Sellemar’s hand tightened around the vial. If he had found an opportunity to empty the Nemorium within her glass, already the bond would be complete even by that scant taste!
“You are clearly a refined individual,” she continued. “Nobility, I would surmise, but you flaunt no titles or heritage. I am left puzzling why you would withhold the information… Unless secrecy is your ploy of attraction.” She allowed her eyes to run brazenly down his body. “I do find that… terribly attractive.” And then she looked away, feigning a self-conscious laugh.
Sellemar’s smile drooped. Were males truly weakened by such audacious flirting? “My parents were Lord and Lady Dalaenel Estavorn of Eraydon City. I find the burden of nobility stifling for a male in my profession.”
“Well, I see no reason for it to be so. Your work has acquired you great renown on Sevrigel. Why would your nobility be shackling in light of that fortune? Unless you enjoy living amongst the mice in squalor.” Ilsevel’s smile broadened and Sellemar felt his cheeks flush. “And you have no lack of experience with nobility, do you? Tell me,” she continued, her eyes flickering with amusement, “what do you think of the True Bloods’ third prince, Hadoream?”
‘…Prince Hadoream… Does she know….?’
The curtain rustled and the server reappeared, a glass in one hand and a recently half-dusted bottle in the other. “Here is the wine you requested, my lord. Vintage from the summer of eighty-eight hundred, to be precise. Finest vintage of the time.” He placed a glass delicately on the table and uncorked the bottle, all the while unaware of Ilsevel’s rapidly tapping foot.
When he departed, Ilsevel rose to follow him with hushed rebukes. “Be silent about your work next time,” she snapped quietly, clearly hoping Sellemar’s exceptional hearing could not detect her rage. “I do not need to know you are here for you to labor. I am in a very important engagement.”
Thank the gods the female’s desire for authority extended to seemingly every aspect of her life. Sellemar’s hand swept from his lap, subtly uncorking the vial, and in a single flick of his wrist the translucent contents had poured into the soft, golden wine before him. “Why,” he exclaimed as he lowered the glass from his lips, wresting Ilsevel’s attention from the servant. “This is a splendid vintage indeed!”
Ilsevel turned, flashing her smile in all its mendacities. “May I?” she requested brazenly, gliding to their little table and dropping herself once more across from him.
‘Ah, you are a natural at this,’ Sellemar praised himself as he smugly slid the glass toward her. And Itirel had doubted him! Hah! With one taste, the bond would be complete. Ilsevel’s thoughts and actions from the moment the wine touched her lips and forward… he was soon to grasp it all.
Ilsevel met him halfway, her long fingers locking over his. “Foolish servant. Where were we? Ah… I remember. I was asking about your opinion on… Prince Hadoream, was it? Yes.” She drew her hand away then, taking the imbued wine with her. “I have seen so many paintings of Hadoream with his brothers, yet he is so oddly nondescript. Vague. Ageless. One must wonder at the inaccuracies of his depiction. …Dare I venture so far as to suggest,” she continued more slowly, “that such an act was deliberate.”
Sellemar stiffened. So she truly did not know. He rebuked his defensive emotions and forced his attention away from the glass. “Prince Hadoream? I met him. He seemed well-read.”
Ilsevel chuckled, raising his glass to her lips. “You’re skirting a response. Come, El’adorium. A male for whom their king would pledge his life is not a male who merely ‘met’ his brother. What do you know of Hadoream? Tell me about his character. His wisdom. His personality. Defining characteristics, perhaps?” She leaned forward, her eyes wide, the glass departing without a drop against her tongue. “What would he think of our reign?”
For a brief moment, Sellemar forgot the urgency of the Nemorium. The inquiries of Hadoream’s nature were worthless… unless she knew more than Itirel had suggested. “Prince Hadoream is a free spirit and is mildly eccentric. He passes much of his time along the coast or causing mischief with His Highness, Darcarus. I dare say the two of them are nigh inseparable. As Darcarus is often his totem of inspiration, he can be childishly naïve.” He paused, discomforted by her eerily fixed grin. “This naivety might lead him to disagree with the necessity of your methods. He cares very deeply for the people around him; he holds no fear for his own life and will recklessly endanger himself for the wellbeing of others. I think the fact that he is a remarkable embodiment of the gentle core of elven nature is why he is depicted so generally.” He took a slow sip from his first glass of wine, lingering it at his mouth in an attempt to redirect her to the more pressing matter at hand. When the intensity of her gaze passed beyond his hint, he dared to question, “Why interest yourself with him? A child’s opinion matters not in your reign.”
Ilsevel remained fixed. She raised the imbued glass, swirling the golden wine about in a slow, rhythmic fashion. Her tone was indecipherable. “As a close acquaintance with the True Bloods, it surprises me that you do not share their disapproval with our cause.”
“Hadoream’s disapproval, my queen,” he replied carefully. “It was Sairel who vouched for my character. Sairel is wise enough to know better than to intervene in your plans.”
“Yet we both know he still disagrees with our methods.”
Sellemar felt the dagger pricking beneath her words. Her affection was merely a mask. She did not trust him. Not for a breath. “It is a tragedy that the True Bloods reign with such misguided power… While Sairel is dear to me, he possesses flaws—none of which is greater than his blindness to the corruption infesting these lands. Like his father, he is too frightened to assume the necessary stance. While he has remained on Ryekarayn, I have had the wisdom to return. Surely he will warm to you when he beholds the glory of Sevrigel reclaimed.” His silver tongue would have put the god of deception to shame.
Ilsevel’s gaze broke then, her smile broadening so wide that her face looked ready to split. Yet the careful composition revealed nothing to suggest his words had truly swayed her. “Even so, Saebellus will keep his army nearby… for now.”
Sellemar felt his stomach drop. Something was amiss in her eyes… and in her tone. ‘Itirel was wrong. She knows that Hadoream is here. She suspects my loyalties…’
“Ah, there we are!” Ilsevel exclaimed abruptly, curbing Sellemar’s rising agitation. The curtains beside them drew back to reveal a host of servants filing in from the room beyond. They entered and circled the table, layering it with a vast assortment of foods until nearly every inch was covered in appetizing entrées. Ilsevel lifted Sellemar’s glass of white wine as the last dish was placed before her, extending her arm out to offer the glass back to him.
Sellemar’s brow knit. No… She had not taken a drop! “How did you favor the wine?” he asked quickly, dragging out the unfolding of his napkin into his lap as though unaware of her attempts to return his glass. He summoned all the experiences of his career to offer the most expressive smile he was capable of producing—one that suggested his naivety to her suspicions. Adoration in her charm. Stupidity to the danger he faced.
The last servant entered the room and turned to close the curtains behind him.
Ilsevel laughed, drawn once more into the façade that she believed remained unbroken. “I shall try it right now. I’m afraid I was so absorbed in your words that I have not even had a sip!”
“Ah, if it isn’t the queen.”
The curtains closed, but the words reached them even so. Ilsevel’s arm remained extended, her body stilling as all her attention seemed captured by the voice. “Vale.”
The curtains shifted and the Sel’varian captain swept into the room between their folds, darting in as briskly as though they were doors readying a lock to resist his entrance.
Sellemar’s lips pursed. He remembered Vale. He remembered him perfectly. From the top of his long, braided blond hair to the bottom of his polished leath
er boots. He had encountered the bloodthirsty male only once before: during his ill-fated “rescue” of Ilsevel from Saebellus. They had fought, and Sellemar had left the bastard with a knife wound bleeding out his gut.
Yet somehow, he had survived.
Sellemar regarded Vale now, his hatred only having grown since their last encounter. Saebellus’ captain had all the appearances of a refined elven military leader. But his swagger was loose and raw, and his eyes unabashedly swept their quiet corner as though he was entirely welcome to join them.
“Gods, and it’s the bitch El’adorium too!” Vale exclaimed, eyes locking onto Sellemar with instant animosity. “I’m still wearing a scar from your little stunt, you cunt.” He drew two fingers to his side, pressing them against his black, silken shirt as though to remind Sellemar where he had nearly gutted him.
Sellemar had not forgotten. Still, he was above responding. Why even Saebellus had lowered himself to deal with the likes of Vale, he could not fathom. He was as crude and human-like as any Sel’ven had ever come.
“What are you doing here, Vale?” Ilsevel demanded. “I did not invite you to dine with me. Don’t you have work to do? Prisoners to slaughter? A male to desecrate?”
“A male to desecrate,” Vale repeated flatly, tearing his seething glare from Sellemar with a little flash of a venomous sneer. “I suppose you’re referring to Adonis. Nah. I’m doing the desecrating after dinner. And I didn’t need an invitation. I dine here all the time. Nearly daily, in fact. I heard your delighted voice when your food arrived. It was like the high-pitched cries of an orgasming whore. A male whore, obviously. Haven’t heard a female.” He paused briefly as though to relish their shock and offense. “I haven’t seen you since we got back from Galadorium. Thought I’d drop in to see who was being forced to endure your presence today.”
“How dare you,” Ilsevel gasped. “If Saebellus did not have a use for you, so help me you’d be joining Valdor beneath the earth! Now you will leave this instant. I thought I made it very clear that if you have anything to say to me, you will have to say it through Saebellus.”
Vale paused, regarding her stoically, seeming to debate his options. There was a shift in the armored men beyond the curtain and Sellemar had no doubt they were fully aware of the spat between them. Their lack of response, however, suggested such a clash was not unusual or alarming.
Vale finally seemed to come to a conclusion. “Is that your wine?” he asked abruptly.
“Yes. No. It doesn’t matter—!”
And to Sellemar’s horror, through Ilsevel’s gasps of indignation and rage, the Sel’varian captain swept his hand through the air and plucked Sellemar’s wine glass from her hands. There was a tipped glass. An unnecessarily loud gulp.
And the Nemorium was gone.
“Pleasant to see you, too,” Vale belched, and let the glass fall from his fingers to shatter at his feet.
The curtains flung aside instantly at the sound of splintering glass and the soldiers stood at the ready, weapons drawn.
Ilsevel was practically bursting with rage. Her tiny hands had balled into fists, her mouth hanging open so wide in shock and offense that her chin threatened to touch the marble floors. “Take him from my sight immediately!” she stammered.
Vale snorted. He flourished his hand dismissively at the soldiers about him and shoved one aside as he passed. “Next time,” he called over his shoulder as he went, “let’s try you playing at some level of courtesy with me, shall we? I have to get back to my desecrated lover and that little bitch of yours. My wine will have arrived by now.”
“Saebellus will hear of this!” Ilsevel snarled in reply.
The soldiers exited to their posts, the eatery returned to a hushed murmur, the curtains closed… but Sellemar could only sit in transfixed horror.
“Captain Vale,” Ilsevel breathed as she dropped back into her chair.
A server had hurried into the room to sweep the glass away, his eyes downcast for fear of her rebuke at his appearance.
But Ilsevel paid him no heed. “He’s furious with me,” she continued with a shake of her head. “They picked up the servant girl in Galadorium and, at Saebellus’ request, I have ordered Vale and Adonis to watch over her until her execution.”
Sellemar hardly gathered her words. Had… had the Nemorium just bound him and…?
“Why Saebellus ever settled for a male like him, I shall never understand. He is the first Sel’ven I would purify this country of!” She picked up her silverware and stabbed angrily at her meat. “And then that lover of his. I swear, all he thinks and talks about and does is vile intercourse!”
Sellemar’s lips parted and his mind urged him to form a response. But he could not. Ilsevel had exclaimed when the food had arrived. Vale had heard her and entered.
A clash had ensued, his wine had been taken, and—
And the Nemorium was gone.
“By Sel’ari,” he breathed in repulsion.
“My shared feelings, exactly,” Ilsevel huffed.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Alvena woke on the divan, finding herself curled tightly into a ball in a subconscious attempt to ward off the chill. The fire had abandoned its hearth, leaving winter to take a delighted patrol about the bedchamber. The little charm she had fastened about her neck was as cold as ice and she curled a hand around it, determined to send it warmth. She sat up stiffly, keeping the silk sheets wrapped tight, and peered over the back of her makeshift bed.
Adonis had returned sometime late the night before—long after Vale had paced the room, thrown Adonis’ pillow on the floor, and then fallen asleep. As the brilliant sunlight was barely dimmed by the curtains, she marveled at how it was possible she had slept so late.
Her eyes slid to the two forms curled beneath the covers, dead to the world. If only she could slip out now while they were practically unconscious…
She cautiously hunkered down as a knock rang out from the bedroom door.
“Captain Vale! Lieutenant Adonis! It is nearly noon and the prisoners have not been reassigned. His Majesty has told me to inform you: if you do not get down there this instant he’ll…” the guard hesitated before he continued awkwardly, “hang you by your most valuable appendages in the palace courtyard for every hour you delay.”
Alvena saw Vale sit bolt upright, his eyes wide. “What…?” he croaked. “Shit. Adonis, it’s almost midday! Get your fat ass out of bed!” He swung his legs over the side, nearly tumbling out as the covers braided around his feet.
Adonis’ hand rose up and smacked him across the back. “Don’t call me fat,” he mumbled as he swung himself groggily out from the other side.
Forgetting herself for a moment, Alvena smiled. Then she straightened her face and gave them both a resentful scowl.
“And a pleasant morning for you as well, bitch,” Vale grunted, glancing her way as he sauntered to the chest along the far wall. His mouth worked in preparation to spit toward her, but the rug of the lovers intertwined caught his eye and he seemed to consider preserving its unmarred state and swallowed.
Alvena let her lips curl back in a threateningly toothy glower. As though she were capable of harming him at all. ‘I hope Sel’ari stuffs your soul in Ramul!’
“Vale, her name is Alvena. Use it,” Adonis grumbled into his hand. He yawned and stretched an arm high above his tousled hair. Then his head drooped once more.
Vale acknowledged Adonis’ rebuke by aggressively flipping open the lid of the chest against the far wall. When the noisy gesture won him no response, he dug his way furiously through the mound of clothes.
“Alvena,” Adonis began as his feet touched the floor. Remarkably, he had managed to come back awake on his own. He crouched on the floor and slid his sword casually out from underneath the bed.
Alvena promptly noted where he had stored it this time before her attention snapped up, wide-eyed and innocent.
Adonis waved his porcelain hand in her direction. “I brought your chest of clothes
from your room. It has not been touched. I am sorry that you were forced to remain in that attire yesterday… I had assumed before you two went out that Vale would care for your needs, but apparently he does not understand simple etiquette. …He does not boast good manners.”
Alvena dropped the blanket about her and eagerly swept the room. Adonis had wobbled to Vale and stooped to open another chest. But it was not hers. Her trunk was…
‘Oh, there it is!’ She bounced to the long wooden chest pushed against the back of the divan. Had he fetched this for her in the night, even after he was out so late? Finally she could rid herself of the filthy clothes clinging to her in that abominable grime! ‘Thank you,’ she wanted to mouth, but quickly averted her body as Vale flung his night’s clothes aside and bent shameless to brandish the moon’s less reputable face.
“Vale, have some decency!” Adonis barked.
“Psh, you have some decency.”
“But you—” She heard Adonis give an embellished sigh.
“Stop stammering your offense and get changed. No doubt Laeth tattled on us for being late. Little whiner. When I get down there, I’m going to shove my sword up his ass.”
Alvena glanced up in time to see Adonis roll his eyes, snatching up Vale’s discarded clothing as he did so. He set them in a neat pile beside Vale’s chest.
“I didn’t mean my sword sword, Adonis. That’s just for you. I meant my actual sword.”
Alvena grimaced, attempting to ignore Adonis’ gasp of indignation and Vale’s subsequent remarks as she pulled a simple dress from the chest. She slipped between the fire and the divan for concealment, but neither male was paying any attention to her. Even with the dirty dress off, she hardly felt any cleaner: she reeked of fear and the long march along the canyon.
Heroes or Thieves (Steps of Power 2) Page 26
