A Thread in the Tangle

by Sabrina Flynn

  Marsais wondered if Isiilde had it in her to choose, let alone follow through. His eyes swept over the redhead, noting the blackened bruises blossoming on her skin. A healing could not erase everything, external and internal. He could well imagine how sore she must be, and he cursed the Fates that forced her to make a choice so soon after suffering such an attack.

  Isiilde’s hand strayed to the mark around her throat. Bruises were the least of her worries, she was still suffering an intrusive assault of the mind.

  He remembered the weight of a slave’s collar around his own neck. His years of slavery were but a dim shadow in his mind. Meaningless now, a pang of discomfort worn out over the ages, but always, throughout that ordeal he had had his mind to retreat into (or what was left of it). His masters had never possessed his spirit as Stievin now did with Isiilde. It was a terrifying thought. He struggled to remain calm and centered, willing his rage to wash over, and through him.

  A stir of cold air signaled Isek’s arrival, but unlike Marsais, he sat back in the chair and exhaled with a low whistle.

  “You know, for a moment there, I thought you’d turn Multist into a pig.”

  “He’s already well on his way,” Marsais snorted.

  “He was smug enough when you dismissed him,” Isek mused. “I think he actually believes those charges will stand and he’ll have the privilege of gutting you.”

  Isiilde flinched, raising her head in alarm. All eyes were drawn to her distress.

  “It’s all right, my dear,” Marsais hastened to explain. “Isek only jests, and a poor one at that, considering the circumstances. The Blessed Order has charged me with summoning and heresy, none of which will hold.”

  “Summoning?” Oenghus grunted, stroking his daughter’s hair until she settled back down. “If they only knew the half of what you’ve been up to.”

  “Hmm, well it’s certainly fortunate that I’m amongst friends.”

  Silence descended after this—a question hanging over their heads like an ill begotten omen that no one wanted to acknowledge. Isek rose, and began tidying up the bookshelves, while Marsais settled in his chair, placing elbows on his desk and head in his hands, trying to recall when last he had slept in an actual bed. Oenghus sat like a brooding bear on the verge of charging. And so when Isek finally voiced the question that hung in the air, Oenghus snapped.

  “Have you decided, Isiilde?”

  “Shut your trap, before I rip out your tongue!”

  “It’s not as if she has a whole lot of time,” Isek continued, foolishly.

  Before anyone could react, Oenghus surged to his feet, grabbing the wiry man around the neck with one hand, and wrenching him three paces off the floor. Isek’s eyes bulged as he struggled. Every futile second turned his face an unnatural shade.

  Marsais hadn’t decided if he’d intervene or not when Isiilde spoke.

  “He’s right, Oen.” She pushed herself upright with quivering arms. Oenghus waited for Isek to turn purple before letting him fall to the ground, where he crumpled in a gasping heap, then scrambled as far as he could from the barbarian.

  “I’ve made my choice.” Isiilde took a deep breath, tightening her grip on the scroll. “There’s no one on this list whom I would have.”

  “So I’ll kill the bastard and we’ll leave,” Oenghus growled.

  “No.” Her reply was firm, but her voice trembled. “I will return to Kambe and do what my father wishes. At least I will be able to fill his coffers and make good on the damage I’ve caused him over the years.”

  “You’ve done nothing to him, Sprite!” Oenghus looked as surprised as everyone else. “You’ll be sold to Xaio. You can’t imagine what they’ll do to you.”

  “I am a nymph,” Isiilde said, cutting him short. “It doesn’t matter, Oen.”

  “Wait.” Isek stepped forward, flinching at Oenghus’ warning growl. “You said there’s no one on the list. Is there someone who isn’t on there that you’d consider?”

  “If I bond with another man, then in all likelihood, he’ll be killed by the Hound tomorrow.”

  “You don’t know that, Isiilde, there’s always a chance,” Oenghus said. “Even a god can be brought down by a lucky arrow.”

  “And what if the man who I desire will not have me?” Shimmering emerald eyes touched the grey of his own, and Marsais knew all would be well. “What if he has made it more than clear?”

  Oenghus followed her gaze, and shock gave way to realization. “Because that bag of bones isn’t an option. He’s your master and you’re his apprentice—the Isle has laws against such things,” Oenghus rumbled.

  Isiilde barely heard his terse words as she searched and found answers in the countenance of the man she held dear.

  “Well, actually the Circle ousted her yesterday, so she’s not his apprentice anymore,” Isek supplied, helpfully, preparing to bolt at the first sign of movement from the giant. “Besides, no one ever enforced that law anyway, considering Taal’s penchant for busty apprentices, to say nothing of Yasimina and her harem of strapping lords.”

  “Marsais practically raised you.”

  “You are more of a father to me than any other.” Her eyes flashed at the Nuthaanian, but rage had consumed him, and he took a threatening step towards the rangy Seer who remained utterly still in his chair.

  “Have you planned this all along?”

  “Oenghus,” Marsais began to interject.

  “Why else wouldn’t you let us leave?” Oenghus spat. “All your talk of ill paths—all the while you were plotting to have your chance at a nymph, you whore’s son of a swine!”

  “Stop it,” Isiilde pleaded.

  “You don’t know him like I do. Marsais has a—thing for exotic women. You’ll just be another notch in his belt.”

  “You’re only making this harder for her,” Marsais said, calmly. But his old friend had reached the limits of his self control. One more careless comment would push him beyond reason in the typical berserker fashion. Truth be told, Marsais was surprised that he had held it together for this long.

  “Ask him why he trembles every time he sets foot on a ship,” Oenghus growled.

  Isek leant attentively forward, however, his curiosity would remain unsatisfied for the time being. Marsais reacted to this low blow with equal vehemence.

  “Curse you! I’ve never done anything to foster this desire in her, unless you count treating her like a person. I did not foresee this. I swear on my children’s graves,” Marsais finished with all the conviction in his bones.

  The giant loomed over the Seer, fists flexing, beard twitching.

  “Oenghus,” the gentle voice of his daughter finally pierced his blind rage. He turned around as she climbed to her feet with the haggard care of an old woman. “Marsais is my friend. He is the only one whom I trust besides you.” Her hand strayed to her neck, and she shut her eyes, pressing her lips together, struggling against the ranting tide of Stievin’s threats. Oenghus took a step towards her, but she warned him away with a gesture. “I wish to speak with Marsais, alone.”

  Oenghus hesitated, gaze shifting between Marsais and his daughter. It took a final, commanding tilt of her chin before acceptance settled reluctantly on his shoulders.

  “Are you sure you want this sack of bones?” Isiilde nodded.

  Oenghus grunted. Before anyone could react, he grabbed Marsais by the front of his robes, and yanked the Seer out of his chair. “Treat her good or I’ll have your head, Scarecrow,” Oenghus hissed into his face. He released Marsais, letting him fall into his chair with an ungainly sprawl of limbs.

  On his way out, Oenghus snatched Isek by the collar and shoved him out of the room, slamming the door with booming finality.

  Forty-four

  MARSAIS LET OUT a ragged breath. When he noticed Isiilde swaying unsteadily on her feet, he stood, hurrying over. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, white-knuckled, struggling to resist the brute who held her by an invisible chain.

  “Isiild
e,” Marsais whispered, sinking to his knees. He took her hands in his own, and she opened her eyes to his.

  “Will you have me, Marsais?” A single tear rolled down her cheek.

  “There is not a being or creature of masculine nature who would refuse you. I would be honored to hold your Bond for as long as you wish,” he uttered, pressing his lips to her fingertips.

  At his touch, the strength bled from her, a trembling sob shuddered through her body, and she collapsed, huddling in his arms.

  “O, my dear,” he soothed, “it will be all right.”

  “I thought—you would not have me,” she whispered against his chest.

  “I am not meant for you.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “A Druid is a nymph’s first, but never her last,” he explained, placing a long finger beneath her chin, tilting her face towards him.

  “Are you my Druid, Marsais?”

  “I am,” he smiled. “For as long as you desire, and not a moment more.” A hint of light touched the green of her eyes.

  For the first time since he had known her, he allowed himself to truly appreciate her beauty, savoring the graceful curve of her neck, lingering over her enticing ears, and brushing a copper curl with his fingertips. The feel of her lithe body against his own sent a surge of desire through his veins.

  “I can’t imagine wanting you to let me go. Will you take me now?” Those enchanting eyes were wide and full of fear.

  “If you wish it.”

  “I do. Your touch is warm and your eyes are calm. I am safe with you.”

  “And here I thought it was my good looks,” he quipped, and was rewarded with a twitch of her sumptuous lips. However, the next moment brought panic fluttering across her eyes.

  “But—”

  “Yes?”

  “You’ll have to fight the champion tomorrow,” she breathed with horror and a dreadful guilt that touched his heart.

  “That’s tomorrow—too far away for me to worry about such a thing.”

  “But you can’t use a weapon.” Tears shimmered down her cheeks.

  “Can’t I?”

  “The only weapon I’ve seen you use is that little knife you eat with.”

  “My dear, as I am fond of saying—curse the future. I try to live in the moment as fully as possible, for it might not come around again for some time, so push aside your worries and let us see what enjoyment we can conjure for you this evening.”

  Marsais brushed her eyelids with his lips, as gentle as a snowflake settling on her lashes, cooling her fear. He helped her to her feet and they retired to his bedchamber where she left to do whatever females did before such matters, which in his experience, seemed virtually instinctive.

  The fire flickering in the hearth brought to mind a sobering thought. If a sneeze caused a burst of flame, what would result from a complete loss of control?

  Marsais wisely decided to take precautions. After stripping down to his smallclothes, he placed a Ward of Protection around the hearth and bed. Although the ward offered some protection against fire, he certainly was not going to leave it at that.

  As he rummaged through a cabinet of vials, suspiciously sniffing each, Isiilde returned, having exchanged her clothes for a robe. She hurried across the room towards him, hand straying to her neck.

  “Pick one.” He held two rooster stamped vials before her, letting her sniff each in turn. When she had chosen, he upended the one she had pointed to and gagged, fighting to swallow what tasted like a mouthful of ash.

  “Was that the wrong one?”

  “Hmm, no this was the correct one, thank you.” The potion took a few moments to work its way through his veins before the frisson of frozen needles subsided. Oenghus could never be bothered to rid his potions of unpleasant side effects. Of course, Oenghus had the constitution of a rock golem so in all likelihood the Nuthaanian hadn’t noticed any.

  “Have you eaten?” he asked.

  “I don’t feel like it.” And indeed, the thought appeared to unsettle her, so much so, that Marsais gently took her by the hand and led her to the bed, folding back the feather filled blankets.

  Isiilde hesitated over the ties of her robe, and then came to a decision, shrugging off her garment and letting it slide to the floor with a rustle of cloth.

  At the sight of her sleek, ethereal body, his heart quickened. She slid onto the bed—his bed. And although he felt as if he had never gazed upon a woman before this night, Marsais forced his mind to clear when he noticed her trembling.

  She crossed her arms over her pale breasts, which still showed signs of the previous night’s abuse, and he slipped onto the bed, gathering her close, in an embrace more protective than amorous.

  The world fell away. Slowly, her slender muscles relaxed against his warmth. Shielded by a pair of long, wiry arms and reassuring shoulders, the nymph melted against his chest, shutting her senses to all else save the beat of his heart and the breath of his lungs. But her peace was shattered by a voice swimming up from the dark, cold depths of her mind, clawing himself insistently towards the surface of her thoughts.

  Get away from the thief! How can you lie with a man who has injured me so? Come to me now and I will forgive you.

  “Please take me,” she whimpered. “Stievin is calling.”

  “In time,” he soothed, stroking the waterfall of fire cascading down her back. If he had not loved her so deeply, then he would have gladly done as she asked.

  Desire burned in his veins and clawed at his insides like an animal. If she asked him to leave, he doubted his will would be strong enough. The sensation of her trembling body made him recall his youth, as a vigorous young man who had never known a woman’s touch. Small wonder the gods craved their kind.

  Her slender stomach brushed his own and she tensed like a skittish filly.

  “Are you frightened?” he asked.

  “Yes,” came her whispered reply.

  “Of me?”

  Isiilde hesitated before answering. “Of the pain.” His heart lurched.

  “Have I ever hurt you?”

  “You stepped on my foot once,” she pointed out, meeting his gaze, and he smiled like a love struck fool.

  “My dear, lovemaking is an act of gentleness, not brutality. I assure you, there will be no pain.” The creature in his arms was like a delicate vase of frail beauty. He trailed his fingertips down the curve of her neck, caressing the intricacies of her spine with a feather light touch. “It is a thing of soft caresses and gentle kisses,” he whispered, brushing his lips against her forehead, breathing in the scent of her—ripe and blooming, skin as soft as a rose petal. He felt a clumsy beast who aspired to soar in the heavens with a graceful bird.

  “I have never kissed a man,” she admitted with a blush.

  “O, come now, not even that young swordsmith?” His eyes strayed to her ear, tracing its sweeping curve.

  “Oen forbid me to go near him and I do try to listen.”

  “Yes, my dear, you do at that. I know it hasn’t been easy for you here.”

  “I had you.” She untangled her arm from between their bodies, and slid a tentative hand along the raw scar cutting across his chest.

  Marsais sucked in a sharp breath. The searing pain that he had endured for most of his life vanished beneath her fingertips, bringing a flood of lost memories surging to the surface of his mind. He stared at her with wide, wondrous eyes, trying to absorb a wash of new insights.

  “Did I hurt you?” she asked in alarm, snatching her hand away.

  “No—not at all,” he breathed, pressing her hand against his chest again, savoring the absence of a burdening ache. Her touch was a balm to his shattered mind. “On the contrary, I lapsed into one of my more whimsical musings.” This was no time to forge into the tale of that foul wound and no time to meditate upon new revelations. “For you see, in all my two thousand and some odd years, I have never kissed a man either. I can only imagine how dreadfully frightening it must be.”


  A smile touched her eyes and she stole a timid kiss.

  “Hmm, and I have never kissed a nymph before—until now,” he uttered softly, dazed from the brush of her lips.

  Heat blossomed to the tips of her ears. She settled firmly against him, sliding a leg between his own and draping an arm around his waist, tracing the scars that decorated his back with wistful fingertips.

  “What did Oen mean when he said I’m another notch in your belt?” Although the lilt to her voice was gone, her curiosity was there. She almost sounded like herself again. Did he calm her that much, or were nymphs so easily distracted?

  “Oenghus was accusing me of keeping count, although his belt would far surpass mine.”

  “Keeping count of what?”

  “Women. I’ll be honest with you, my dear, you won’t be my first.”

  “I assumed as much,” she grinned, nearly laughing, but not quite.

  “However, I have never been with a nymph.” In this lifetime, he added silently.

  “And why are you afraid of boats?”

  “Not of boats, but what lies beneath. The ocean doesn’t care for the likes of me. Hmm, I must concede one point to Oenghus—in that I tend to attract a wide variety of womanly creatures. I’m not at all sure what they see in me. Oenghus was referring to a woman who washed up on shore one day. For brevity’s sake, she formed an attachment to me before I discovered that she was the daughter of Nereus.”

  “The god of the ocean?” she squeaked.

  “I’m afraid so. Nereus wasn’t pleased with me to say the least.”

  “What happened?”

  “My dear, I am very pleasantly distracted by the present and could not bring myself to dwell in the past. Perhaps another night?”

  “Will you promise? Because if you are killed tomorr—” Her voice caught in her throat, and she struggled to continue, eventually saying the next with a ragged breath, “If you are killed tomorrow, then I’ll be left wondering for the rest of my life.”