by Jill Myles
She buried her face in her hands, the keening despair that she felt ready to spiral out of control. “I have driven him away. He has given me everything that I demanded like a foolish child, and I don’t want any of it. I want nothing more than to see his face again and to hold him close and tell him that I love him. I want to tell him that we have made a daughter together.”
“It is too late for that,” Viktor said.
She stared out the window of the chapel, at the rolling valleys below the castle. At the distant mountains where the small city of Uday rose, little more than a few hours’ ride away.
“No,” she said, suddenly calm and knowing what she must do. “It is not too late.”
Chapter Twelve
Seri raced back to her room, skirts hiked high above her knees. She could run best that way, and it didn’t matter who saw her. Behind her, Viktor followed, calling after her. “Princesse! Wait!”
But she didn’t wait, and when she got back to her room, she slammed through the doors and immediately ran for her clothing.
“Mistress,” Idalla said, rushing over to see the frantic Seri. “What is wrong?”
“I can’t explain now,” Seri said, ripping past ornate gown after ornate gown, searching for something serviceable. “I need my clothes.”
“You have clothes—”
“My Vidari clothes! Does no one have them? What about my sister’s clothes?”
Idalla paled and nodded. “I will speak with her servant, mistress.”
“Hurry,” she snapped. She knew she was hurting Idalla’s feelings, but it didn’t matter; nothing mattered except Graeme.
“What do you mean to do?” Viktor said, following her as she stalked through to the adjoining room that belonged to Graeme, looking through his things. She needed a weapon, and he was bound to have something. Kneeling next to one of his trunks, she began to toss out his clothing.
“Mistress!” She heard Viktor’s voice, sharp, behind her. “What is it you seek?”
“I need a weapon,” Seri said. “There should be one somewhere around here. I need one if I’m going after him.”
To her surprise, Viktor moved past her and uncovered a hidden compartment in the trunk, revealing the dagger that Rilen had given her so long ago. Bits of Graeme’s blood still clung to the blade, dried on and flecked, and she nearly cried at the sight of it. She took it from his hands with a shaky nod. “Thank you.”
Idalla returned a few minutes later with one of Josdi’s ragged dresses, the hem mended and patched by a thoughtful Athoni servant, and Seri thanked the girl. “I’m sorry,” she said as she worked her way out of the constrictive Athoni clothing with the servant’s help. “I can’t think straight. Can’t think of anything but him. I just know I need to get to him.”
“I understand, my lady,” she said as she helped Seri step out of the gold-encrusted gown and into the soft, threadbare Vidari shift. “I had one of the other servants get you a few waterskins for your journey and some coins to take with you, just in case.” The servant pressed the backpack into her hands. “What about shoes?”
“No shoes,” Seri said, taking the coins and wanting to laugh at the absurdity of it. To think of all the times she had begged for her money to leave, and now she couldn’t care less if she saw another coin.
Soon enough she was ready and tromping through the courtyard on feet made tender after weeks of wearing shoes. It didn’t matter—bare feet were still much better than the silly Athoni silk slippers.
“You know where you’re going?” Viktor hurried behind her, a worried look on his face as he watched her shove the dagger into her waistband, not breaking stride.
“I do,” she said grimly. “Uday is a day’s walk from here, but with a horse, I should be able to get there much faster.”
“You’ll be safe?”
The doors of the stable opened wide as she approached, servants bowing and scraping in their haste to back away from the Vidari princesse with rage on her face.
“The Vidari think I am one of them, and the Athonites would not dare lay a hand on me.” She flicked her gaze over to Viktor. “I’ll be fine.”
He nodded, trusting her. “I’ve saddled the fastest horse for you—Fleetfoot is a bit high-spirited, but she’ll get you there the quickest.” At his gesture, one of the servants brought the prancing gray mare forward, her head tossing and eyes rolling as she waited.
Seri took a step back, regarding the high-strung horse. She could do this. She could. “Show me how to get on her back.”
Viktor frowned. “My lady, have you never ridden a horse before? I’m not sure if this is wise—”
“I don’t care if it’s wise or not,” Seri said, clenching her fists. Tears threatened to choke her. “I just need to get to Graeme, and if this is the fastest way possible, then I’ll lead her there on foot, by the goddess, but I’ll get there in time. Do you understand me?”
“I can take you,” said a soft voice.
Both of them turned to stare at Meluoe, her dark hair bound in a tight braid, her legs clad in the uniform of one of the Athoni guardsmen. Her blue eyes—so similar to Graeme’s—were intense with emotion. She gave Seri a long look, then moved forward to the horse, running a calming hand along her neck. “I can ride Fleetfoot, and I’ll take you there, Seri.”
“You’d help me after all this?” Seri looked at her in surprise.
“No,” Meluoe said stubbornly, “but I’d help my brother, and you are the only one who can stop this foolish quest he’s set himself on.”
Seri nodded grimly. “Then let’s go. Every moment we spend here talking is another moment we could be too late.”
The Athoni princesse mounted first and then Viktor helped Seri up behind her. The horse shied, but Meluoe’s practiced hands kept her under control.
“Wish us luck,” Meluoe murmured and dug her heels into the horse’s sides. On command, Fleetfoot jumped to action and shot out of the courtyard like a bolt of lightning.
We won’t need luck, Seri thought. We’re going to save him all on our own. She squeezed her eyes shut and wrapped her arms around Meluoe’s waist as the horse cantered. The rocking motion of the horse made her want to vomit, but she bit her cheek so hard she could taste blood. She would keep everything under control.
She could panic and cry later when Graeme was safe again. And if that meant trading her life for his, she would do it.
~~* * * ~~
Hours passed, hours in which Seri knew nothing but the endless jarring motion of the horse as it trotted, Meluoe’s body against hers as she controlled the horse, and her own body’s exhaustion. Over and over again, her mind played out what could happen. Graeme could have talked peacefully with Rilen, bargained with him. But she remembered the rage he had shown at the sight of her lip and knew that would never happen. They would kill each other first.
Perhaps they had surrendered. Perhaps the Vidari would hold Graeme for ransom, and she could exchange herself for him. Perhaps… Endless scenarios played through her mind, each turning back to the same thing, over and over again: Graeme had given his life for hers, could be dying for her even as they rode.
Her fingers dug into Meluoe’s flesh, and she closed her eyes, praying it would not come to that.
~~* * * ~~
“We are too late,” Meluoe cried, rousing Seri from her anxious stupor to stare over her shoulder.
The valley of Uday spread out below them. Seri had visited the town many times over the years as the annual festival to the sun goddess was held here by the Vidari. Usually Uday was a small town, only a few hundred families. Today, though, Uday was a tent city of the Vidari war camp, a thousand strong. More than Graeme would have if he were to gather all the troops of Vidara Keep and bring them to meet the sunrise like he had today.
Instead, he had chosen to go at this alone. He had sacrificed himself so the others would live.
Fear spiraled through Seri, but she forced herself not to fling herself off the back of the running
horse until they grew nearer to the sea of tents, closer and closer. Close enough to where she could see the men gathered in a massive throng of soldiers, like carrion birds circling their prey. At the center of this massive circle, she could make out Rilen’s bright red hair shining in the sunlight as he fought an opponent who gleamed in silver armor. Nearby stood a tall warhorse in the Athoni royal livery.
They were not too late. Seri’s heart leapt with joy. She could stop this.
As she watched, the redhead moved forward, and the figure in the silver armor—Graeme—collapsed.
“No!” Her scream echoed through the valley, torn from her throat so hard she could physically feel her aura flare around her, red-hot and fiery with rage. “Graeme!”
Ignoring Meluoe’s cries of distress, Seri slid off the side of the horse, tumbling onto the ground in her haste. She twisted her knee but she didn’t care, ignoring the pain as she raced forward, shoving her way through the crowd of Vidari that surrounded the combatants.
They let her pass, parting to let her through until she reached the inner circle where Rilen stood, panting, a sword in his hand.
Graeme’s collapsed figure lay on the ground. He had no aura, even though his had always responded to her own in the past.
Her own aura exploded red around her. She turned to Rilen through the red haze. “You monster,” she screamed. “You’ve killed him!” She charged at the man she’d once loved and flung herself against him. He grabbed at her to try to calm her, but she pounded at him with her fists, angry and sobbing. “You’ve killed him!”
His hands clenched hers, holding her. “Seri, what are you doing here?”
She flung him away from her, her hands reaching for the dagger at her belt. “I came to stop you,” she said, tears sliding down her face, hot on her cheeks under the blazing sun. “I came to stop you both and you’ve killed him.” Her fingers fumbled on the cool metal of the dagger and she clenched it in her hand, unsure if she wanted to stab him or herself and end this awful pain in her heart. Her body began to shake with sadness and an awful sob crept in her throat and she dropped the knife in the grass, burying her face in her hands. “You’ve killed him.”
“Seri,” Rilen said, his voice strangled and low. “I didn’t touch him. He collapsed before I could.”
She glared at him through her tears, then crawled over to Graeme’s body where he lay on the ground, intent on finding out for herself. He wore a thick helmet over his head, and his body was encased in the plate armor that she had seen the Athonites wear. The midday sun beat down on them, and she worked at the leather straps on the helmet. It would be too hot under there, too hot for her beautiful prince who couldn’t stand to be out in the sun.
Finally she pried it off and revealed Graeme’s face underneath. She leaned over him, her long, tangled hair blocking out the sun as she examined his features with her fingers, her tears dripping from her face onto his. The beautiful lips were cracked and dry, the hollows under his eyes more pronounced. His dark hair was plastered to his scalp with sweat, and there was a gray tinge under the red flush of his face. He didn’t breathe.
Her cool fingers stroked his face, so beautiful and beloved. She had been a fool, convinced that he was the monster that his curse had made him, when all the time it was she who was the monster. “I’m so sorry, my love,” she whispered and leaned over to kiss his mouth.
When she did, she felt his fangs grow, press against her lip.
She gasped, stricken with hope, and touched his throat. Under his sweaty flesh, there was the faintest of pulses, even though his skin burned and reddened when she touched it.
Here was her choice, then. She knew what to do.
Her fingers found the knife that she had discarded in the grass and she picked it up, bringing it to her throat.
“Seri, no!” Rilen shouted.
She made a shallow slice across the recovering bruise on her throat where Graeme had fed before and then she fell over him, shielding him from the sun with her face and her hair, laying her neck against his mouth.
“If you will not take my pity,” she whispered, “take my love instead.”
Nothing happened for a long minute, and Seri began to despair as the blood flowed down her skin and across his face and still he did not respond. Oh please, she intoned the goddess who had cursed him. Please do not take him from me.
Then, the faintest of motions, and she felt his lips move against her throat. Joy spiraled through her, and she arched her neck, encouraging the motion.
“Seri, move away from him!” Rilen shouted, but she didn’t care. Her aura grew light, fading from red to pink, and then changing to a white that grew intensely bright, so bright that she could see it through her closed eyelids.
She knew the exact moment that his aura flared to life as well, when his hand clenched around the back of her neck, and his fangs slid into her throat with a joyous pain that made her want to weep with gratitude.
His body shuddered under hers and she stroked his hair as he fed, murmuring words of love to him. She didn’t care that they shared this intensely private moment in front of the world, that they would see for themselves and know what Graeme’s kind was. That they would reject her for giving herself openly to a monster. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but Graeme’s warm breath against her throat.
A hand grabbed her by the shoulder. “Get away from him, Seri!” Suddenly she was torn away from Graeme, the flesh at her throat ripping with pain, and she cried out.
“Let me go, Rilen!” She jerked against him. “He needs me!”
“He’s devouring you! Like the legends of old.”
A growl of rage silenced their argument, and both Seri and Rilen turned to face Graeme, whose aura was blazing with red even as he rose to shaky feet. Behind him, Meluoe offered her assistance, but he shrugged her away. He raised a hand, pointing at Rilen, blood tingeing his lips and his gray eyes intense. He shone so brightly that his armor gleamed, and she watched the surrounding Vidari shield their eyes.
“If you touch my wife again, I will kill you.” Graeme said, a low growl of anger in his throat.
“She is not your wife by choice,” Rilen sneered. “She told me so herself. If she feeds you, she does so out of pity.”
No, she wanted to cry, but her throat wouldn’t work.
Graeme’s beautiful eyes flicked to her face, then back to Rilen. “Let her choose, then. If she wishes to be with her people, I will turn at this moment and leave and never come back. I will have our marriage annulled.” His gaze grew dark and angry. “But you will never hurt her again.”
Rilen released Seri, letting her collapse at his feet. “Fine then.” He sneered. “Let her choose between her monster of a husband or her people who have suffered under an oppressive rule for too long. Today, she can save them.”
The choice was hers. A thousand pairs of eyes focused on her as she came to her feet, wobbling and unsteady. The sun shone brightly overhead, and the sun goddess seemed to smile down on her as she got to her feet and made her choice, no hesitation in her body.
She came to stand before Graeme, then, in front of the eyes of all the Vidari, went to her knees and knelt at his feet. An angry roar of protest from her people went up, nearly drowning out her words.
“My lord,” she said, in a choked voice. “I am your wife in all ways if you would have me.” She bowed her head.
Warm hands—trembling under the exertion from being out in the sunlight—clasped her arms and brought her to her feet and cradled her body against his. She felt the hot armor under her cheek, felt his head rest upon her own. “I love you, Seri.”
She could not speak over the knot in her throat, but she reached up to twine her hand around his neck, letting him know that she was his and his alone. She had made her choice.
“If you are not with us,” Rilen said, pointing his sword at the two of them in anger, “then you are against us.”
He reached for his sword. Like a burst of pure light, Graeme�
�s sword flashed through the air. There was a wet sound and then silence.
Rilen’s head tumbled to the ground.
Someone screamed. Rilen’s body collapsed. Seri wavered, staring at the blood now spattering the green grass. The blood had arced high when Graeme had cut Rilen down. So quickly, barely more than a flash of sunlight in her gaze. And Rilen. She looked down at him, to where his hand yet lingered on his sword. Rilen was going to try to kill her for being a traitor.
Her mouth felt hard as her heart, and she placed a supporting hand on Graeme’s arm. She stood with him, even on this. She didn’t know who Rilen was anymore. She hadn’t understood him at all, it seemed.
The crowd took a step backward, staring at Graeme and Seri, wary. One brave woman stepped forward, knelt at Rilen’s side. Tears streaked down her face as she stared at Seri. “You killed him. Your own betrothed.”
“My wife did nothing.” Graeme’s voice was cold. He put a protective hand at Seri’s waist. “He thought to attack her. I would never let that happen. None shall harm her as long as I live.”
The woman’s accusing gaze turned to Seri. “No longer are you a Vidari woman.”
“She is not a Vidari woman any longer,” Graeme agreed, his voice rising above the cheer of the crowd. “But she is a Vidari princesse and Eterna, and she is your ruler.”
Murmurs shot through the crowd like wildfire, and the woman stood, her skirts wet with Rilen’s blood. Her gaze was uncertain. “What did you say?”
Seri could feel Graeme’s body straining against hers, his strength flagging even as he sought to be strong in front of the rebels. She didn’t want him to show any weakness to her people, lest they turn and attack him at this perilous moment. She touched Graeme’s cheek. “Let me explain, husband.”
Turning back to the crowd, she linked her hands with Graeme’s so there would be no doubt as to where she stood. “Prince Graeme has declared the Vidara lands an independently ruled principality, part of the Athoni kingdom but separate. Ruled by someone who knows the Vidari ways, knows how the Vidari think, and wants the Vidari to succeed.” She looked the gathered crowd in the eyes. “I am your new ruler.”
