by Tenaya Jayne
****
Syrus stopped dead in his tracks, feeling the murder Forest was longing for, transfer into him. He'd paced the perimeter of the courtyard nearly fifty times, letting the night air soothe him. But now he stood stone still, trying to dissect the emotion he picked up from her.
He shadowed himself as someone else walked into the courtyard, muttering under their breath.
"Halfling. I know Leith is here. I'm his twin after all. I can feel it…just wait…oh, I'll make her pay…everyone will know she's a slave whore…everyone…"
Syrus now felt his own desire for blood. He cleared his throat loudly and shuffled his feet. Lorcan whirled around. "Hello?"
"Good evening," Syrus said silkily.
Lorcan's eyes darted around. "Uh. I can't see you."
"I know. I'm not really alive."
Lorcan arched a brow. "A ghost?"
Syrus plowed his fist into Lorcan's gut, doubling him over. "No. Not a ghost."
Lorcan sucked the air in, sharply straightening back up. "What are you then?" he demanded in a wheeze.
Syrus stepped right in front of Lorcan and un-shadowed. "I'm your death."
Lorcan stumbled back in surprise, blinking a few times. "It can't be…" he said, looking intently. "Syrus? It can't be you. You're dead."
Syrus smiled. "No, you're dead." He stepped forward.
"Wait! What did I ever do to you? We're kin."
"Gah, don't remind me. As to what you've done. You've done plenty, and more than enough to my mate, Forest."
Lorcan watched in horror as Syrus' rage rose through his skin. Red lightening dazzled his eyes a second before the pain slid under his skin. Syrus left Lorcan's body where it fell on the ground and went back into the castle.
Chapter Seventeen
Ending the party was a bigger fiasco than the dinner and dancing put together. No one seemed willing to leave, even when Zeren was being more than a little obvious that it was time for them to go. Forest waited to talk to him as he had instructed, but as the last few stragglers filed out, an overdressed peacock grabbed him by the arm and vociferously demanded to speak with him in private.
"I can't now, Dracula. We can talk tomorrow," Zeren said.
Dracula puffed his chest up. "With all due respect, Your Highness. What I have to say will not keep."
Zeren sagged and gave Forest an apologetic look. "I'll be back in a minute."
As soon as they were out of sight, Forest took off through a side door, hoping she could find someone with a sword and take off after Lorcan. She turned a corner and skidded to a halt. Syrus was at the other end of the hallway, coming toward her. Satisfaction radiated from him and slid into her, easing her desire to kill.
His expression changed from jubilation to pain as he caught her scent. He said nothing, but took her hand as he walked past and pulled her along after him.
His pain hurt her. Why did he feel like this? She wondered.
They walked in silence, winding their way through the castle back to their room. Everything felt broken. The party had been exhausting and frighteningly eye-opening. Lorcan was loose, wielding her past as a weapon against her. A throne loomed before her, hands pushing her toward it. Rahaxeris offered her a title. An unhappy servant had styled her hair. Leith waited in his cell below. And Syrus... Syrus deserved better.
It was too damn much. Forest was screaming inside.
Syrus closed their door and bolted it. The silence hung between them, heavy and thick. The hurt pulsing through him, sliding into her, made her nauseated.
"I just killed Lorcan," Syrus said abruptly. "In the courtyard. Someone will have stumbled across his body by now, I expect."
Forest's breath came out in whoosh. "Oh, well. Thanks. That's great." A momentary relief filled her.
His lips pulled back into a smile that was nothing short of scary. "It was a pleasure. It's really too bad Leith's body can't be thrown on the garbage pile along with him."
"Oh…I didn't have the time, with the party prep-"
"Don't," Syrus cut her off sharply. "Don't lie to me. I can't even fathom why you feel you need to."
"How do you know I was lying?"
"You were overheard."
Forest's throat clenched.
Syrus shook his head. "Please explain this to me, Forest. I don't understand…" He rubbed the heel of his hand over his heart. "…I cannot comprehend these feelings coming from you."
"I just…" Words failed her. She closed her mouth, unable to form coherent sentences. Her heart pounded violently under her ribs.
"You don't want to be the queen."
"No, I don't," she said quietly. "I'm sorry."
"What, you think that's a big surprise to me?" He shot back acidly.
"I thought maybe you wanted it. I wanted to try for you."
His face softened. "Oh, baby…" He reached for her, but she backed away. "Back to this again are we, Forest? You don't want me to touch you until your mark is gone, but you won't do what needs to be done to remove it. You know what that tells me?"
Syrus gasped loudly in pain and clutched at his chest. "My heart reads yours clearly. It doesn't matter what you say, your heart tells mine the truth…You don't want to be my mate."
Forest had no words. Her tears fell silently. What he said was both true and untrue, but she couldn't contradict him.
"This can't be broken, Forest!" He pointed to her and back at himself. "Except by death. Is that what you want? You want me dead?"
"NO!" Forest's voice came back sharply. "Never."
"But you choose pain over joy."
"I guess I do," she whispered.
He lifted his chin and pulled his shoulders back. "Tell me the truth. What do you want?"
"I need some time…to figure everything out."
"And you want space from me?"
Forest wiped at her tears. "Yes." She could barely hear her own voice.
"Fine," he snapped. "You'll have both time and space. I'm leaving."
"Where?"
"I'm going to the Obsidian Mountain where the masters of the Blood Kata go to train. At least I'll be useful there."
A small snapping pain flicked around the edges of Forest's heart. No, Syrus. Please don't leave me! I'm sorry. We'll figure this out, together. I love you…I love you.
The words never made it past her lips.
He turned his back and opened the door. His whole torso crumpled the next second, and he turned back to her, once again clutching his chest. A single tear ran down his cheek. "Is this my heart breaking, or yours?" he gasped.
Both.
Syrus inhaled sharply and straightened. "Just mine then... Farewell, Forest. My love, the murderer of my soul."
The door shut behind him.
Nothing and everything. That's what she felt—nothing and everything. How could she have ever thought she wanted to let him go? Yet she had.
A small voice began to panic in her head. No! What are you doing? Don't just stand there! Run! Catch him. Stop him. Don't let him go!
"Syrus, wait!" Forest bolted out of the room and into the hall. It was empty and silent. She looked one way and the other, but he was gone.
"Syrus," she cried. Her voice echoed through the vacant halls as she sank to the floor, cursing herself, her heart pulling taut, rending jaggedly down the center. Her mind went blank as her forehead pressed against the stone floor. Her eyes blurred out of focus.
She may have stared at the floor minutes or days, she didn't know. But the world around her came back as someone grasped her shoulders and forced her to sit up. Forest blinked a few times, looking into the concerned face of Zeren. He looked so much like Syrus; she reached out and wrapped her arms around his neck. He patted her back, as a father would comfort his little girl.
"Forgive me, Forest," Zeren said quietly. "I don't know you at all. I should have taken the time to fix that."
"It's just too much," she sobbed. "I can't think, and now Syrus is gone. I broke his heart and my own in th
e process, and now I am truly alone."
"No, no, no. It will be all right," he said bracingly. "Broken hearts are like wax, they fuse back together. All couples have trouble."
She could tell Zeren meant what he said, but his words seemed hollow. She pulled away from him and pushed her hair away from her face. "I can't stay here. I want to go home."
Zeren nodded gravely. "Okay. Just remember, this is your home now, too. And you have family here."
Forest looked at him confusedly for a moment before she realized the family he spoke of was himself. She managed a small smile. "Thank you. If Syrus comes back, please tell him I went home to my cottage."
"I will."
Forest took her sword and traveling cloak and nothing else from the Onyx Castle. She thought about looking in on Leith before she left, but decided she couldn't handle it. The key around her neck felt heavier than ever.
Hoping a good walk would help clarify her thinking, Forest asked Merhl to open a portal a few miles outside of Anue, the town closest to her property. As she stepped into the portal, the cries of her heart ground to a dull moan, the steady pain preventing any thought or circumstance to bring solace to her wound.
I've lost everything.
No, I threw it away.
Chapter Eighteen
Netriet looked in at the fair from under the cover of trees. Raindrops slid down her face. Her gaze darted around suspiciously, as her mind grew more and more feral. She stayed away from people and civilization as a rule, but this place had drawn her. She'd watched the activity and the different kinds of people at the fair for two days without venturing any closer than she was right now. A small seed of hope had begun to open within her as she observed that possibly she had found a place she might be accepted. The people who lived in the brightly colored tents had formed their own society, despite that they all came from different racial backgrounds, misfits and dregs, creating happiness and peace out of sheer determination.
She listened to the talk. The world was in chaos. She'd walked right through it or around it. She'd stepped over bodies of those fallen in battle, left to rot in the open. The dead didn't bother her, the living, however repelled and caused her great disquiet. She couldn't trust her responses. She had no control over her emotions. Netriet knew that she was mentally unfit to be around people, but despite the fear they caused, she was lonely.
How long would she watch and wait? Would she ever make contact? Living a solitary life only made sense to her if she was doing good of some sort. Netriet doubted there was any good inside her at all. The darkness moved beneath her skin. The desire for goodness from other people writhed within her like a hunger. She must find a balance or else the darkness would consume her completely. She didn't want the sweet whisperings of hate, the caressing hands of jealousy, or the succulent lips of murder. The shadow inside begged to be her lover. She must not become the thing it promised to make her.
The rain turned to a bone-chilling fog as the evening descended. She decided to create a small camp for herself at the base of a large tree. Its branches touched the ground, creating a patchy umbrella over her. Her shelter provided privacy but little to no warmth. The change of clothes she carried in her pack was as dirty and wet as the ones she wore. She wished for a blanket or a cloak. Huddled against the tree trunk, her arm wrapped around her knees, she began to shiver, and for the first time in three days, she dozed off to sleep.
The sound of voices roused her. She listened to the tones, unable to hear the words. Tears blurred her eyes. The nuance of the conversation was friendly and joyful. Netriet unfolded herself and stood up, hunching under the boughs. Her whole body ached with the cold and from sleeping on the ground. She emerged from her cover, the smell of smoke drifting through the trees. There must be a fire with people standing around it, talking. The mental image seduced her completely, and she walked toward the sound of conversation without thinking.
Three people huddled around the fire. She observed them for a few minutes from the shadows. The woman's size made it obvious she was an ogre. A patched, brightly colored shawl hung on her broad shoulders. Her face seemed plain until she smiled. And when she laughed, Netriet was sure she'd never seen anyone so lovely. The ogre woman leaned over and planted a kiss on the gruff, cranky looking werewolf standing next to her. He muttered at her as though he didn't like it, causing her to laugh again, before he reached for her and kissed her back in a way that was unmistakably loving.
The other individual next to the fire was a thin vampire, absentmindedly juggling wooden balls, as if he was doing nothing more than twiddling his thumbs. The balls constantly rising and falling, passing through his hands, mesmerized Netriet. Each was inlaid with some kind of metal and the firelight glinted off them. She watched the juggler closely. He looked frail, which contrasted with his easy agility. He shared in the conversation infrequently. His eyes, trained on the fire, looked hollow. She saw him smile once, the wrinkles around his eyes denoting that he was approaching middle age.
She considered retreating to her tree just as the juggler's eyes snapped right onto hers. She gasped and took a step back. Should she run? All three of them were looking at her now.
"Hello there," the ogre lady said. "It's a cold night. Would you like to come closer to the fire? We won't harm you as long as you don't harm us."
She thought another second about running before taking a few steps out of the shadows, the warmth pulling her closer. They moved aside, giving her space to approach.
"Who are you?" the juggler asked firmly.
"Who are you?" Netriet shot back aggressively.
The werewolf threw his head back and laughed.
The juggler scowled. "I am a part of this community, and you are not. Declare yourself and state your business."
Netriet looked around anxiously, sensing she'd made a mistake that she might be welcomed here.
"Calm down," the ogre lady said. She gave Netriet a warm smile. "My name is Martia, and this is my mate, Tek. And cranky butt there is Merick."
"My name is…" She'd forgotten to decide on a new one yet. "Nettie," she said, using the nickname Philippe had given her.
"There's no heat on your tail is there?" Tek demanded.
Netriet didn't understand.
"You're not on the run? Being pursued?" he pushed.
She shook her head.
Martia snorted. "Ah, my love, you're such a hypocrite."
"What?" Tek said innocently.
"How many outstanding warrants are on your head?" she teased.
"That's different. No one cares about me. I just want to make sure she doesn't have a posse behind her."
"No one is following me. Everyone who used to know me thinks I'm dead." Netriet's voice sounded strange to her, not having used it in so long.
"What happened to your eye?" Merick asked.
Netriet had expected questions on how she lost her arm. Merick's question threw her. "My eye? Nothing happened to my eye." But she rubbed her fingers on her eyelids, checking. Everything felt fine. She looked questioningly at Martia.
The woman smiled sympathetically. "It's unique," she said kindly.
Netriet racked her brain. What was wrong with her eye? She needed a mirror. She thought she had seen every new deformity to her body, but apparently, she was wrong. She looked around at her companions, their gazes probing and curious. Abruptly Netriet turned on her heal and began to sprint away.
"Wait!" Martia called.
Netriet looked back, continuing to move away.
"Here. Take this to keep you warm." Martia held out her brightly colored shawl.
Netriet stopped, the patched fabric calling her back. Martia met her half way and tucked it snuggly around Netriet's shoulders. Tears pooled in her eyes as she realized she must reject the gift. "I'm sorry. I have nothing to pay you for it."
Martia shook her head and stopped Netriet's hand as she tried to pull the shawl from her shoulders. "All I ask as payment is that you come back and talk to me a l
ittle. I could use some female companionship."
"I'm afraid," Netriet confessed, her eyes darting back to the two men next to the fire.
"I understand. When you come back, if anyone stops or questions you, just say you are Martia's guest. You can always find me around the Human Relics tent. Promise you'll come back?"
Netriet nodded and backed away. Martia gave her a smile as warm as the fire and went back to stand beside her mate.
The night felt darker and colder as Netriet retreated into solitude. Martia's shawl warmed her, and she brushed her cheek against the fabric, taking comfort from it. It smelled like wood smoke and spices, and she sank into it as a child does a mother’s embrace. She thought back to her life before she had been arrested and sent to Philippe. It was like watching someone else's dream, and she let it slip away, deciding she would never again try to recall any of it.
Her head pillowed on her pack, cocooned under her tree and wrapped in Martia's shawl, Netriet fell asleep wondering what her eyes looked like now.
The sounds of muttering and heavy footsteps woke Netriet in the darkness. Adrenaline rushed through her body before she was fully conscious. Fear rose up her throat and dug its fingers deep. The footfalls were coming closer. Had she been followed from the fair? Had they tracked her? She thought of Merick and his hostility toward her.
"Do you smell that?" a deep rough voice said. "There's a vampire close by."
The sound of sniffing made her cringe.
"A deserter?"
"Naw." More sniffing. "It's a female."
"Let's find her," the first voice suggested.
"What for? We need to keep moving."
"We're at war. She's the enemy."
"The war is over."
"Yeah, and we lost." The voice rumbled with rage. "I want to kill her."
The first one sighed. "Fine, just be quick about it. We need to find our party."
Netriet reached into her pack and pulled out her knife. She'd be damned if she was going to sit and wait for them to sniff her out. The shadow within her woke up at the possibility of violence and surged through the muscles of her arm. She scrambled to her feet and shot out from under the tree branches. Martia's shawl fell from her shoulders.
