Shadowspire (Wytch Kings, Book 3)

by Jaye McKenna

  * * *

  Jaire kept himself busy fussing over Kian. He settled the healer in bed, brought him some dinner, and made certain he drank more water. Taking care of Kian gave him something to think about besides Vayne’s fate.

  Eventually, though, Kian sank into a restless, twitchy sleep. Jaire left the bedroom door ajar so he’d hear if Kian called to him, and trudged back out to the main room. With nothing left to distract him, thoughts of Vayne filled his mind.

  He hadn’t even had a chance to say a proper goodbye, and it hurt that he’d never know Vayne’s fate. Had the ghost-prince been permanently trapped in the mythe, his only connection with the human world shattered with the amulet?

  Or had his exile ended in death?

  Would he ever see Vayne again?

  A burning ache filled Jaire’s chest and swelled in his throat. Pressing a hand to his mouth, he crossed the room to the window and stared out. The sun was burning off the morning mist. Nearby mountain peaks jutted through the soft, grey blanket of cloud, though the ground below was still obscured.

  “Oh, Vayne,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

  Something moved in the fog below. A dark shadow, growing in size as it rose up through the mist.

  Jaire’s heart stuttered as the shape resolved into something vaguely draconic. Moments later, a dragon emerged from the mist and headed straight up the side of the tower. For an instant, he thought it might be Garrik or Ilya, but the moment the sun glinted off of emerald-green scales, he knew it wasn’t.

  Emerald green… Vayne?

  When Vayne had shifted for him, he’d been disappointed that he couldn’t see such a grand creature in all its glory.

  As the dragon drew nearer, Jaire backed slowly away from the window. The dragon held a rock in its claw, and it slowed its ascent long enough to dash stone against the glass. Glittering shards sprayed into the room. Moments later, long claws wrapped around the iron bars. Jaire pressed himself against the wall as stone cracked and metal squealed. With a final scream, the bars came free and the dragon let out a cry of triumph.

  Then a draconic head and neck came through the open space, and Jaire barely had time to process what was happening before it shifted. It was as smooth a shift as any he’d seen Garrik or Ilya or Ambris perform, and moments later, a naked man tumbled into the room and sprawled on the floor.

  Silky black hair hung loose to his waist. As he rolled over, it slid aside to reveal an intricate tattoo of a brilliant green dragon covering his entire upper back.

  The man struggled to his feet and turned, giving Jaire a clear view of his face. A face Jaire knew well, though he’d never seen it like this, alive, solid, and real.

  “Vayne!” Jaire launched himself at the ghost-dragon-prince.

  Vayne caught him in his arms. “I feel you… gods, Jaire, I feel you…”

  “I’m sorry,” Jaire whimpered, clinging tightly, hardly able to believe Vayne was really here in the room with him. “Oh, Vayne, I thought I’d killed you!”

  “Shh. It’s all right. You didn’t hurt me, Jaire, you freed me.”

  When Jaire lifted his head to look at him, Vayne’s dark eyes were shimmering with tears. The dragon-prince cupped Jaire’s face in his hands and whispered, “I haven’t touched anyone in so long…”

  Eyes as dark as night met his own, and time froze. Vayne leaned in closer, and Jaire held his breath as Vayne’s lips brushed his forehead gently and then pressed briefly against his own lips, warm and soft, and oh, so alive.

  Then Vayne was pulling him back into his arms and hugging him hard. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and thick. “For taking a chance, even though you were afraid.”

  “I… I didn’t think it had worked,” Jaire said, voice shaking. “The amulet shattered and then… I waited, but nothing happened. I couldn’t stand to see… I collected up the shards and tipped them out the window…”

  “Ah. That would explain why I ended up at the bottom of the tower. It was so foggy, I thought at first I’d been thrown back into the mythe, but then I smelled the clean mountain air, and I knew I was free.”

  “Are you really all right?”

  “I felt a bit wobbly and strange at first, but the shift seems to have taken care of that.”

  “But… but why did it take so long?”

  “It didn’t seem long for me. I’ve told you time runs differently in the mythe.”

  Jaire drew back to look at him. “You’re beautiful,” he said shyly. “You… your dragon form, I mean.” His cheeks grew hot, and he added, “The rest of you, too.”

  Vayne’s lips curved in a smile, and he reached out to cup Jaire’s cheek in his palm again. “As are you,” he whispered.

  Before Jaire could answer, a hoarse cry came from the next room.

  “Kian!” Jaire turned and ran to the bedroom to find Kian thrashing about on the bed, caught up in a nightmare of some sort.

  “Here, let me.” Vayne’s voice came from behind him.

  Jaire stepped aside to give him room, and Vayne rested a hand on Kian’s head. While Vayne checked on Kian, Jaire went across the hall to his own room and pulled one of the blankets from his bed.

  By the time he returned, Kian had quieted, and Vayne was drawing back, his expression grim. Vayne accepted the offered blanket, pulling it over his shoulders before saying quietly, “They raped his mind. He fears he’s betrayed everyone he loves.”

  “I know,” Jaire murmured. “He told me. I said… I said if it was anyone’s fault, it was mine. For not looking where I was going.”

  “No, Jaire.” Vayne shook his head firmly. “Faah and the Council have been plotting this for some time. If you hadn’t fallen into Faah’s hands when you did, they’d have found some other way to get your brother off the throne. You just happened to be convenient.”

  Jaire felt numb. “And the best leverage they could have found,” he said bitterly. “Garrik would give up far more than a throne for me.” Tears burned his eyes, but before the first one could fall, Vayne gathered him into his arms and held him close.

  * * *

  “…and Kian said the Council is sending more Drachan to Altan.” Jaire leaned heavily against Vayne as he spoke, arms snaking around him, blanket and all. “They’re going to hunt down Ambris, and they’re going to remove Garrik from the throne. And I can’t even warn him.”

  The depths of Jaire’s despair hit Vayne deep inside, in a place he hadn’t known existed; a place no one had ever touched before. He rubbed Jaire’s back with one hand and said softly, “No, but I can.”

  Jaire jerked in his arms and pulled away, eyes suddenly bright with hope. “Ai, you can fly. But… do you even know where we are?”

  “Not exactly,” Vayne said grimly. “But from the look of those mountains, I’d guess we’re somewhere in the Iceshards. South will take me into one of the northern kingdoms, and once I can see the shapes of the mountains and rivers, I should be able to get my bearings.”

  “You need to rest before you leave. Escaping the mythe after being trapped for so long… it’s got to be a shock. And if they’re using mythe-gates to move back and forth, there’s no way of knowing how long a flight it will be.”

  Much as Vayne hated to admit it, Jaire was right. In the mythe, he’d never needed to rest or replenish himself in any way. Now, despite his excitement at being free, his body craved sleep. His vision blurred, and his mind buzzed with fatigue. All he wanted was to creep off into a dark corner and close his eyes.

  And yet… time was so short.

  Jaire’s life and his brother’s throne hung in the balance, and Vayne might be the only one with the power to tip the scales in their favor.

  “It’s no good if you collapse halfway there,” Jaire said. “At least wait until it’s dark. Hopefully, no one saw you come in, but we especially don’t want anyone to see you leaving.”

  “I don’t think there’s anyone here to see,” Vayne said. “They come in through a mythe-gate, and leave when the
y’ve finished. Nobody’s actually stationed here.”

  “Wait until dark anyway,” Jaire insisted. “You need to rest.”

  “Ai,” Vayne said with a sigh. “Urgent as it is to get warning to your brother, you’re right. My chances of making it there would be much improved if I could get some sleep.”

  “And food. They’ve probably left lunch by now.”

  “They won’t have left enough for three.”

  “You’ll eat my share,” Jaire said firmly. “I’d give up more than a day’s food if it means you can reach Garrik in time for him to stop them. Anyway, you need it far more than I do.” He caught Vayne’s hand in his — his hand, in Jaire’s, warm and alive — and for a moment, all Vayne could do was hold on tight and struggle to swallow the lump forming in his throat.

  Then Jaire was tugging him away from Kian’s side and through the bathing chamber to his own room. “Get in and get comfortable,” he said, pointing to the bed. “I’ll go and see what they’ve left us to eat.”

  Vayne sank down on the bed, marveling at the softness of it. Sleep tugged at his mind, more insistent this time. With a rueful smile, Vayne realized that he hadn’t slept in well over two centuries. Would his body even remember how?

  While Jaire was gone, he took the opportunity to sink his awareness down into his own mythe-shadow. All was as it should be, which was… disturbing. How was it possible that he had existed in the mythe for so long, and yet found his body in the same state it had been in when his father had first hidden him?

  “I wish I had something better to offer you. The first meal you eat in two hundred and fifty years ought to be something spectacular.”

  Jaire’s voice startled him out of his examination, and Vayne pulled the blanket tighter about his shoulders. The plate Jaire carried was piled high with cheese, meat, and half a loaf of bread.

  “Tasting anything will be spectacular enough.” Vayne’s mouth was already watering at the prospect. “And after so long, it’s probably best to start with simple fare. I have to wonder how my body will react to food, after going without for so long.”

  Jaire set the plate on the little table beside the bed, and Vayne reached for a chunk of cheese. He bit back a moan as his teeth sank into it. The sharp tangy flavor burst on his tongue and unfurled as the morsel crumbled against the roof of his mouth like crushed velvet. The flavor… the texture… he’d forgotten food had texture. Vayne’s eyes drifted shut as he slowly chewed, savoring every moment.

  “Your face,” Jaire murmured.

  “What?” Vayne opened his eyes.

  “You look like…” Jaire’s mouth curved in a devastating smile, and his lovely grey eyes twinkled with mischief. “Like that’s the first thing you’ve tasted in two hundred and fifty years.”

  Laughter welled up in Vayne’s chest and spilled out, shaking his shoulders.

  He took his time over the rest of the meal, remarking on the texture of the bread, the lingering warmth, and the still-crunchy crust. When he tasted the first bit of cold meat, he closed his eyes in rapture.

  “The food has been rather good, considering we’re imprisoned,” Jaire remarked. “I think it’s probably coming straight from Falkrag’s kitchen.”

  Vayne ate every scrap and then stretched out on the bed. He’d forgotten just how satisfying it was to eat one’s fill.

  “Now go to sleep for a bit.” Jaire picked up the empty plate. “I’ll be back to check on you later.”

  “Wake me at sunset,” Vayne said. “I’d like to leave just after nightfall.”

  Jaire hesitated at the door. “Is there anything I should do for Kian?”

  “With any luck, he’ll sleep through until morning,” Vayne said. “But I’ll have another look at him before I leave.”

  * * *

  Jaire found the main room of his prison rather lonely, with both Vayne and Kian fast asleep, and it wasn’t long before he crept back into the bedroom.

  He edged quietly toward the bed and stared down at the ghost-prince — no, dragon-prince — or… was Vayne even a prince anymore?

  What would Ord think if he showed up and presented himself? Was there any sort of protocol regarding the reintroduction of a prince who’d been trapped in the mythe for hundreds of years?

  Jaire found his lips twitching as he tried to imagine the ever-so-proper Master Ristan struggling to determine the correct form of address. His former tutor would likely be scandalized to hear Jaire calling Vayne by his first name, without honorific or title.

  Prince of Irilan or not, Vayne relaxed in sleep was a lovely sight. His hair was blue-black rather than pitch-black, like Garrik’s, and much longer. His skin had an olive tone to it, and was quite a bit darker than Jaire’s pale, almost milky complexion. All in all, Jaire thought he was much more handsome in person than as a ghost.

  Jaire settled himself on the bed beside Vayne. He intended to simply drink in the sight of him, whole and in the flesh at last, but Jaire hadn’t been sleeping well, and between the soft bedding and the warm body beside him, it wasn’t long before he drifted off.

  He woke with a start to feel a hand gently stroking his hair. Vayne was watching him, a soft, dreamy expression on his face. The last rays of the sun poured into the room, bathing him in golden light. Midnight blue, that was the color of Vayne’s eyes, not the black Jaire had originally thought, and the way they fixed on him was…

  Without thinking, Jaire reached out to press his palm to Vayne’s cheek, then, realizing how rude that might be, made to snatch his hand back. He wasn’t quite fast enough. Vayne caught his hand and drew it slowly toward his mouth, dark eyes fixed on Jaire’s.

  Jaire’s heart pounded in his ears, and his skin felt hot and cold all at the same time. Still holding his hand, Vayne pressed a gentle kiss to his palm.

  A little shiver of heat moved through Jaire, and every nerve in his body woke up and caught fire. “You… you look…” The words lodged in his throat.

  Vayne’s full lips curved in a smile. He kissed Jaire’s palm again, and then the sensitive skin of his wrist, eyes never leaving Jaire’s face.

  Throwing caution to the wind, Jaire leaned closer and pressed a kiss to Vayne’s mouth. Vayne’s arm snaked around him, and then Jaire was drowning in a kiss that went on and on forever. The walls of his prison disappeared, and for a few brief moments, Jaire forgot everything but the man who held him.

  Vayne broke the kiss and pulled away, desire and regret both simmering in his dark eyes. “I wish we had more time,” he said softly. “But I dare not linger.”

  Reality came crashing back, and Jaire nodded solemnly. “We’ll have all the time we want, when this is over.” If it’s ever over.

  Vayne rolled off the bed, leaving the blanket behind. He raised his arms up over his head and indulged in a long stretch. Jaire couldn’t take his eyes off of him. Vayne wasn’t all big muscles like Kian, but he wasn’t all skin and bones, like Jaire, either. Jaire’s eyes traveled over the muscles in Vayne’s back, his intriguing dragon tattoo, and his trim waist, and he found himself wishing he were back home in his own suite, with Vayne in his bed.

  “Aio’s teeth, it feels good to stretch,” Vayne said, turning to look at Jaire.

  “It looks nice, too,” Jaire said, managing a shy smile, though he knew his face was burning.

  One dark eyebrow lifted, and Jaire’s eyes slowly traveled over Vayne’s body, ending up fixed on the half-hard cock resting against thick, blue-black curls.

  “I’d very much like to do more than look.” Jaire got up off the bed and moved toward Vayne, but remained just out of reach. Though his fingers itched to touch, he dared not. “But if I did, I fear I’d never be able to let you leave.”

  “Hold this moment in your mind,” Vayne said, dragging the blanket off the bed and wrapping himself up again. “For I surely will. At the first possible opportunity, we will take up where we’ve left off.”

  “What, with a kiss?” Jaire said with a laugh.

  “No,” V
ayne said, closing the distance between them with a single step. He caught hold of Jaire’s chin and tilted his face up so Jaire was staring directly into his eyes. “With a promise.”

  The kiss didn’t last nearly long enough. When Vayne finally pulled away, Jaire pressed his fingers to his lips, wishing he could capture the moment and hold it close to his heart forever.

  Vayne’s eyes lingered on his for a long moment before he said, “I should check on Kian before I leave.”

  Jaire followed him across the hall and waited while Vayne took a seat on the edge of the bed and laid a hand on Kian’s brow. The dragon-prince’s eyes got that far-off look Jaire was so used to seeing on Ilya’s face when he was focusing on a healing.

  It wasn’t long before Vayne stood and shook himself like a dog shedding water. “He should wake in the next hour or so.”

  “Will he… I mean… will he be all right? How much were you able to do for him?”

  “Not as much as I’d like,” Vayne said. “As I told you, he wasn’t physically injured, but whoever interrogated him was brutal. They hurt him, and they made sure he knew exactly what they took from him. I’ve blurred his memories of the interrogation, so the pain will seem more distant, but… he’ll still remember it was done, and he’ll know what he told them.”

  “The worst of it is he’s convinced he betrayed Ambris and Garrik. I told him it wasn’t his fault, but…”

  “And his guilt will be as strong as ever, I’m afraid,” Vayne said softly. “I cannot change that. But if I can get to Altan before Faah gets his Drachan in place, perhaps there will be no reason for him to feel guilty.”

  “If Faah’s using mythe-gates to move around, he might already be in Altan,” Jaire said darkly.

  “Ai. Which is why I must leave immediately.”

  “Have you rested long enough?” Jaire searched his face for signs of strain. He wished he was as adept at reading mythe-shadows as Master Ilya, but all Jaire could do was sense emotions, and at the moment, all he was getting from Vayne was a sense of urgency tinged with regret.