A Trial of Sparks & Kindling (Fall of the Mantle Book 2)

by Yolandie Horak

  Her insides were a mess of knots, riddled with question marks and conflicting needs. She wanted Nita, but Frank’s kiss had been good. Her mind knew she’d become another pawn in his game, while her heart argued. Maybe he was changing. Maybe he’d realised there was more to her than just war and armour. He’d called her beautiful.

  Just to get out of answering her questions. Would she truly allow herself to be swept up in his game? Yes, but no, but maybe.

  She groaned, turned the faucet, then dried and dressed and left the communal cleaning tent.

  This confusion couldn’t continue. Dinnertime crept closer, and what then? Would she sit in Frank’s suite again like the past night, this time yearning for another kiss—for more than just a kiss—while dreading his touch, and questioning his every move?

  She was more than a blush-cheeked teenager, in love for the first time.

  In her tent, Blizzard pawed at the rug by the fireplace. He growled at her, low and strained, then turned his back on her and flopped down by the fire. Instinct. His aggression would worsen until the following day, at the Mating. Once he’d had his release, he’d return to his old self.

  Maybe Varda needed the same kind of release. The big question was just with whom she’d go at it. She sat on the bed and combed out her hair. What a mess.

  Blizzard turned his face to the tent flap and bared his teeth a moment before someone cleared their voice outside.

  “Varda,” Nita said. “Can I come in?”

  Varda closed her eyes and drew a breath. Would this unplanned visit decide her? Her skin tingled at the thought of her and Nita on this bed, limbs and hair tangled, breath shared between their lips.

  “Sure,” Varda said.

  Nita wore that lopsided smile Varda wanted to kiss off her face, and removed her boots at the entrance.

  Blizzard took a swipe at her as he passed her and left the tent.

  “He seems friendly,” Nita said.

  “Hormones.” Varda patted on the bed as Nita had done in the basement the other night. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  Nita sat next to her, cross-legged. Her eyes carried a wildness Varda had never spied there before, the opposite of her calm demeanour.

  Something had happened. “What’s the matter?”

  Nita shook her head. “It’s been a rough few days.”

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “So much.” Nita chuckled darkly.

  “Maybe you should try.”

  “I’ll never be able to tell you everything. It’s my job to keep secrets, and I’m good at my job.”

  “I know,” Varda said. “So, give me the short version.”

  “All right.” Nita rubbed her thighs. “I think I sent a man to his death today. A man too young to die, but he accepted the job willingly because it’s his duty. Then I went to tell one of my closest friends what I did and found him doing something that will kill him if he isn’t stopped. Worst of all, though, I think another friend is dead.”

  Varda studied her with pursed lips. “Can you tell me who you think passed?”

  Nita stared at the coal oven. “Pointy. He’d been hiding until a few days ago, when he disappeared. Look, I don’t want to talk about that. I came here because I learned something else that causes me great distress. Something that concerns you.”

  “Oh?”

  “I can’t give you the source, but they heard the king order someone to put something into the food of someone who’d recently moved out of the castle. He told the person to hide the taste with salt.”

  Varda’s pulse roared in her ears. “Salt.”

  “I figured it was either you or your mother but didn’t want to say anything until I had confirmation.” Nita took Varda’s hand. “I got that confirmation today. It’s you. When I learned he was sending you pastries, and you’d had dinner with him last night? I’m afraid for you. I don’t know what it is he’s feeding you, but it’s probably not good.”

  Varda had been in that passage and had heard Frank and Clarity argue about the drug they’d given Cara. Could she be so stupid to fall into the same trap and not notice? Had she not wondered about the blasted salt?

  Nita removed a vial of milky, yellow liquid from her coat pocket. “This is an antidote to slow-working poison. Since I don’t know what he gave you, or if what he gave you is even poison, I made something general.” She held out the vial in shaky fingers. “I realise you might not want to drink it, because you might not trust me. I could be the one poisoning you.”

  Varda took the vial and held it in a fist. She’d be stupid not to think Nita wanted to poison her, but that was unlikely. Nita had never been this vulnerable before.

  Maybe that was part of her act. Frank had been sincere at dinner, but almost everything that left his lips tended to be lies. Like that kiss.

  “I swear I’m not trying to kill you, but I can’t prove that.” Nita massaged her temples. “The antidote should still work if you take it once you start exhibiting symptoms, if you want to give it a day or two.”

  “Thank you,” Varda said.

  Nita shifted closer, raised her hand to cradle Varda’s cheek. “Look, I haven’t known you that long, but I may have lost one of my closest friends today, while Pointy is probably dead. The guilt is consuming me. I couldn’t help Pointy, and I don’t know how to help Nathan. I am here to help you, though. I’m not supposed to think the things I think about you, and I’m not supposed to get close to my charge, but I can’t help it. I really hope you’ll trust me enough to take the antidote, because if you died because of me… I—”

  Varda leaned forward and kissed Nita. Her body wanted, and her mind could deliberate its own path through the need.

  This kiss was different than Frank’s. Softer. Warm as a ray of sun. Free as blue skies and calm seas. Right.

  Everything Varda had questioned before faded into nothing. This was the answer. Nita was the answer.

  Whatever Frank plotted, whatever he wanted to gain from her, he was worthless in the face of what could begin from this kiss. This was where she was supposed to be.

  Had she ever felt so alive before? Had she ever been so complete?

  Nita smiled as she leaned closer, but a tear ran down her cheek onto Varda’s.

  Varda caressed away the drop with her thumb. “What’s the matter?”

  Rivers ran freely down Nita’s chin, her neck, and joined at the apex between her breasts. “What the hell is happening to me?” She laughed and cried, her body shook, and she hid her face in her hands.

  “What do you mean?”

  Nita’s skin splotched with red. “I’m one of the best damn agents in the history of Intelligence, but I can’t keep up the act around you. I don’t even know you, but I might be falling in love with you, and that’s so unprofessional. Not to mention it scares the shit out of me. Meanwhile, Pointy is gone, and Cara’s in danger, and Nathan’s a danger to himself, and Greg—

  “I can’t do all of this on my own, not without the network, but instead of finding a way to make it work, my first concern was you. I swore an oath to Cara, Varda, but here I am. And you kiss me, and all I can think is Claude would be so happy I found someone else, but you must marry Frank, and I hate that. For so many reasons.”

  Nita was right. Varda had to marry Frank. The gods demanded it of her. One stupid, ill-timed kiss couldn’t change her divine mission.

  What would she do now?

  If she pursued this romance, following the will of her gods would become complicated. The alliance with Mordoux could break her heart, but what other choice did she have than push through these new emotions and marry Frank? If that wedding ever took place.

  At the same time, she deserved to be with Nita. She owed it to herself to discover the possibilities. Nita had been on her mind since the first time they met, with more frequency each day. Could this bloom into love? How would she ever know if she cut Nita from her life because of the will of the gods? What if she could fulfil her destiny whi
le also claiming happiness?

  Despite knowing what pain it would cause later, Varda shifted closer and draped her arm around Nita. “Who’s Claude?”

  “She was the love of my life.” Nita wiped her eyes with her palms. “Sometimes, when I look at you, I don’t even remember her face.”

  Varda pressed her forehead to Nita’s. “We’ll find a way through this. Together.”

  “What are we going to do about Frank?” Nita’s voice cracked. “If he’s trying to hurt you—”

  “I’ll go see him right away.” Varda pulled the stopper from the vial and swallowed the bitter contents. “I’ll demand answers. He might lie to me, but at least he’ll know I know what he’s trying to do to me. I won’t eat with him again.”

  Nita shuddered. “I don’t think that’ll be enough.”

  Varda tipped up Nita’s chin and kissed her again. “I’ll make sure it’s enough.”

  ***

  She banged open the door to Frank’s suite.

  Malak sat on his lap on the edge of the bed, her dress hitched up to her thighs and her ankles crossed behind his back. Her rouge lined his neck, and his hair was unkempt.

  Varda crossed her arms. “Bad time?”

  Frank half-shoved Malak off his lap, and she untangled herself from him so he could rise. “Did you need something?” His trousers strained at the crotch.

  “What did you put in my food?” Varda said.

  His eyes widened for a moment, before he schooled his features. “I have no idea—”

  “Don’t lie to me, Frank.” Varda pointed her forefinger at him. “I know you ordered someone to put something in my food and hide it with salt.”

  “Salt?” Malak’s eyebrows drew together.

  “Yes. Are you feeding me the same drug you’ve been giving Cara?”

  Frank stomped past her to slam the door. “You can’t believe every rumour you hear around the keep.”

  Varda laughed. “This isn’t a rumour I heard—”

  “Yes, yes, you and your friend lurked around in the tunnels and found out for yourself.” Frank’s nostrils flared.

  “You knew?” Varda’s muscles turned to stone.

  “Of course I knew.” Frank rolled his eyes. “I told you, I know everything that goes on in the castle. What kind of idiot do you think I am? Had you been anyone else, I’d have had you killed for eavesdropping.”

  Her heart rose in her throat. “Is that what you’re doing now? Killing me?”

  He groaned. “No, Varda, I’m not killing you. I’m not the biggest fan of poison, personally. When I kill a person, I do it face to face. It’s just proper.”

  “So, what are you putting in my food?”

  “It’s a fertility herb, all right?” He threw open his arms. “It’s something that will help me get you pregnant sooner, so I don’t have to try too hard. As you overheard, I’m not too fond of you, and the idea of having sex with you makes me sick. But we must have at least three children, as your mother said, so I thought I’d speed up the process.”

  Varda waited for the insult to knock the wind out of her, for fury to bubble in her veins, but nothing happened.

  Instead, a fragment of the vision she’d had battered her. She looked down at the baby in her arms and threw it at Nita before she dove into the abyss from various angles at once.

  This was what the gods wanted. A child. A child she wouldn’t raise, hence the abyss.

  The gods would grant her wish. Her path was one of war. Varda Ahlström was a battering ram, not a mother. If her understanding of the vision was right, she’d be able to employ a wet-nurse and follow her chosen path.

  This child of vision would also be Frank’s child. Did the gods want Dvaran blood in Mordoux? On the throne? That wasn’t for her to know. All she had was her duty, and if her duty was to carry Frank’s seed, she’d do it for her gods.

  Varda shrugged. “Is that all?”

  Frank gaped at her.

  “Give me your damn fertility herb, Frank. I’ll drink it. You didn’t have to force it on me.” Varda sniffed. “You’ve been forcing too many things on too many people. What you’re doing to your sister is sick, and if you don’t want the resistance to split—”

  “Don’t tell me how to rule my own bloody kingdom.” The vein in his forehead swelled.

  Varda raised her eyebrows. “If you lose the support of the little people, you’re going to lose everything.”

  Frank marched to his armoire and retrieved a vial of clear, greenish liquid. Had Varda not seen Malak barter for the same vial just two days prior? That was what the harlot had been up to.

  Malak’s breath raced, her colour heightened, and her eyes were wide and wild. Did this fertility treatment belong to her? Varda swallowed laughter. She’d cursed Malak with infertility not long after they’d met. Was this how Vanadis kept her from conceiving? Ha.

  “Take a spoonful once a day.” Frank held out the bottle, and Varda snatched it from him.

  As if. She’d have Nita look at the contents of this bottle first, just in case it really contained poison. “I said I’d marry you for alliance, Frank.” Varda raised a hand. “I stand by that. If you want the support of my mother and her soldiers, though, you should rethink your choices. You won’t do anything to me without my consent again. You won’t lie to me again.”

  He stood straighter. “Or what?”

  How was she supposed to know that? The gods would provide answers eventually, but for now, she had to fake it.

  Varda smiled. “Or you’ll regret it.” She walked out and slammed the door.

  Malak’s screaming echoed in the hall a moment later.

  Chapter 36

  Nathan tugged at his hair and fell onto the bed. What had he done?

  Nita was never going to forgive him. The absolute horror in her eyes, the disappointment—would he ever live that down? Forgive himself for doing that to her again?

  Once they found Pointy—he had to be alive—his reaction would be worse still.

  For months after Pointy had walked in on Nathan, half-dead but grinning, he’d been unable to look Nathan in the eye. Yet he’d come, every day, even if just to sit in silence by Nathan’s bedside. His best friend.

  Nathan had sworn he’d never fall back into this ugly habit, and Nita and Pointy had believed him. Not immediately: he’d had to work so hard to regain their trust. So many years of his life had gone into earning their forgiveness.

  With one glass of whiskey, Nathan had undone everything. Would they trust him again? Could he trust himself?

  What if Nita told Cara?

  Whatever feelings of jealousy he’d had before dissolved. She was doing what she must to survive. She didn’t love Nic—Nathan knew that—but he’d used that kiss as an excuse to indulge in a dark need that had nothing to do with her. Would she forgive him for that?

  His cottage pressed in on him from every side, and he couldn’t stand the strain. He grabbed a coat and left.

  The setting sun painted the cobbles in warm pink light, but clouds gathered on the horizon. Within an hour or two, the damned drizzle would return. The wind was cool and flung the smells of cooking dinner at him.

  Nathan’s stomach was wound so tight, the normally delicious aromas caused his gorge to rise.

  He wandered without direction. At first just to escape the smells, then wherever his feet would take him. He shut off his mind and just walked. If only he could walk right out of Collinefort.

  No, he didn’t want that. Out there was war. Cannons banged and destroyed his memories, and fire and smoke filled his nostrils. His heartbeat sped; his breath raced. Once, when the panic had been too much for her to handle, he’d counted for Cara. Helped her breathe. Who would count for him?

  Creator, he missed her. He’d had no need for substances in her presence.

  He found himself outside the keep wall, headed into the tented part of Collinefort. The path ahead swarmed with bodies, and a pair of voices bounced between tents and buildings.
/>   Sauvageon’s beetroot face was just visible in a space between the heads of onlookers, but Sven was hidden behind people.

  He shouted something, and she answered with such passion that spit leapt from her lips in synchronised arches. Froth stuck to the corners of her mouth.

  Nathan sighed and tried to find gaps among the crowd. He squeezed through where he could, and crawled forward, step by step by step.

  The gossips were all present, and rumours of Frank’s dark plans spread. More than ever rumours sang Cara’s praises, or called for action to support Pointy, or demanded answers to an ever-growing list of questions.

  Did Sven and Sauvageon hold their shouting contests just to allow a diversion so the people could gossip? Wouldn’t that be just like Pointy to orchestrate a distraction of this sort?

  Creator, let him be alive.

  Sven stomped forward and kissed Sauvageon full on the lips. The people roared, and the ground quavered in reply.

  A smile pulled up one side of Sauvageon’s mouth, then faded. She slapped Sven, and thundered off into the direction of the keep. Sven followed.

  Nathan wove between a cluster of people, and someone slammed into him from behind. Something sharp pressed into his back, a pinprick of danger.

  “Move.” A man jabbed the tip of the knife into his back.

  Nathan’s lungs strained, and his hands shook as he went in the direction the man forced him. What now? Who was this? Had Frank decided to kill him instead of letting him live in Collinefort, as he’d said in front of Ghedi?

  He wasn’t going to stick around to find out. Nathan sidestepped and fell in with a group of people rushing to follow Sven and Sauvageon.

  Two more men blocked his path. One grabbed Nathan’s arm and twisted it behind his back.

  Nathan groaned, and the man laughed at his discomfort.

  “Leaving so soon, pretty?” The man put his chin on Nathan’s shoulder and spoke into Nathan’s ear. A waft of pungent breath soured Nathan’s nostrils. “Let’s go.”

  The other two men—probably Intelligence agents—flanked Nathan on either side and led him deeper between the tents.