Jon broke away with a light parting kiss, the tip of his thumb trailing over her lips to her chin. He rested his head against hers. Without question, she loved him. What that meant for her future, she would have to learn.
But not now. Olivia needed her. Taking a deep breath, she tore herself away.
“Return to me,” Jon said, his eyes never leaving hers even as the paladin commander approached him. Several more paladins filed in.
“I will. Promise.” She indulged the smile beneath the surface and nodded to him, the man she loved, her partner, her home, then tore herself away.
In the corridor, where a squad of paladins gathered the bodies of the Crag Company mercenaries, Brennan awaited.
“Pleased with yourself, aren’t you?” he hissed in her ear as he hefted Leigh’s weight. “A king to do your will.”
Now was not the time. They could hiss and spit at each other later.
The sound of the explosion earlier had come from beyond the wall, where the flame-stone orb now rested. Olivia. Who knew what had exploded? They had to get to her as soon as possible.
She dispelled the orb, spreading its tiles over the corridor.
The wall behind it had newer masonry, like a doorway bricked over. Hoping it was stone, she tried to use earth magic to pull it apart.
Pieces ejected from the wall, spewing onto the ground with the remnants of the flame-stone orb and the Crag Company. She’d checked the map in Melain: the dungeons had been split from the Lunar Chamber by an unused, closed-off rectangular room.
Her anima was half-bright, but she cast a candlelight spell and proceeded through the arched doorway, Brennan close behind. The room’s stagnant air mixed with that of the corridor and became breathable, if malodorous. Coffins decorated with ancient, winding vine scroll-work filled the room. An ancient sepulcher.
She spared the intricate designs only a fleeting glance as she made her way to the wall opposite the doorway she’d created. It, too, bore the same newer masonry. She spelled the newer stones free.
I’m on my way, Olivia. Just a little longer.
They entered the dungeon. After wandering down a tight, rib-vaulted hallway for some time, they located the first prisoners.
A man gripped the bars with gaunt, dirty fingers. “Did Nicolette send you?”
Others approached and studied them wide eyed through the bars.
“Yes.” She glanced around. “Do you know who has the keys?”
The man tapped the bars. “The guard with the keys went downstairs when the explosion came.”
“We’ll find him and come back for you.” Even if she didn’t find the guard, she would try to break them out. Although she could blast the gates open, she didn’t want to risk anyone getting hurt if the keys were available. “Have you seen a red-haired mage? A young woman?”
He drew his eyebrows together but nodded. “They brought in the Archmage the day it happened. Dragged her to a lower level.”
Olivia. “Thank you. We’ll have you freed on our way out. I promise.”
The man squeezed the bars, and murmurs spread among the prisoners, but the man finally gave her a faint smile. “Goddess and Divine keep you both until then.”
“And you.” She headed for the stairs.
The lower level had flooded ankle deep. She and Brennan waded through until they reached a fork in the path. There, a guard slumped against the wall. She searched his body until she found two key rings, one iron and the other arcanir. She looked at Brennan, who jerked his head to the left.
“The arcanir cells are that way,” he said, with a sigh, “but there are people down this way,” he added, tipping his head toward the right.
She tilted her head. If the arcanir cells were somewhere else, why was Olivia imprisoned here? The only time Rielle had been imprisoned in iron was when she’d been gagged and her hands had been—
A chill shook her. She needed to get to Olivia now. She tossed Brennan the arcanir keys.
“Come find me when you’ve secured him.” She nodded toward the unconscious Leigh.
Leigh’s betrayal was still unbelievable. Perhaps she just hadn’t wanted to believe him capable of it. But his unproven suspicions about the Divinity had pushed him this far.
Brennan nodded. “Shout if you need help, and I’ll come running.”
He waited until she acknowledged his comment before heading toward the arcanir dungeon.
Rising, she looked down the right corridor. There was still a chance that Brennan would find Olivia in the arcanir dungeon, but if the prisoners on the upper level were correct, Olivia would be here.
She proceeded toward the iron cells, freeing the few prisoners she found along the way.
“Olivia?” she called out, receiving no reply. She headed in deeper. “Olivia!”
A distant croak, followed by a cough, came as a reply.
Brennan hefted the mage on his shoulder as he made his way to the arcanir dungeon. The audacity. The Kamerish commoner had actually turned on Rielle.
Brennan shook his head. The mage had stolen her away all those years ago, allowed word of their affair to spread far and wide, claimed to have loved her, all for what? To betray her now? He couldn’t be trusted. Ever again.
Commoner. Brennan’s shoulders stiffened. Jonathan Ver had defied that label, hadn’t he? Great Wolf, the commoner had turned out to be the gods-damned fucking king.
A snarl curled his lip. He should have seen it. The planes of his face, his coloring, the blue eyes so like those of the libertine Prince James. But royal bastards weren’t cosseted away. They graced the court with heads held high, their mistress-mothers eager to take tarnished power over none.
This one, however, hadn’t been born to any mere mistress. Prince James had plowed forbidden fields. The fucking queen. Brennan rubbed his face.
No king who purported to call himself a man would allow word of his cuckolding to spread. Even allowing the bastard to live had been an ill-conceived mercy granted by King Marcus. He’d ever be remembered now as the ineffectual cuckolded king succeeded by the lovechild of his queen and his brother. Fool.
But Jonathan Ver was now king.
A shudder rode Brennan’s spine, and he cracked his neck. The darkness of the dungeon yawned into a long passage, but no hearts beat ahead. Only the ozone smell of arcanir awaited. He blew out a harsh breath.
Jonathan Ver was king; he could break the arranged marriage contract with ease but couldn’t marry Rielle himself. A marriage from within the kingdom when Emaurria sorely needed aid? A king with a weak claim to the throne taking to wife a woman scorned by the Houses?
No. The Grands would never allow it. Parliament would never allow it. And the forsworn paladin, even full of desire, wouldn’t set aside the needs of an entire kingdom. The Order didn’t raise its orphans to choose themselves over the greater good. And even if he wanted to, too many objections would confine him.
And Rielle would know that. She could share a king’s bed but never a throne. She could break her betrothal but never marry a king. And when Laurentine languished without its marquise, when the line of her father threatened to wither, she’d relent. She’d marry. And if she had to marry someone, why not the fiancé who’d found his conscience and had only treated her with remorse, kindness, respect, and affection since?
This path to victory was lengthy, but of them all, the least precarious. He’d waited this long; he could wait longer if it meant certain victory.
At last he arrived at the arcanir cells. He pulled out the keys, unlocked a cell door, and threw the mage inside, who landed with a thud and a cloud of dust. Brennan glanced around the space, his sight sharp even in pitch darkness. No food, no bed, no water. Not even a pot to piss in.
No less than he deserves.
He slammed the door and locked it. Soon, he’d be back for answers. But he had more pressing concerns now—returning to Rielle’s side. Making sure that snarling little she-wolf didn’t get herself killed.
No, he had
greater plans for her.
What had the duchess said? Rielle resists opening her heart to others, but it is not impenetrable.
Not impenetrable...
If he could play the game of favor skillfully, he could penetrate the walls Rielle had erected between him and her heart. He could come in. She might finally love him. And the duchess might bind Jon’s hands tightly enough to make it all possible.
As long as he remains king.
Father’s ambitions must be smothered in the cradle.
After this, Father had to be made to see reason. The crown wasn’t worth the trouble. Although Father had always been the political mastermind in the family, it was time to challenge him for that title.
The twelve steps to ascend the Emaurrian throne were perilous and bloody. If Jon had already ascended them, then Father put himself—and all the Marcels—under threat from the Order of Terra by continuing his attempt. Mother, Nora, Una, Caitlin. Nora’s sons. Even Uncle Desmond and Uncle Aidan, their families, and Uncle Tor. And—Brennan cringed—himself. All their lives balanced on a blade’s edge, vulnerable to the slightest breeze from wagging tongues.
What was so great about being a royal anyway? Royals were accountable. When the realm suffered, a king’s head didn’t rest securely on his shoulders. King Marcus had learned that firsthand.
There was no value in the sacrifice of happiness for the good of the kingdom. Brennan enjoyed pursuing his own pleasure, his own wealth, his own security. He didn’t need to worry about millions of others. And he didn’t need the Grands or Parliament compelling him to marry some foreign royal bitch for the sake of the kingdom when what he needed was Rielle. To be with her—that is, to break the curse.
No, Father had to see reason. Jon had to remain king. And I need to keep currying favor.
He made his way back through the dungeon toward Rielle.
Chapter 68
Rielle ran toward the voice, lit the nearby torch with dwindling magic.
“Here,” someone hoarsely called out. An old, tired voice from a dark corner.
She stopped and fumbled with the keys until she found the right one and jammed it into the lock.
“Don’t worry. I’ll get you out.” She squinted into the darkness. Begrimed, mangled fingers shed the shadows. A misshapen hand. Another. Tattered, dirty rags that may have once been a dress. A wizened woman with hollow cheeks. Skin coated in dirt and dust.
Red hair—green eyes—
Rielle caught hold of the bars before her knees gave out.
“...Rielle?” Olivia asked, her voice a harsh rasp. Her dull eyes widened, and she straightened. “Don’t... you’re in danger...”
Rielle’s heart thumped in her chest. Her best friend had been starved but was alive. Alive. She opened her mouth, but she had to try twice to find her voice. “The Crag are no more. Gilles is dead.”
“Did you do it? The rite? Did you do the rite?”
“Yes.” With trembling hands, Rielle unlocked the cell door, threw it open, and rushed to Olivia. She dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around her, around her skeletal, small body. What she’d been through—what they’d done—
“Praise the Divine you’re alive.” She tightened her embrace, and Olivia rested her head on Rielle’s shoulder.
“I knew you’d come,” she croaked. “I knew.”
Rielle pulled away, cupped Olivia’s cheek in her hand, met her eyes. Brightened eyes. Olivia raised a hand to hers—Divine, her hand, it—
“You must be thirsty.” Rielle unclipped the waterskin from her belt, opened it, and handed it over.
Olivia drank, pressing it between her wrists. Both of her hands had been broken. An arcanir collar circled her neck. She was barely more than skin and bones. Starved. Neglected. Beaten. Abused.
Gilles had lain dead outside the Lunar Chamber, and he’d deserved every second of agony he’d suffered. Hopefully his death had been long and painful, payment for what he’d done to Olivia, the Faralles, and all of Courdeval.
When Olivia finished, Rielle accepted the waterskin, eyeing every bruise, cut, and smudge, the pressure filling her chest to painful capacity.
“So you were the cause of all the screaming.” Olivia managed to don a smile over a look of complete discomfort.
Rielle embraced her again, and Olivia’s arms closed weakly around her in return.
Too long. She’d waited too long to come.
There had been only one chance to perform the rite—Spiritseve. It had needed to be tonight, with Nicolette’s assistance, the diversion, and the help of Brennan, Jon, the paladins, and Leigh for that chance.
“So Gilles is dead.” Olivia pressed her cheek against Rielle’s shoulder. “He threw me in here, a bargaining chip to extract information from Prince James.”
Prince James? Then he was the mysterious lover Olivia referred to in her correspondence?
Jon’s father.
Rielle straightened. “Is he still alive?”
Olivia shook her head and lowered her gaze. “Gilles then kept me here to trap you.”
“Trap me?” Rielle smoothed a hand over Olivia’s knotted curls. “Well, he’s dead now. So is the Crag Company. I wish I had come sooner. Spiritseve—”
“But you came,” Olivia whispered, her eyes watery. “That’s what matters.”
With a final squeeze, Olivia pulled back and looked at her. “There could be more prisoners. We should check.”
“Let me heal you.” At least her hands. It would be the last of her magic, but she’d found Olivia. The rite was performed. It was all over finally.
Although the arcanir collar prevented Olivia using her magic, it did not prevent magic being cast on any body part not covered in arcanir. She held out her hands in offering until Olivia placed hers in them. The bones had already begun to heal incorrectly, an unfortunate circumstance.
“This will hurt, Olivia. I’m sorry.”
Olivia braced herself and winced through the healing. She faltered, but Rielle caught her, slung Olivia’s arm over her shoulder, and helped her to her feet.
“Can you stand?”
Olivia smiled, flexing her fingers and hands. “Yes.” She blushed. “I’m fine, really. You don’t need to fuss over me.”
“Who else would I fuss over if not you?”
Olivia shook her head, doing a poor job of suppressing a grin. Watching her face for reassurance, Rielle slowly let her get to her feet on her own. Despite her current frail condition, Olivia was a person who could stand on willpower alone.
“Are there any others still jailed upstairs?” Olivia asked.
“Yes, but the keys were on this level.”
“We still need to finish checking this dungeon corridor. And perhaps we can try to do something about this flooding.”
Her point was valid. The leak causing the flooding could worsen, and there could still be prisoners farther in. Those on the upper level still needed to be freed.
Even one more spell will mean fureur. Her anima was dark. There would be no more spellcasting.
But it was questionable whether Olivia could endure the rest of the search. The sooner she saw a proper healer, the better.
“Maybe you could free the prisoners on the upper level and find help while I check the rest of this block?” The route to the upper level was clear—safe for Olivia. “Do you think you’ll be all right on your own?”
When Olivia nodded, Rielle offered her the keys to the cells on the upper level—the ones that hadn’t worked on this one. “Do you remember Brennan?”
“Who could forget?” Olivia narrowed her eyes. “You two are on good terms?”
“Better than they were. He should be coming from the arcanir dungeon and might be able to pick the lock on your collar, so you could use your magic again. Look for him,” she said, receiving a nod in reply, “or a forsworn paladin by the name of Jon.”
Not a forsworn paladin but a king. Once this night was over, she had a long talk with Jon ahead of her, and que
stions of what being a king’s lover might entail. But her work here wasn’t finished.
“I’ll look for them,” Olivia said, with a reassuring nod. “Be careful.” She offered a small smile before pulling Rielle into a hug.
“You, too.”
Olivia pulled away and backed up a few steps before heading toward the stairwell. Rielle jingled the keys, grabbed the torch from its holder, and strode down the corridor.
“Wait,” Olivia called. She braced against the wall. “Did you cross paths with a group of bandits called the Black Mountain Brigands?”
Rielle frowned. How did Olivia know about that? “Yes,” she called back, approaching. “They attacked us on the way here. We killed them.”
Olivia staggered, pushing into the wall with quivering fingers. She hung her head, matted locks of red hair curtaining her face. “All of them?”
Had there been someone she’d cared about among the Brigands? Or had someone from the Brigands wronged her, and she wanted confirmation that justice had been done?
“All,” Rielle replied, carefully observing. “Was there—”
Without raising her head, Olivia brought a hand to cover her mouth. Sorrow... or relief? Rielle had almost closed the distance between them when Olivia held up a hand.
“I’m all right,” she said, her voice low and soft. She was far from all right. “Really.”
What had happened with the Brigands? Whatever it was, it had been important. Important enough to affect Olivia deeply. “You’re just going to lie to me?”
Olivia finally looked up. Tears welled in her eyes and streamed down her face. When Rielle stepped closer, Olivia held up her hand again. “Please, I can’t right now. I don’t have it in me.” She smiled sadly. “If you let me rest my head on your shoulder right now, I’ll never move again, and there are people who still need our help.”
Her heart pounding, Rielle nodded. She didn’t know what affected Olivia so deeply, but the possibility of being the cause was hollowing. “Are we—?”
Olivia smiled again, this time warmly. “Yes. We’re fine.” She swiped at her wet cheeks. “I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. We’ll just lock ourselves in for the night, eat custard tarts, and talk, just like old times.”
Blade & Rose (Blade and Rose Book 1) Page 58
