No Man Can Tame

by Miranda Honfleur

  And to her, now, the thought—of kissing him—

  She sucked in a breath.

  It didn’t fill her with repugnance or discomfort.

  It didn’t unsettle her.

  It—

  She shook her head. This wasn’t why she’d led him here. “People fear the unknown.”

  He blinked, those eyebrows still drawn together.

  “The people need to see us up close,” she said, repeating Giuliana’s wisdom. “It makes us real, creates connection, gives us the chance to… show them who we truly are… or who we want to be.”

  The breeze picked up, and a lock of hair wisped across her face, but supple leather grazed her cheek as he tucked it behind her ear with a gloved hand.

  “Alessandra,” he said softly, his brow creased, “it’s not the same. The people don’t want us to be real. It’s why we cover ourselves.”

  She took his hand. “But you are real. And the nightmares we imagine behind the masks and the hoods are more terrifying than the reality.”

  He grinned, but then suppressed it. “More terrifying?”

  “That is…”

  That pale eyebrow quirked again, and she laughed.

  “You know what I’m trying to say!” She averted her gaze as her cheeks warmed. “Our people are more alike than they are different, and once the reality is known, there won’t be as much to fear. Nor anything to fear, I hope.”

  He tilted his head, working his jaw. “What do you suggest?”

  “No masks. No hoods. You’re distributing food and coin, so let the people associate that with your looks. Smile—”

  He did, exposing those longer, sharp fangs.

  “—but maybe not too broadly,” she said, wincing, receiving a huff in reply. “And if people give us flowers, bouquets, take them. It’s hard to fear anything covered in flowers.”

  “Sound logic,” he said, a smile still on his lips as he squeezed her hand. “But the gloves stay on.”

  She hadn’t realized she’d still been holding his hand. “Why—”

  He let her go, and the smile faded. “Because I hurt you,” he whispered, and swallowed. “I—we—might not yet possess the awareness required not to hurt anyone else… anyone human, and avoiding any—”

  “Accidents,” she provided.

  “—would be for the best.”

  “Veron,” she said gently, “you didn’t mean it.”

  “Not everyone will be so understanding.”

  As much as she wanted to, there was no arguing that. Not when people like Tarquin were looking for excuses to dehumanize Immortali like the dark-elves. “We’ll need to show a united front. Hold hands, smile at each other, stay in close proximity—that kind of thing.”

  “Like this?” A deep, low murmur. He glanced from himself to her and back again. “Pretend a deeper intimacy?”

  Her cheeks warming, she nodded. Pretend. That’s what this was, after all.

  The world knew so little of dark-elf culture that maybe the pretense wouldn’t be held to Sileni standards. She hoped. But for a few moments in the public’s eye, they could be like players on a stage and pretend affection for each other, couldn’t they?

  “Very well.” Excusing himself, he spoke to the sharp-eyed guard, who acknowledged him and then headed toward the cavalcade. The other two remained behind while Veron offered her his arm.

  She took it, keenly aware of his thick forearm and thicker bicep, of his broad shoulders and towering figure, of his summer-storm scent and the shiver it stroked up her back.

  It excited her.

  He excited her. A dark-elf. What on earth…?

  No, the last thing she needed would be to fall for her dark-elf husband—and end up a trophy his mother would lock deep inside a cave somewhere. It would be the life Papà had always wanted for her, the life she could never stand to live. She’d never see Mamma’s library realized, nor live her dream.

  And worse, Veron didn’t find her attractive. This was all still pretense for him, wasn’t it? Developing genuine feelings for him would be…

  She bit her lip.

  No, they both had roles to play today, and that was all. They’d have to garner a positive response from the paesani during the entry, as well as the promise of friendship from the duchessa and the support of the nobiltà tonight at the banquet. She’d see Paladin Grand Cordon Nunzio there and discuss her plans for the library.

  It would all go perfectly.

  It had to.

  Veron went utterly still next to her.

  She froze, too. Holy Mother’s mercy, not dragons again. This time, they would—

  “Alessandra,” he whispered, and leaned in, tipping his head slowly toward the heart of the forest.

  She followed his line of sight, where something so impossibly immaculate hid among the pines. With a coat of pure white, it was a large, four-legged creature not unlike the enormous horse Veron rode, but with a long, flowing snow-white mane and tail, and with a pointed, spiraling horn peaking from its forehead. It bobbed its head, eyeing them with gentle, sable eyes.

  Mamma used to read a book of myths to her when she’d been little, and this was—this was a unicorn. Gentle creatures devoted to peace and serenity. “We didn’t scare it away,” she whispered.

  “He wants to be seen,” Veron answered softly. “We’ve entered his domain, and he is greeting us. They normally stay hidden, keep to themselves, but something compelled him to emerge.”

  Greeting them? “How do you know?”

  “Noc,” he said, keeping his eyes on the unicorn. “He’s a fey horse, a being not too different from him”—he nodded toward the unicorn—“and Noc has told me many things.”

  “Told?” she asked, and the unicorn tossed its head and swished its tail.

  Veron’s horse told him things?

  He eyed her peripherally, a glimmer in his eyes. “I suppose you haven’t been properly introduced. We’ll have to remedy that,” he said, a corner of his mouth turned up. “But like fey horses, unicorns are descended from the shapeshifting dragons. They once were dragons. Dragon Lords have guided other beings, often with a heavy hand, bending them to obedience, controlling them so they wouldn’t err.

  “But there was a group of pacifists among the dragons who dreamed of a world where every being would be treated like every other, and when at last they voiced their protests to the Dragon King, he cast them out of his kingdom. He took all memory of dragon society, and how to Change into a dragon, and gave them the shape you see. They wished to live peacefully and not to wage war, not to control others, and he made them so.”

  The Dragon King cast out his people, punished them, simply for disagreeing with him?

  “What about their dream?” she whispered.

  His gaze fixed on the unicorn, he drew his eyebrows together. “One day, you might ask them. Young unicorns must Change with the fullness of the moon and take the form of other lesser beings, but older, stronger ones—if they choose—can Change as they will, even turn other lesser beings, but only the purest of heart. Just like any shapeshifter, if they survive the fever, they become an Immortal.” When she gasped, he smiled at her. “But what do you think?”

  She watched as the unicorn blinked long lashes at her before snorting quietly and turning to disappear into the forest. He’d trusted them, enough to face away, and that meant a lot.

  Thank you. I pray we meet again.

  “I think… I think when terrible things happen, it’s easier to do nothing. I’m sure they knew the likely costs, but they did a hard thing, a brave thing.”

  A gentle breeze blew, swept Veron’s pale hair as he looked at her, eyelids drawn, a subtle smile playing about his lips.

  If this was pretense, then he was the world’s best player.

  At the city’s gates, Veron sat taller astride his horse as Riza presented their documents, provided by King Macario himself. Beyond the gate, distant crowds were already gathering, and massive tapestries hung from buildings lining the
main thoroughfare.

  He’d already briefed Riza on Alessandra’s idea; he had only to give a sign, and everyone in the cavalcade would remove their hoods and masks. For the wedding, he’d gone unmasked… but only in the presence of some of the human nobles. Not out among the general human public. It wasn’t the dark-elf way.

  He shifted his feet in the stirrups, his boots too tight over the bridge of his foot.

  Calm, Noc teased.

  The calmest, he mocked in reply.

  Noc’s tail smacked his back. Swatting flies.

  Of course, he thought with a grimace.

  But for this peace to work, the humans couldn’t fear them. Alessandra’s idea was smart, and he never would have thought of it himself; had she been a dark-elf, any queen would have been fortunate to have her among her Quorum. He’d trust her in this.

  Next to him, she had her shoulders back, her chin raised, a pleasant smile on her lips. Confidence, composure, joy. That was what she projected.

  And he—he had to be nonthreatening. Peace, sincerity, altruism. An open, relaxed bearing. Making brief but genuine eye contact. Subtle—not fanged—smiles. He and the rest of his entourage would distribute food and coins.

  As harmless as that was, every dark-elf would be watchful for Tarquin Belmonte and the Brotherhood. They wouldn’t mount an assault in a human city—of that he was certain. The city was surrounded by open plains but for cliffs to the west. No sane commander would lead his troops down those steep cliffs to be picked off by the city’s archers.

  But there were other options besides full-scale assault.

  The city guards opened the gates. Riza’s gaze met his, and with a nod, he slowly removed his mask, and then his hood. It was time.

  Riza signaled to Danika, and then did the same, and there was a rustling of leathers and wool behind them.

  None of the city guards started—one gawked, but only for a moment—so Deep, Darkness, and Holy Ulsinael willing, this would work.

  Danika and her unit preceded him and Alessandra, distributing boules and confections to the first families crowding the route. Eyes wide, they looked over him and his people, mouths gaping—but only for a moment before Alessandra waved.

  “Terra’s blessings upon you!” she called, her voice sweet but carrying far. She’d mentioned the piety of Stroppiata; the Terran shrine here was famous.

  “And upon you!” came the shouted replies.

  A woman raised a little boy bearing a bouquet of white flowers, and at Gavri’s nod, Alessandra accepted them with a smile, handing out gold coins to beaming people.

  As she brought the white blooms to her face and inhaled, cheers rose up from the crowd, more densely packed the farther in they rode. Behind the front lines, heads popped up over shoulders, gazes locking on Alessandra’s face, her gown, him, his fellow dark-elves. The wide-eyed shock was ephemeral, quickly chased away by grins, laughter, and cheers as he distributed gold coins.

  Danika and her unit stayed in formation, gently guiding the crowd back. Tossed flowers graced the path before them, a welcoming carpet leading them toward the castle in the city’s northern district.

  “Veron,” she said, like the softest moss feathering down the back of his neck, like warm breath on his skin, and he faced her.

  Her eyes were the dark embrace of home, the bloom of night and beauty of shadow, and when she smiled, his breath caught.

  She held out the bouquet, and when he took it, her touch lingered on his hand. “Nothing to fear,” she whispered, for him and him alone.

  With a nod, he smiled back, but restrained it before his teeth would show. No teeth. Nonthreatening.

  A little girl with dark curls like Alessandra’s squealed her delight, and Alessandra unclasped her pearl bracelet and handed it to Kinga, another of his kuvari, to give away. With a happy little laugh.

  No, she wasn’t spoiled. Her father had adorned her with luxury, but she didn’t seem to hoard these things.

  She called out to Gabriella, who removed several books from her horse’s pack, and distributed them to older children.

  Alessandra’s fondness of books—he’d have to note it in A Modern History of Silen.

  She didn’t look like the fiercest dark-elf women, the ones young men dreamed of—equals in battle, ambitious subjects, the strongest among their people. Fiery lovers. But…

  Honest, generous, wise, brave, kind… That anyone should find such traits in a partner was a blessing. One he’d never expected. All he’d been allowed to expect had been a marriage Mati deemed beneficial to Nozva Rozkveta. As was proper.

  In the forest, Alessandra had been close, her perfume of some sky-realm flower so near he could’ve almost tasted it. Her fingers had stroked against his hair, a whisper of a touch, and he’d had to fight the desire to lean into it. As his heart had pounded then, there had been something in that dark embrace of her gaze. A curiosity. A question. An invitation…

  One he’d been tempted to accept. Very tempted.

  But did she feel the same? After her utter terror on their wedding night, he wouldn’t push. If he misread her, it would only frighten her more, and trouble her. If the gap between them was closing, however, someone would have to broach the subject, admit the shift in perception. And it would be him. He’d have to confess his budding attraction to her first. And he would. No hiding. No dishonesty.

  The final time he’d seen Ata, he’d only been a boy, not even old enough to go hunting alone with his father. Can’t I come, Ata? he’d asked.

  Ata had crouched to eye level, smiled, and patted him on the shoulder. Not this time, son. But I’ll be back before you know it.

  With a beaming grin and a nod, he’d watched Ata walk to his death. To end the war between Nozva Rozkveta and Lumia, Ata had willingly turned himself over, and had saved many dark-elf lives with his sacrifice, but he’d betrayed the love of his own children, of Mati. The stillness Mati had gone through, like living death… all because Ata had betrayed their love when he could have—

  Dangerdangerdanger. Noc’s fey-horse mind invaded his own.

  Shadows cloaked them as they neared an arch, and he could still hear the flap of funeral shrouds, vast and heavy, the beat of each shake—

  And gasps, horrified screams—

  He blinked, and the flapping came from above, the beat of great, black wings that blotted out the sun.

  Chapter 10

  Enormous wings spanned fifteen feet wide above them, two dozen harpies with too-wide mouths and razor-sharp talons.

  A few swarmed the top of the arch, while the rest dove for the crowds. The humans would be slaughtered. Alessandra would—

  “My bow!” Veron leaped off Noc’s back and pulled Alessandra from the saddle, wrapping his cloak about her as the crowd dispersed in screams.

  “Veron, why are they—”

  A harpy swooped low, talons out, and Alessandra screamed. He shielded her. Nothing would harm her. Nothing.

  Gavri rushed in, drew her bow, and the first harpy wailed as it hit the cobblestones before them.

  “Hide anything that shines!” Riza bellowed in Sileni. Someone handed her his bow and a quiver full of arrows, which she tossed to him.

  “Shines?” Alessandra shouted, ducking along with Gabriella.

  Gavri’s unit ringed them while Danika’s covered the crowd ahead of them, and he shuffled Alessandra and Gabriella behind him to the narrowest point of the alley as he took aim.

  One through the neck. Down on the cobbles.

  Another in the eye, and arrows pierced its wings as it fell.

  Riza’s kuvari cut heads with vjernost blades—the only way to ensure the final death—and the arcanir caught the sunlight. Sharp, screeching cries pierced the air.

  He took aim, burying arrows in wings and bodies, but—

  Noc bucked, then kicked at a harpy—coins jingling in his saddlebags.

  No.

  “The coins!” Alessandra called. “If we could just—”

  Get the
m on the street.

  “Gavri,” he snapped, taking his glove between his teeth and yanking it off. “Cover me!”

  As soon as he sprang forward, arrows hissed through the air above him.

  “Your Highness!” Riza growled, her vjernost blade meeting talons.

  Hold still. He caught Noc’s reins, then cut the girth free. The saddle and its bags tumbled to the street as he clapped Noc on the rump, sending him to Gavri and Alessandra.

  Blood rained onto his head and neck—a harpy thudded to the cobbles, an arrow in its gaping maw.

  He grabbed the bag of coins, opened it, then tossed it to the empty street ahead of them. Gold exploded on the stone in a chaos of clanging and clinks, bright sunlight glinting off hundreds of shining facets.

  A dozen harpies descended over the glittering metallic sea.

  Over fifty bows angled as one, myriad arrows burying in shrieking targets. Riza gave the kill order, and vjernost blades cut heads from bodies.

  Booted footsteps hurried in. Two squads of city guards, whose commander Riza met with a blood-spattered scowl and recounting of the attack.

  He wiped the blood off his own face… with a blood-soaked sleeve.

  Hooves clopped behind him—Noc neighed his location as Alessandra led him.

  She was all right. Thank the Deep, Darkness, and Holy Ulsinael—she was all right. At the first sign of the harpies, he thought she’d…

  A sigh left him and, with it, the rigidity claiming his body. He took a step forward before she held out a handkerchief.

  He paused. What had he been thinking? To throw his arms around her, feel her safe against him, to kiss her? No, he had to tell her how he felt first.

  With a murmur of thanks, he took it and swabbed his face, then patted Noc’s neck. Thank you for the warning, old friend.

  Noc only nickered. He always had been a fey horse of few words.

  City guards combed the streets, although there seemed to be no human casualties. A couple kuvari nursed wounds, but Riza already had their mystic, Xira, tending them.

  The commander of the city guards, wearing a mermaid emblem, approached. A middle-aged man with graying black hair, he bowed low to Alessandra. “Your Highnesses, have you been harmed?”