My sincerest apologies, my queen. Bulrigaard added a formal bow for good measure, placing his forearm over his jet-black chest plate. The dark armor clashed with his bright tangerine tail and gill covers, and was likely chosen just to make him seem more intimidating. My eagerness to greet you got the better of my manners, I’m afraid. The Ceraspian Mountain Region is a breathtaking but treacherous place. The Water Fae who share our sea can drain your life-force with a simple kiss, and there are teragore whales large enough to swallow you whole. But our capitol city of San Gria, with its vast network of underwater caves that lead to spectacular waterfalls and pristine lakes nestled within the mountains, is one of the true wonders of Teresolee. Most historians believe it was the birthplace of our kind. Anytime you wish to visit, I will provide an entire legion of my finest warriors to see to your safe passage. Given that Naome is destined to become our master-healer, your stays will allow you to catch up with your dear friend, as well. We will maintain a permanent residence for you befitting a queen so you may stay in our region as long as you desire.
San Gria was beautiful. Pulchra and I had spent weeks there after our bonding ceremony. Our daughter had been conceived in Three Peek’s Bay. But most of what Bulrigaard had promised was meaningless. Every region in Teresolee was required to maintain a permanent residence for our king and queen, as well as to ensure their safe passage for royal visits. I noticed that he hadn’t made mention of me accompanying her, though. And his sales pitch had sounded far too much like courting. If he ever so much as innocently brushed against Camithia’s arm I’d gut the pig.
Being the lackey that he was, Lanipas waited not only for Camithia to finish greeting Bulrigaard, but for Bulrigaard himself to signal that he had permission to speak. His mud-brown fish-aspect coloring suited him well, marking him as the bottom feeder he was. Greetings, my glorious queen. The South Central Region I call home lies southwest of General Bulrigaard’s territory, following the Ceraspian Mountain range as it winds its way across the ocean to the grassy plains, meadows and forests that serve as the breeding grounds for our Raptor allies. The land mass is the only solid, non-mountainous terrain found on Teresolee, and forms the southern border of our region.
Legend has it that in ancient times, Neptune and Poseidon brought a small group of human worshippers through the portals linking our two worlds to form a settlement there. According to the stories, those who proved themselves worthy by completing the very first ascension trials were transformed into the original Syreni by our gods. Those who refused the trials were cast out of the hallowed land and forced to survive high up in the unforgiving mountains, beginning the long evolutionary process that would one day give birth to the Snow Elves.
The majority of those who failed the trials were killed, but a small handful lived long enough after having their essence stripped away to learn how to cheat death, using our gods own power—the residue that remained in their now soulless forms—to harness the life-force of others. They would become the Water Fae.
Critics are quick to point out that no one in our recorded history who declined to face the ascension trails has ever been cast out of our society by the gods, nor has anyone who failed the trails—but lived—been transformed into a member of the Water Fae. They also point to modern science, which has shown that our four species—humans, Snow Elves, Syreni and Water Fae—have almost no DNA in common, nothing close to the percentage that would suggest we evolved from a common ancestor.
Our priests and females—the only ones capable of directly asking our gods and putting an end to the matter—have long refused to weigh in on these fiercely contested beliefs, but not even the most skeptical amongst us can deny the abundance of Roman and Greek artifacts that still to this day are found buried in sediment upon the ocean floor. Our capital city of Athenia had its name derived from a Greek settlement in honor of the legend. And now we have a queen who was found worthy by our gods and transformed from a human into a Syreni female, just as the legends described. Your legacy will add a whole new dimension to this centuries-old debate. I look forward to sharing more of our rich history with you upon your visit.
Camithia seemed fascinated by the childhood fables Lanipas was sharing, so much so that it took her a moment to realize that he’d finished and issue him her queen’s greeting. I had to admit he was a rather gifted orator. Often Bulrigaard would use him to present motions to the council on his behalf. As for the myths, I’d never been able to accept that our all-knowing gods could be outwitted by lowly humans who had failed our trials, nor that the magic-wielding, nomadic Snow Elves had ever been human. If they were cast out by our gods in shame as the legends foretold, why would they have been given powers? But I had to admit, Camithia’s rebirth as a Syreni female was making me challenge beliefs I’d held since I was a young child.
Quinn had the unfortunate task of following Lanipas’s spellbinding tale. His usually shaggy red hair was braided tight to his scalp, the long ponytails resting against the chest-plate of his silver armor. His snow white tail and gill covers were extremely rare—like a human albino—and were thought since his birth to be a sign from our gods that he had been chosen to serve them. My queen, on behalf of the Far East Region I extend you my greetings. The Raptor lands at the heart of the legends Lanipas so eloquently described form our southern border as well. To our north lies Bulrigaard’s Ceraspian Mountain Region, with Lanipas’s territory marking our western boundary. If looked at on a map, it would appear we are the farthest region from our griffin adversaries, but of course our world—much like your own former homeland—is round. The deadly marshlands lie just beyond our eastern border. We are most known for the iron we forge from the underwater mines that surround our capital city of Trident’s Keep. Almost all Syreni armor is created there. It would mean a great deal to me and my entire region if you would allow me to personally forge your queen’s battle armor.
The promise of armor was enough to make Camithia perk up and push the boundary of her speech capabilities, completing her greeting ritual with ‘I’d be honored’ rather than her usual ‘greetings’. I had to chuckle. Drape precious jewels across her body—diamonds, rubies and sapphires that would cost millions in her home world—and she lost the will to live. Offer her some simple iron pounded into flat plates and fitted to her physique, and you immediately had her undivided attention. She was a warrior, all right.
Chancellor Venerack wrapped up the introductions with a greeting of his own, which was far shorter than the others given that he didn’t need to bother describing our own region again. After explaining what his role was as chancellor, he made her appointment as our next queen official, inscribing her name onto the royal succession tables that would be prominently displayed in each of the regions’ high courts. Once finished, he signaled for Armiele to join us. The queen’s handmaiden took the four-inch-high solid diamond and ruby crown from the Chancellor and placed it on Camithia’s head, weaving pliable strips of thin metal into her hair to secure it in place. She would be required to wear it—along with the rest of the queen’s jewels—whenever she was outside her personal chambers for the rest of her life. What would have been a fairytale moment for almost any other women—in either of our worlds—instantly snuffed out the faint spark of light I’d seen in her eyes only moments before.
It’s been a long and historic evening, King Celandor called out to the awed crowd, sending me a private message to prepare to make the announcement we’d rehearsed while he seemingly paused for dramatic effect. Any other business we need to attend to before we adjourn and let our new queen continue to get settled in?
I waited for the side conversations stemming from Camithia’s crowning to die down before reaching out and taking hold of her jeweled hand. It was a bold move, given that she was wearing her chastity belt and I had not yet been granted permission to court her. I was hoping the small gesture might offer her some small degree of comfort. She refused to squeeze my palm in return—or even look at me, for that matter—but she m
ade no effort to pull her hand away, either. Instead she just accepted it with a kind of numb indifference, as if her life meant nothing at all to her anymore. Announcing my courtship of her now—when it was in no way a mutual decision—would just cause her to retreat even further inside herself. But I had no choice. If I refused, things would turn out far worse for both of us. If it pleases my king, I request permission to court Queen Camithia.
I think it is a fine pairing, Prince Aristos, Celandor quickly decreed, preempting any objections that might have arisen from the crowd. You have the right to court our young queen. As time is of the essence, you will welcome her into your home as well. I look forward to your bonding ceremony, and to the joyous announcement that she is carrying your child.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Detente
* * *
The queen is indisposed, Prince Aristos. Now please, I beg of you, let the poor child be. She will speak with you when she is ready.
Armiele. God love her. I’d been hiding out in the private quarters she’d escorted me into—a macabre shrine of a nursery, by the looks of it, right down to the sea-creature-themed mobile mounted above an infant-sized version of what passed for a bed here—for the past two days, ever since I’d been ceremoniously awarded to Aristos like some kind of top-shelf carnival prize to impregnate at his leisure. Oh joy. If this is how they treated their female royalty, I could only imagine what Naome and Serienne would have to endure. For Aristos’s sake, I hope he found spinning backhand punches to the nuts to be an irresistible turn on. It was all the foreplay he’d receive before I bit his dick off and choked him with it.
By the sounds of Armiele’s growingly desperate telepathic pleas for Ellieandra—Aristos’s new servant—to help her, my dutiful but very elderly sentry was about to be overrun. At least she’d held him at bay long enough to provide me with a couple of speech lessons. Explaining to him in great anatomical detail exactly how I wanted him to go fuck himself would be almost impossible if I was limited to one word responses. I’d even had Armiele wean me off the sherifan root crème for this special occasion.
I’d also been peeking in on Naome and Serienne through my goddess sight. They were awake now, and were not handling their full-body makeovers any better than I had, even though they’d volunteered for their procedures. I needed to get to them soon and offer what support I could to help them cope. It was time for me to face my problems rather than continuing to stick my head in the sand and hope they disappeared.
Unfortunately, the room didn’t offer a lot of great options in the way of defensible positions to hold the upcoming chat. Not the bed I’d been sleeping in, that’s for sure. It was just a pile of furs covered in a padded net of rope, not some canopy number with fine silk sheets and a mattress soft enough to drown in, but it was still a bed. I might as well shake my tail at him, or do whatever the fuck Syreni women did to flirt. Besides, it had obviously been placed in this room for Pulchra to use while caring for their daughter. As pissed off and scared as I was, making him relive that nightmare seemed far too cruel. That left the aforementioned crib and a private bath, complete with two flower balneos, a small black-and-gold marble vanity, a matching mirror, and a black claw-foot cast iron tub with golden legs. I swam toward the entrance to the bath, figuring that it would give me a room to back into if things went south.
The sandstone walls I passed by had been constructed with cut stones of various sizes, in marbled shades ranging from off white to a yellowish-brown. Phosphorus lamps were mounted behind the bed and in the far corner of the bathroom, casting a soft blue hue throughout the room that made the plankton and other microorganisms in the seawater sparkle.
When I reached the doorway, I noticed that the jewelry I’d haphazardly yanked off my body two nights before—the moment I’d entered my de facto prison cell—was now nestled inside a medium-sized lacquered wooden box lined with soft red felt. The oversized armoire sat ajar atop the vanity, proudly displaying the priceless diamond rope earrings, set of cuff bracelets and gaudy rings. I’d never been able to stand the feel of metal pressing against the inside of fingers. With all the intense training I did—including kickboxing—jewelry just got in the way. Or got lost when I took it off, which was usually the case. As for the crown—which was made out of enough diamonds and rubies to buy a small country—it rested on top of a life-sized marble statue that stood next to the vanity like a Syreni female turned to stone. Only the chastity belt and rows of multi-colored earrings had escaped my panicked de-jewel-athon. Removing the new studs before my ears healed would just cause Armiele to have to pierce them again the next time I ventured out in public. And I’d have to be willing to let Aristos near me if I ever wanted to be freed from my chains.
Let him in.
As soon as the thought left my mind the arguing in the hall fell silent. The oval-shaped iron door swung open with a groan, its hinges having succumbed to the effects of rust. Just one of the signs that Aristos’s stylish home had fallen into disrepair. After being infuriatingly persistent in his efforts to get me to talk to him, now that nothing stood between us, he seemed hesitant to breach the threshold. Did you want something, master? Or are you just trying to annoy the fuck out of me?
I’m not your master. Aristos tiredly rubbed his hand across his eyes as he swam through the entrance with the pep of someone about to face a firing squad. Can we speak like two adults or am I going to be forced to argue with a fourteen year old?
Do you want to find out if I fight like a fourteen year old, you prick? Yeah. I didn’t have a right to be mad at all. Typical guy. Put the blame on the woman and invalidate her feelings right out of the gate. And it’s always good to kick off what I assumed was going to be some half-assed attempt at an apology with an insult. That was sure to win me over.
He’d positioned himself next to the bed I’d slept in, leaving a good twenty feet between us. Whether that was out of respect for my personal space or as a security measure to keep me from attacking him was up for debate. There was no denying that he looked handsome in his loose robes—the silky red fabric complimented his emerald coloring, including the new rather sexy tattoos on his chest—but some foreign part of me missed seeing him in his golden battle armor. This isn’t getting us anywhere. I know you’re angry. You have every right to be after what’s happened. But we have several matters we need to discuss. Please, Camithia, just talk to me like you did when we were in the birthing chamber.
I was tempted to point out that telling me I had a right to be angry was yet another box checked off on the ‘what guys say to piss women off’ top ten list, but I didn’t want to prolong this conversation any more than necessary. What could you possibly say to me that would make me feel better about any of this? Even setting aside the fact that I will never get to see my parents, my sister, or my fiancé again—which, let me be perfectly clear, I will never forgive you for—I’m not even human. I have no idea how to be a Syreni female or a queen in your society, any more than you would if you woke up as a griffin tomorrow. Not to mention the fact that the king gave me to you. Do you have any idea how demeaning that is? And he made it pretty fucking clear you’re going to get me pregnant soon, which I’m guessing isn’t going to be via artificial means, since he’s also planning to oversee our shotgun wedding. So at some point in the near future, you’re going to drug me up to the gills, rape me, and force me to participate in some bullshit ritual to make this thing legit. Does that about sum it up?
Damn it if the disappointment in his dark chocolate eyes didn’t cut through me like a dagger. If you honestly think I would rape you—even after I risked my life by having our master healer treat you first—I agree we have nothing to discuss. I could never bond with someone who thinks I’d be capable of such an act. With a slow shake of his head he turned toward the door.
Aristos. Wait. I reluctantly added a please on the end when he’d kept going. I felt sorry for what I’d said, but I was only willing to go so far to make it up to him. It’s not like my
insensitivity balanced the scales between us. What I said wasn’t fair. You haven’t done anything to make me think you would willingly rape me or anyone else. Aside from the whole kidnapping thing, you’ve treated the three of us with respect and have been surprisingly honest with us. You even made good on your promise to have Naome trained as a healer, and, I’m guessing, for Serienne to attend school. But I can’t imagine the king is just going to let us live as roommates forever. That would kind of defeat the purpose of bringing me here. So unless artificial insemination is an option for me—which again, I’m not getting a good vibe that it is—I think the decision is going to be taken out of your hands at some point.
Aristos twirled the end of his storm-grey braid through his fingers while he studied my face, as if he was weighing my likely reaction to each of the responses running through his head. We have less than three months.
Apparently he’d landed on brutal honesty. Sometimes I hated being right. So, what… you’re hoping I’ll be willing by then? That’s not a lot of time to expect me to have gotten over what I’ve lost, let alone develop feelings for the person at least partially responsible for bringing me here. Imagine how you’d feel if the situation were reversed. But I can’t keep living in denial, either. I’m a mermaid, for Christ sakes. Not exactly something I could explain away to the family even if you were willing to take me back to earth.
I closed my eyes, placed my palms on the sides of my head and ran my thumbs up and down the edge of my ears, sliding over the multiple piercings like mini-speed bumps. It was a nervous habit I’d had for as long as I could remember. I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’m willing to give us a chance. I’ll go through with the bonding ceremony. And when the time comes, I won’t fight you, regardless of if I love you or not. But that’s all I can promise you, Aristos.
Kerrigan's Race (The Syreni Book 1) Page 11
