.”
He shifted a little and opened his eyes, stark blue against the white of the pillow. Cracking his neck, he rolled to his back and adjusted the neckpiece Castrofax. “I slept in.” The harsh red burns across his wrists were more visible in the morning light, but she dared not ask how they got there.
“As far as anyone knows, we wore you out.” She held up a hot mug of tea. “How do you drink tea?”
“With cream.”
“Strange. We saved breakfast for you.”
He sat up and the sheets fell to his waist. She could not help but look him up and down again. She had seen many fine men stripped to the waist, but she presently forgot them and forced her eyes back up to his. He was glaring at her.
“Have my clothes arrived?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “I had them burned.”
He pointed sharply towards the door, and the wristlet slid forward to the heel of his hand. She gave him a mocking curtsey before exiting into the main room. Shayleen sat in her usual window seat, tuning her violin with Lace filing her nails. Bianji sat hunched over a book with a mug of tea in one hand.
Mikelle found his clothes nicely pressed and folded. She quickly threw the shirt at Bianji who looked up accusingly, then carefully refolded it and placed it under the nearest pillow.
“Has anyone seen Gabriel’s shirt?” Mikelle asked loudly.
“Cannot say that I have,” Bianji replied.
“I do not think it arrived,” Lace chimed in.
“You are all so mean,” said Shayleen quietly.
Satisfied, she returned to Gabriel. He had slid out from under the covers and sat perched on the bed in his undershorts with a well-tuned glare. Despite the thick mass of black waves on his head, the rest of him was not hairy, leaving his chest and stomach smooth. She liked that. He snatched the trousers from her and quickly pulled them on. She held up the vest with new buttons and tried to imagine what he would look like wearing only that, but while she was in her dreamy world, he slipped off to the washroom and locked the door behind him.
She returned to the main room and poured cream in his tea. It was a very Anatolian thing to do. She set out a plate of sliced ham, rolled sweet breads, dates, and hardboiled eggs. Gabriel emerged a little while later having washed his face, his curls still damp. He scrubbed at the faint stubble on his cheeks, but he lacked a blade to make a difference and so resigned to leave it.
“Won’t you be bathing before you go?” Mikelle grinned.
He managed a laugh as if it was the most absurd suggestion he had ever heard. “Which of you has it?” he asked instead, staring Mikelle down. None of them looked up, suddenly very invested in whatever activity they were doing.
“Come, have breakfast.” Mikelle said instead.
He folded his arms over his bare chest. “I don’t trust you.”
“I haven’t touched it,” she stated.
“She hasn’t.” Bianji eagerly chimed in.
“I’m not hungry enough to find out.” The trouser hem around his waist seemed to be a little loose. It sat snugly around his hipbones when it should have sat a little higher. She wondered if the Castrofax had something to do with that, but she did not mind too much as the muscles on his stomach were so obvious it was hard not to stare.
She lifted a few of the silver covers hiding the food. “Is there nothing here that appeases you?”
He sniffed at his tea suspiciously before taking a sip. It was likely getting cold, and she was surprised to see him put thumb and middle finger under it as if to snap, then stopped himself. He closed his eyes in what looked like frustration, and put the hand in his pocket. “Do I smell bacon?”
She lifted a cover to reveal thin strips of charred meat that looked most unappealing. He snatched up two before she could recover.
“May I have my shirt?” Gabriel asked politely, though she thought she heard the faintest sound of defeat in it.
“It is under Bianji’s pillow,” Shayleen called in Arconian before Mikelle could reply. To drown Mikelle’s reprimand, Shayleen played a loud tune with rapid finger movements along the frets. Bianji tossed the shirt to him, and he caught it with his forearm.
“If anyone asks—” he began, slipping it on.
“We had a satisfying evening,” Mikelle cut in. “Would you like one of us to walk you to your room?”
He gave her a pinched look. “I don’t need an escort.” He straightened his collar and tightened the laces around his chest, concealing the copper bands that had become so recognizable in the palace. She supposed he thought if he could hide it, people would not know him, but he had
such a memorable face, and he could not hide that so easily. ‘Or perhaps he hides the band because he is ashamed?’ A wave of sympathy washed over her, and she searched his face for any trace of expression, but it was void. He did the new buttons up on his vest and tightened the synch in the back to fit snugly around his waist while fixing his blue eyes on her. They were so bright in color, but there seemed to be lack of life in them. ‘Could he be losing his fight?’
“I will walk you to the end of the hall,” she said and stood. “This palace is vast; far larger than Shshonan Palace.”
He bid the ladies a good day, giving each a kiss on their cheek. He thanked them for an enjoyable evening, saying he wished all his nights could be filled with Tiles and pretty faces. Mikelle inwardly smiled, knowing flattery when she heard it. He may deny it, but he was quite good with telling people what they wanted to hear, and she warranted that skill could get people to do his bidding easily. ‘He would make a powerful leader if ever given the chance.’ The inward smile slipped away. ‘He will never be given that chance. He will die in his binds having spent what should have been a grand life as a slave to a tyrant.’
She wondered how much longer she would have to spend with him before the Arconians were spirited away. It would either be when the new Queen took reign, or when all the Arconians were impregnated. If the latter, she would fall into that count, and she would have to take from him what he was not willing to give. She swallowed at the thought. She had come to Anatoly planning on lying with the Mage if needs be, but she never expected he would capture her loyalty so easily. Had he asked, she would have fought for him to her last breath.
Gabriel looked at her with slightly raised brows. She brushed a hand through the air to dismiss whatever he saw. Taking his arm, she led him to the door as he said a final farewell. The hall was quiet but for a gaggle of four Arconians sitting in the window seat. They all fell silent when Gabriel stepped out. Mikelle took up his arm and clutched him tightly, but not just to make him appear to be hers. The weakness had returned.
Breaking Stars (Book 2) Page 2
