by Shea Godfrey
“Something is happening,” Bentley answered quietly. “We’ve all been witness to more majik in the past half year than ever before. There is war in Lyoness, and soon, there’ll be war in Arravan. Whether our friends ride for the Kistanbal Mountains or Karballa, I don’t know. But the armies of Arravan will ride, make no doubt about it. War is coming.” He sat back a little. “And so when I saw the wolf pelt, I thought…” Bentley tried to put his words into order.
“You thought what?” Tobe prompted in a kind voice.
“I thought…I thought that Jessa has twelve brothers.”
“And we are twelve,” Orlando said. “Though it will be eleven now, with Joaquin dead. You’re not the first of us to see that.”
“Aye,” Matthias agreed. “All of it, it’s like a great stew of trouble.”
“Marteen murdered at the foot of the throne,” Etienne said.
“And that fucking shriveled cock, Malcolm,” Arkady added, his quiet voice touched with warning. “They aren’t safe, not a one of them at Blackstone.”
“And now the gods leave gifts,” Matty the Younger said, looking a bit startled.
Bentley looked to the entrance at the opposite end of the room, and he sat a bit straighter in his chair. “Hiyah,” he whispered.
Hinsa bent easily about the half-open door and padded into the hall, walking sleekly into the light as every man at the table followed Bentley’s gaze.
She quickened her step for several strides and then leaped, landing upon the surface of the long table in an easy manner. Her fur was golden and flecked, and she bore several wounds upon her left side. They did not seem to trouble the great cat as she padded along the table. Her claws brushed softly upon the wood until she found the spot she wanted, lying down in a splash of sun as it spread across the oak planks.
“Gamar’s balls,” Etienne said with a smile.
“I think she doesn’t like being left out of things.” Arkady set his hand within a few inches of Hinsa’s front paw, and the golden mountain panther craned her neck forward. She sprayed his hand with moisture as she sniffed.
“So no more sitting on our backsides, and eating Lady Abagail’s berry pies,” Lucien said, his eyes warm as he looked at Hinsa.
“It’s time we made ourselves ready,” Bentley agreed. “When Darry gives the word, she’ll want to go. I’d like us to be ready before she asks us to please hurry up.”
There was laughter.
Orlando’s hazel eyes were bright as he looked down the table. “I’ll see to the food stores we’ll need, and Tobe and I will salt and smoke what we can. We should have plenty to travel on, no matter which direction we take.”
“I’ll speak with Master Kenna about the horses. We’ll need twice the number we have now, and then we’ll choose the best. I’ll see to the wagons, as well,” Theroux replied.
“I’ll help with that,” Jemin said.
“We need to see to the estate,” Arkady added. “Matty and Sybok, you’re with me. When you’re not in the practice yard, we shall see to the needs of the staff and the estate itself. They’ve gotten used to our help. The stores must be full for winter—everything we can do to make things easier for our people here, needs to be done.”
There was a pause and Orlando smiled. “We have a home now.”
He was not the only one who enjoyed the words, and Matthias reached out with his left hand and brushed the backs of his fingers upon Orlando’s clean-shaven cheek. “Aye,” he said softly.
Bentley grinned. “We’ll need armor, and plenty of it to go around. We have what we brought from Blackstone, but it’s not much, and Darry’s will have to be altered again. She’s gotten leaner.”
“And she keeps getting faster.” Matty the Younger smiled.
Matthias set his hand upon the shoulder of Lucas Kilkenny, who sat to his right.
“Aye, Matthias. We’ll fill the armory with everything we can,” Lucas chimed in. “There was a fair amount there to begin with, but most of it was used for defense, spears and pikes and broadswords, some cudgels and shields. Good weapons, but not what we’re used to, and not what we’ll need. I’ll take as much hide as you can find, and as much steel as we can lay our hands on. There’s a tinker in Ballentrae who should have quite a bit, and he’ll know where we can find more. I don’t want to draw attention, though.”
“Perhaps a trip to Marban might be in order,” Bentley suggested. “Let’s get things started first, take an inventory, and then decide what’s needed. Etienne, you’re with me. Let’s you and me keep things at a hard pace. Are we all agreed?”
“Aye,” Tobe answered for all, after looking about the table.
“What about dinner?” Sybok asked. “Are will still having dinner?”
“Bloody hell, boy.” Lucien laughed with the others, his hand swatting lightly at the back of the young man’s head. “Pace yourself.”
“Plenty of arrows, Lucas, if you please,” Orlando requested as he leaned forward to catch his attention. “And no more of your bloody chicken feathers.”
Matthias groaned. “Not with the chicken feathers, again, Lando, please.”
Orlando’s brow went up. “What? What did I say?”
Their laughter filled the room and Hinsa lifted her face into the sunlight.
Chapter Eleven
Jessa sat up with a start and flipped her curls back.
The fire in the hearth was low, and the air was heavy with darkness as she threw off the covers and pushed from the bed. She grabbed the nearest shirt and shrugged it on, doing up the buttons as she went. A taper had been lit atop one of the bureaus, but not the lamp. “Akasha?”
Movement stirred upon the divan and Hinsa stared back at her across the distance, panting beside the stag’s hide, her tongue pink in the firelight.
“Biscuit,” Jessa said and went to her, kneeling down beside the divan. Hinsa’s body was hot as she leaned her heavy head against Jessa’s arm, and Jessa kissed the side of her face several times. Hinsa’s body vibrated with a rumble of sound that moved along her throat, subdued and almost mournful. “What is it, my sweet?”
“Jess?”
Jessa turned at Darry’s voice.
“I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Jessa kissed Hinsa’s forehead and rubbed at her ears briefly before she pushed to her feet and made her way back across the room. Jessa smiled as Darry stood in nothing but a pair of half-buttoned trousers, looking vulnerable and wild at the same time.
“What are you doing, Akasha?”
“I was thirsty.”
Darry reached out for her as she neared, and Jessa stepped into her lover’s arms, her touch delicate as she took Darry’s face in her hands. Darry leaned down and Jessa opened her mouth to a hot-blooded kiss of greeting. Her hands slipped into Darry’s curls and she pulled closer, her pulse reacting to the heady taste.
Darry ended their kiss in a languid manner. “I had a strange dream,” she whispered. “The room behind the stacks in the Queen’s Library”—Jessa’s heart skipped as a heavy line of blood ran from Darry’s right nostril—“was filled with light, and there was—”
Darry looked startled as Jessa wiped at the blood with her thumb. “My love, come back to bed now, yes?” Darry’s eyes lifted to hers and Jessa’s heart beat oddly yet again. Darry’s pupils had eclipsed nearly all of the color in her eyes. She felt the skin of Darry’s cheek, and then wiped at Darry’s lips as a fresh line of blood slipped down. “Please, Akasha.”
“Were you missing me?”
Jessa slipped her arm about Darry’s waist, her embrace both tender and possessive. “Yes,” she whispered. “Since the day I was born, actually.”
Darry let herself be led, and without argument she sat upon the edge of the bed. Jessa kissed her cheek and grabbed a handkerchief from the side table. Darry took it and pressed it to her nose as she tipped her head back. Jessa examined the skin about Darry’s facial wounds, and though it was swollen and bruised, it was not infected. With a gentle touc
h she turned Darry at the shoulder and checked her back, her fingers light as they skated along the wounds. The long claw marks would forever mark Darry’s smooth skin, but they would not be deep scars and they were not infected.
Darry readjusted the handkerchief. “I’ve been a bit of trouble lately—I’m sorry, Jess.”
Jessa sat beside her and smiled, a potent rush of love filling her chest. “No, my love, you are my greatest adventure.” She set a hand upon the center of Darry’s chest and Darry’s skin was hot to the touch. “You heal faster than I have ever seen, but you have a fever, Akasha.” Jessa could feel the Cha-Diah majik all around her. “Let me see this, please.” She took the stained handkerchief with a gentle touch. No new blood flowed, but Darry’s eyes had changed, a rim of color bright in her green eye but not her blue. Once again, Darry’s majik was uncontained and running an unknown course that she had no way of preparing for. “Lie down,” she whispered.
Darry obeyed, her movements slow and somewhat heavy. Jessa brought the sheet over and then the blanket as she sat upon the edge of the bed. Darry lifted her right arm out and Hinsa slid from the divan and padded across the room. She leaped onto the bed and turned in a tight circle before she tucked her powerful body against Darry’s.
Jessa could see the faint runes in the air as they came together, and she pulled her hand away in a stilted manner. It was a flash and scattering of light, partial runes caught in her sight that disappeared just as quickly as they had arrived. She pushed through her caution, laid her hand upon Darry’s arm, and slid her touch along the strength she loved so well. “What was in the room behind the stacks?”
Darry’s smile was lovely. “I’m not sure, but there was laughter,” Darry whispered. Jessa waited, and she could feel Hinsa’s purr through the feather bed. “Emmalyn was laughing…”
Jessa watched as they fell asleep, and she remembered the words of warning spoken by the Vhaelin. Her blood is not the blood of the Fox People. There is terrible danger for her.
“The Cha-Diah are the Fox People,” Jessa said in understanding. She had never heard their name before, and she realized then that only their majik had retained its identity through the many centuries. The Fox People had died away, but the Cha-Diah power had lived on. Through Hinsa, and those like her, wherever they may be.
Jessa was most decidedly awake, and her attention was drawn to the divan with a great deal of focus.
She stood and moved, glancing at the fire as she covered the distance. The flames burst with renewed light and energy and the sitting area filled with its glow. She took hold of the stag’s hide and let it unroll as she threw her arms out, her grip fierce upon the nearest edge. It dropped to the floor in a solid manner and Jessa spoke softly as she held her right hand out. The small ball of witchlight swirled and formed tightly, floating into the air above the tanned pelt.
The runes were burned into the smooth surface, blackened and clean despite the uneven nature of the coat. She dropped to her knees and bent over the writing, her hand careful as it skated just above the glyphs. They were the runes from Hinsa’s portal, and they were the runes that had fallen from Darry’s hair. They were the runes of the Fox People.
Jessa’s eyes narrowed and her fingers moved beside the nearest symbol, tracing the shadow image that was burned beside it. The witchlight that hovered overhead brightened.
“High Vhaelin,” she said aloud, truly startled. Her pulse quickened with excitement and wonder. “This is High Vhaelin,” she
repeated. “Shivasa!”
Each rune had been given a shadow symbol, and as Jessa sat back upon her heels, she took her first true look at the scope of what she had been given, seeing it with a scholar’s eyes. There were hundreds of glyphs, perhaps even a thousand, depending upon the translation.
Jessa understood then that her deepest wish had indeed been granted, and that her gods had peered into the most hidden places of her heart. They had given her the means to keep Darry safe. They had given her the power to keep all of them safe.
Her mind began to work in earnest as she mapped out her course. She would need a bigger workroom than the one she was using for her herbs and medicines. She would need a proper space, like the one in Sebastian’s Tower. She would need fresh air and sunlight and a hearth, perhaps even two if it could be done quickly enough.
She looked to the bed and the voice of her gods came again. You must help her, or we shall all be lost.
Darry was still suppressing her majik, or at least she was trying. Darry could no longer hear Hinsa, and though she had not said as much, Jessa knew it was the truth. The thought of such a blessing given and then taken away, Jessa could not even fathom such a unique heartache, for the both of them. And if the Vhaelin were right, if Darry surrendered to her Cha-Diah blood without the true heritage to support so much power, it might destroy her and Hinsa both. Her blood is not the blood of the Fox People. There is terrible danger for her.
Jessa pushed to her feet as the witchlight flared brightly and then faded from existence. “First I must bring your fever down, my love…And then I shall find you a way.”
She grabbed the edge of the hide and dragged it back to the divan, beyond the fire.
When she reached the desk beside the balcony doors she eyed the heavy black bottle beside her papers, remembering their recent celebration. She grabbed the bottle and pulled the cork.
The Pentab Fire poured into a waiting goblet with a gurgle of fluid, and then she lifted her drink as she faced the divan. “I shall make you proud of me, Radha,” she declared and then downed the spiced liquor. It burned along the surface of her throat, and she smiled as she set the goblet down, her eyes watering as she recorked the bottle. “Gamar’s balls.”
She grabbed her robe from the back of the chair, and then she was on the move. She would retrieve her medicines from her current workroom and see to her love, and then she would find Bentley. She would need her new work space as soon as possible, and he was just the man to see it done.
* * *
The Crown Prince of Arravan poured three measures of Pentab Fire and then set the bottle down. He picked up two of the goblets and held them out as Abel Jefs stepped forward and took them both, handing one to his brother, Mason.
Abel was as tall as Malcolm and dressed in the uniform of the Palace Guard, though his collar was unhooked, and his white tunic was undone by several buttons. His brown hair was cut close along the sides of his head, but he wore a short tail of hair tied behind his head, the ends reaching below his collar in a slight curl. It was the latest fashion at court and Malcolm thought he wore it well. He was lean and a bit lanky, but he was fast with his sword and no one had ever doubted his skills as a soldier. He had been trained by Grissom Longshanks, and as he had risen through the ranks, his brother Mason had followed, at least until he had been called home to lead their father’s men.
Mason was huge, and at times, Malcolm had to wonder if the younger son of Lord Jefs had been sired by another. He stood almost seven feet tall, and Malcolm had seen him tilt to the side and duck his head more than once as he entered a doorway. His brown hair was cut as Abel’s was, and his blocky but oddly handsome face always held what appeared to be several days’ worth of beard growth. His simple uniform held the black and green crest of his family in a patch above his heart, and from a distance, it appeared as if he had dropped part of his dinner upon his jacket, so barrel-like was his chest.
Malcolm picked up his own goblet. “To the annexation of the Humboldt lands into your family’s holdings.”
Abel smiled as he and Mason put their goblets forth and they clanked against Malcolm’s. “Thank you for you generosity, my Prince.”
“Yes,” Mason said in his deep voice. “Our father has long sought the grazing lands that Humboldt has hoarded all to himself.”
They drank, and Malcolm blew a clean breath past his lips in the aftermath.
Abel laughed and then coughed as he set his goblet on the table. “I have never tast
ed such Pentab, my Prince.”
Malcolm smiled. “It’s from Madame Dubassant’s own cellar.”
Mason downed his drink with no apparent effects and set his goblet beside his brother’s. He stepped back from the table.
Malcolm picked up the pitcher of wine beside the bottle and poured a fresh drink into a clean goblet. The cool red wine slipped with a familiar and welcome sound, the pitcher beaded with moisture as it fought against the heat of the room. “Help yourselves to the wine,” he offered as he walked past the hearth, sat down in his chair, and crossed his legs. He took a welcome sip. “What word from the west?”
Abel topped off a fresh goblet and maneuvered around the table. Mason followed him, and as Abel sat in the chair that had once belonged to Marteen Salish, Mason stood beside it. “We have called up the men from the House of Marston. They will assemble as quickly as possible, and await further instructions from Mason.”
“I’ve placed several of my most trusted men with them,” Mason added. “Should we need to move into Greeves’s territory, they’ll be ready to do whatever is necessary.”
“Good.” Malcolm’s eyes flickered toward the bedroom door and he narrowed his gaze for a moment at the shadows. “If they are hiding the traitor and his bastard friends, we’ll know soon enough.”
“What of the council?”
Malcolm met Abel’s neutral gaze, and he searched for an accusation in Abel’s tone, though he found none. He still wasn’t sure just how far he could trust the Jefs brothers, though he was in it now and he knew it. “Things are well in hand. With the influx of young lords from the outlying lands, pickings have been surprisingly easy. They chafe beneath the old ways, and they are eager for a chance at their own wealth and power. The idea of choosing their own paths into the future is a novel idea, and one that they like very much.”
“And your father?” Abel inquired.
Malcolm peered into his wine for a moment and then looked back up. Abel’s expression changed slightly beneath his gaze, and Malcolm felt a rush of tender pleasure in the pit of his stomach at Abel’s sudden nervousness.
