“We can use an elf quick with his wit.” Iladrul sighed under his breath, granting him a nod. “Will they be loyal to me? Or should I fear any plans I share with them.”
“Loyal.” Macentyx’s tone was laced with surprise. “We have been born and bred to be so. You are our Master.”
“Gold paid doesn’t drive out the desire for freedom.” Iladrul reminded him. Macentyx pulled back from him, not trusting that answer. “The girl?”
“Sezja.” His tone had a bite now. “Our sister.”
“She’s good at . . . ?”
“Needlework and cooking.” He smiled tightly at Iladrul. “As a woman should be.”
Iladrul frowned, his lips growing taut as he did so. “That’s your one and only lie to me that shall ever be forgiven.”
Macentyx lowered his gaze and nodded.
“What is your sister proficient at?”
“Poisons.” He muttered. “She knows them all. And their antidote.”
“Good.” Iladrul sighed. He turned away from the doxy. “I would prefer to get to know the five of you before I call you to your baser duties.” Macentyx didn’t reply. After a few moments, Iladrul looked over his shoulder. He saw the doxy’s silence was born out of curiosity. “And I don’t favor men.”
Macentyx lowered his gaze and nodded. “You want my sister.”
“She is beautiful.” Iladrul looked away. “But I will not find her bed if I am unwanted there.”
“My Prince?” This was said in a whisper. “You don’t mean to force—?”
“No.” Iladrul cleared his throat. “You are dismissed.”
The doxy, his expression slack with uncertainty, bowed to Iladrul. He said not a single word before leaving the room.
-32-
“You asked to speak with me, my Lord?”
Paul wasn’t used to being called to the throne room to speak with Jamiason. Generally, when James wanted to speak with him, he did so in the privacy of their apartment.
The heavy expression on Jamiason’s face as he raised his brooding eyes to greet Paul did nothing to bolster the vampire’s confidence.
“Yes.” Jamiason remained seated upon his throne with his elbow on the arm and his hand raised. His pinky was stretched outward and his thumb was toying with the tips of his first and second fingers. “Come.”
Paul heard footsteps behind him and turned slightly to look over his shoulders. The twins were coming together at the door, closing it behind themselves. Paul felt an innate sense of dread as they clicked closed, locking Paul in the throne room alone with their King.
He returned his attention to Jamiason and gave his king a tight lipped smile. “How may I serve you?”
Jamiason assessed him for a long moment before lowering his hand and letting out a tired sigh. When he spoke, his tone was guarded. “Emissary Lord Darklief has agreed to allow us to meet with the elves in the Oakland Grove.”
Paul blinked at him, surprised. “You spoke with him?”
“No.” Jamiason shook his head. “I sent Marchand.”
“Marchand?” Had he not been overwhelmed with his surprise that Jamiason had contacted Emissary Lord Darklief, he would have been offended. Visiting other lands on Jamiason’s behalf had always been his duty. That James would send one of the twins in his place was almost insulting. “On a mission of politics?”
“I needed you here.” He leveled his eyes on Paul. “Danger lurks within our own borders. Not in the lands of the Oakland Grove.”
“Of course, but—”
Jamiason raised his hand to silence him. Paul lowered his gaze and swallowed his anger. It wasn’t his place to argue with Jamiason about the manner in which James protected his borders.
“Aiken never grants a favor without a favor repaid.” Jamiason’s tone was tight. “His concession to allow our meeting with the elves to take place at his Grove is no exception.”
Paul raised his gaze and asked, “What has he asked you for, my Lord?”
“He hasn’t asked me.” Jamiason replied, holding Paul’s gaze. “As Prince of our lands, his request is being made of you.”
“What must I offer him?” Paul, who would be nothing without Jamiason’s backing, was more confused than ever. He had been a poor farmer before being turned. There was nothing he possessed that could possibly be of any worth to a God. “What has he asked for?”
“We are to choose which side his people will align with.” Jamiason lowered his gaze slightly. Paul’s brow furrowed as he watched this. “If you keep the talisman he has given you, he will align the fairies with the vampires.” Paul, knowing, now, the direction in which this conversation was going, swallowed. “If you give the talisman back to him, he shall align himself with the elves.”
“You wish me to give it back to him.” Paul whispered.
“You were given a gift from a God, Paul.” Jamiason shook his head. “In this one instance, I cannot interfere with your decision. You must do what you think is right.”
Paul, frowning, turned away from him. As he did so, he raised his hand and fingered the ball attached to the chain that hung around his neck. The moment his finger touched its surface, it began pulsating with a brilliant pink light.
He had worn the talisman for long enough that this did not surprise him.
Letting go of the bauble, he returned his attention to Jamiason. His King was watching him with intent curiosity; clearly he was uncertain regarding Paul’s choice. Seeing him so, assessing Paul, ready to judge him for his decision, Paul shivered.
If Paul gave up the bauble, he would lose Emissary Lord Darklief’s protection. If he didn’t, he would disappoint his King. His challenge, now, was to determine which he could live without and which he could not.
“My Lord, I’m . . .” He swallowed and lowered his gaze. “I would like to consider my position.”
“Very well.” The meaning behind Jamiason’s tone was indecipherable. As was his expression when Paul braved to raise his gaze. “I ask, however, that you do not ponder your decision overly long.”
“Of course not, my Lord.” Paul swallowed and lowered his gaze again. “I understand the stakes.”
“Keep in mind, of course, that if your decision is to keep your bauble,” Jamiason advised him, “I expect you to present me with an alternative as to where we may meet with the elves.” Paul raised his eyes again to look upon his King. “Remembering, of course, that neutrality is not an easy gem to find in the ever shifting sands of these times.”
Paul, realizing, finally, that he was being manipulated to obey the wishes of his King, bowed low, turned away from Jamiason and took his leave.
-33-
Aiken turned the cup over and frowned up at his youngest son, Boltric. “Not this one?”
“No.” Boltric, who thought he was a master of this particular game, looked up at his father and grinned. “Shall we try again?”
“No, boy. You’ve bested me.” Aiken, chuckling, shook his head. “And it’s getting late. Your mother will be by to pick you up shortly.”
“Can’t I stay, Fete?” He asked, his pink eyes shimmering. “I promise to behave.”
Aiken considered him for a long moment. He had been remiss with this child, as he was with all of his sons. And it was, after all, the boy’s sixth years summer day. He supposed that Boltric deserved spoiling.
“Very well.” He smiled at the child. “You can stay. So long as you promise to teach me the magic of your trick on the morrow.”
Boltric stood and ran around the table. He flew his arms around Aiken’s neck and kissed his cheek. Smiling, Aiken, very tentatively, patted his back.
“It’s a promise, Fete!” Boltric declared before releasing Aiken and running out of the room to find the bedchamber where Aiken’s children slept when they spent the night in his hut.
Chuckling, Aiken shook his head and reached for the twelfth cup, which stood among sixteen. He raised it, reached forward for the prize that he had known would be hiding beneath it, and dropp
ed the nut into his mouth. As it popped beneath his teeth, Karma stepped into the room.
“Fete.” She gave him a guarded smile. “You’ve another visitor sent by Lord Scrountentine.”
“Do I?” Aiken assessed her with a sly smile. “Is it the carrot top?”
“It is.” She replied, smiling in response. “Would you palaver with him?”
“I suppose that custom suggests that I must given I’ve made my demands of him.” Aiken shrugged. He waved his hand at her. “Bring him in.”
“Yes, my Lord.” Her smile grew as she lowered her gaze. His antics had always amused her. Perhaps this, above all other things, was what gave him confidence that she, out of all of his many children, was his rightful heir. “Right away.”
He watched her leave the room with fatherly affection and returned to the cups lined in front of him. He began turning them over, one by one, knowing it was best that the boy believe that he found the hidden nut by random intention rather than that he had known where it had been placed all along.
The child, though not close to Aiken, deserved to believe his father’s word when he had been told Aiken had been bested by his wit.
Some six shifts later, Karma returned with Paul Kinney at her side.
“My Lord.” Karma gave him the appropriate curtsey with pretend skirts. “Prince Paul, come to palaver.”
Aiken raised his gaze slowly, knowing that his feigned disinterest would cause Paul Kinney discomfort. As he met the carrot top’s gaze, he gave him a tight smile. This was not the first time that they had met and Aiken knew, very well, how to play him.
“Paul Kinney.” He swept his hand to the seat where Boltric had recently been sitting. Paul followed the movement of his hand and stepped toward the chair to lower himself within. “How very nice of you to pay me a visit.”
Paul’s lips thinned slightly as he looked to the rows of overturned cups. He reached for one that had not yet been disturbed and placed it to its rights. As Aiken had suspected, a second nut had been hidden beneath it.
“You’ve missed this one, my Lord.” Paul replied as he raised the nut upward and held it toward Aiken. “There are two in the game. Your son would prefer to believe that you sought them both when you overturned the cups.”
Aiken chuckled under his breath at that and shook his head as he took the nut from Paul’s fingers. Like the first one, he placed it in his mouth and savored the taste of it as it popped between his teeth before returning his attention to Paul.
“I’d intended to leave it for him.” Aiken smiled. “But you’ve made a fair point.” He leaned forward. “How might I assist you, Paul Kinney?”
Now, Paul lowered his gaze and fidgeted. He reached for the silk of the tapestry that Aiken had spread over his table to protect the wood in the event of spills and ran his fingers over it. When he looked upward, it was with a guarded, very hesitant, smile.
“Lord Scrountentine has advised me that he has asked you to allow us a meeting with the elves within your grove.” Paul’s tone was tight. “And that your price for the meeting was the return of the talisman you have given me.”
“Is that what he has told you?” Aiken replied, raising his hand and staring, as though bored, upon his fingernails. “That the talisman was to be returned in exchange for the meeting?”
Paul’s brow furrowed. “Yes, he said—”
“The child progeny must have been confused.” Aiken replied, lowering his hand and shrugging. He understood why Jami had lied to the vampire Prince, but he didn’t condone it. Paul had to give up the talisman of his own free will or the gesture would be pointless. “What I said was that I can only align my people with one race. And it shall be that race who will keep the talisman.”
Paul shook his head. His expression was dark with confusion.
“My peoples are a mortal race, Paul Kinney.” Aiken explained. “They must side with vampire or they must side with elf. They cannot fight a war in which their loyalties are divided.”
“I understand.” His tone reflected that he did. “And you have asked Jamiason to make that choice for you.”
“You never have been simple.” Aiken smiled tightly at him. “Regardless of what we say about you.”
Paul’s eyes flashed before he looked swiftly away. Wisely, he did not respond to Aiken’s insult.
“Now that you know the truth of my intent,” Aiken asked, suppressing the amusement from his tone, “do you mean to change your mind in regard to returning the talisman to me?”
Paul, still not looking at Aiken, shook his head. When he spoke, his tone was tight.
“No, my Lord.” He muttered. “I serve Jamiason. My fealty belongs to him. If what my Maker wants is for the elves to have your protection, then, clearly, as far as James is concerned, my life is forfeit.”
“I do not believe that is the case.” Aiken’s lips pursed. “Jami merely wishes to do what is right.”
“Perhaps, my Lord.” Paul raised his gaze and met Aiken’s. The fire within them surprised the fairy God. Even though he knew that Paul was made of tougher stuff than he was often given credit for, the vampire had never braved to stand tall before him. “But is anything about this right?”
“No, Paul Kinney.” Aiken smiled at him. He decided, in that moment, that he liked him. “Nothing, at all about this is right.”
Paul, reaching for the chain around his neck, nodded. When he no longer wore it, he stared at it for a long moment before stretching his arm in Aiken’s direction. Aiken took the talisman from Paul and gave him a tight, understanding smile.
Paul, finished with their palaver, stood and bowed.
Aiken, still holding the talisman in his hand, found himself pondering what had passed between them long after he was gone.
-34-
Seven moons after Wisterian received word that Jamiason wished to meet with him, a small band of elves and angels arrived at the Oakland Grove. As they rode in, Iladrul’s eyes were wide. Here, there were trees so tall that Iladrul wondered where the branches ended and the sky began. He saw huts built within each of them and long, vine ladders that fell from the branches to the ground.
“It’s dizzying, isn’t it?” Balean asked him, smiling.
The young Prince started at the sound of the General’s voice and forced himself to smile in return. He didn’t feel much like smiling these days.
“It’s beautiful.” Jeanir, who rode on the other side of Balean muttered.
“It is breathtaking landscape.” Iladrul finally agreed, his eyes flicking to Sezja, who rode beside him. Though the landscape was more than merely beautiful—it was magical.
It was as though the Gods had kissed the very trees.
They came to a stop and his father flew from his horse to land deftly upon his feet. It was a graceful thing to watch and Iladrul, though he bore no wings, tried to match it. He thought he’d managed well enough, though he didn’t care for the amused smiles on Balean and Jeanir’s faces.
Iladrul stepped next to his father and looked up at him, trying not to show the fear that was coursing through his veins. His father reached for him, squeezed his shoulder and guided him through the strange village.
“Don’t be afraid of Jamiason.” His father smiled down at him. “He wants to meet you.”
Iladrul, unable to meet his father’s gaze, lowered his. “Yes, your Highness.”
Wisterian ran his hand over the back of Iladrul’s head. Iladrul felt lost in the size of it. “He’s a good man, Iladrul. He will be a strong ally after all of this ends.”
“As you say.” Iladrul placated him.
“I speak truth.” Wisterian assured him. “When this is over, he will be your friend. No matter what else passes between his race and yours during this war.”
“Yes, Sir.” Iladrul shivered.
“Good.” Wisterian smiled at Iladrul and kissed his son’s forehead “Come. We must meet and thank Emissary Lord Darklief.”
“I thought he would be gone . . . ” Iladrul’s tone
was weak.
He had no desire to meet Jamiason. But, having never actually met a God, he was terrified.
“He will be.” Wisterian’s tone was tight. “Before Jamiason comes.”
“Must I meet him?”
“Yes.” Wisterian nodded. “He is doing us a great favor by allowing us the neutrality of his Grove.”
“Yes, your Highness.” Iladrul whispered and followed his father into the cusp of trees.
As they walked deeper within the Oakland Grove, Iladrul’s sense of dread lifted. The people they passed were extremely tall and seemed—on the surface—to be hospitable to the elves presence.
None of them wore any clothing, which made Iladrul extremely uncomfortable. He was unable to stop himself from gawking at the women, who seemed to be oblivious to the leering stares of the angels that had travelled with Iladrul to protect him. His father elbowed him slightly when he realized that Iladrul was staring, forcing the young boy to lower his gaze to focus on his own, booted feet.
When they reached a great tree in the center of the strange village, Iladrul’s father stopped, bowed low to a male fairy standing at the foot of the tree and gave him a warm smile. “We have come for an audience with Emissary Lord Darklief.”
The fairy’s strange, buttercup yellow eyes flicked to Iladrul. When he smiled, Iladrul realized that his canine teeth were sharp and pointed. He shivered slightly as the memory of the demon with his murderous teeth came to mind and then forced himself to smile in return. “He’s been expecting you Lord Wisterian.”
Iladrul’s father bowed and started climbing up the vine ladder that went to the very top of the tree. Iladrul followed with Balean and Jeanir at his heels.
At the top of the ladder was a trap door that led into the hut. Wisterian pushed this open and pulled himself through. Once there, he bent over, reached his hand down to Iladrul and pulled him the rest of the way up. He left the angels to their own devices as he stepped to a closed door and knocked.
A deep voice on the other side bid them to enter. Wisterian pushed the door open and stepped in, waiting for Iladrul to step beside him before facing the room.
Ashes to Ashes Page 11
