A Curious Twist of Lime

by Heather R. Blair

  Hence the ever-shortening list to the succession. Our court is not so brutal as some, but there are always those in any race who are willing to sacrifice honor for power. And that means someone has to step in and stop them.

  Someone like say, me.

  I step to the dais and kneel at my old mentor’s feet.

  “You look so much like your father,” he muses, his deep eyes hazy. I keep my face carefully blank. My father was a good king, but a hard one. Samuel sighs again. “Thank the gods you never shared his temperament.” He squeezes my shoulder, giving me permission to rise. “I need you, Georg.”

  Slowly, I get to my feet. “Your Majesty—”

  Samuel puts a finger to his lips. “But I’ve no energy today for a long talk. Perhaps in a few days, after you’ve settled in?”

  I frown at the hard light in his eyes, resisting the instinctive urge to look around the chamber. Instead, I inhale deeply. Besides my own scent, the king’s and the fading wintery musk that is Kolya, I catch something else. So faintly I’d think I was imagining it if it weren’t for the look on my old friend’s face.

  Asher. Why would he be snooping around? And even more so, why doesn’t Samuel want him to overhear our conversation? I wasn’t exaggerating last night. As Samuel’s major domo—and Nazary’s before him—Asher knows more than anyone about what goes on between these walls. The major domo is how the king keeps his fingers on the pulse of the court. I may not like the man much, but his loyalty is unquestioning.

  Or so I thought.

  My lips press together and I nod shortly. “As the king wishes, of course.”

  “Of course,” Samuel says smoothly. “You might wish to take the time to reacquaint yourself with Hearthstone. Like you, the castle has been through a lot.” Samuel’s smile is faint. “She is not the same as she once was.”

  What the hell is he getting at? But with a wave of a wrinkled hand, I am dismissed.

  Seconds later, I push open the high, arched doors of the throne room, scowling. A scowl that deepens when a shadow appears at my side. “You’ve fulfilled your vow, Konstantin. I’m back at court. There is no need to continue this farce.”

  “On the contrary. Being at court is even more reason for me to stay close.”

  At my glare, he simply smiles. “King’s orders.”

  When I whirl this time, my fingers actually touch the elemental’s throat for the barest instant before he fades away. There is a considering glint in his eyes when they reappear a few feet away a second later. “Not bad, milord.”

  “I’m working on it,” I mutter.

  Konstantin lifts his brows, but I ignore him, heading down the hall without a backward glance. He may be assigned to protect me, but I’m not in the habit of relying on bodyguards. If Konstantin insists on sticking around, I’ll work out a way to best him.

  The mercenary falls into step at my side. “A private apology to you, and a written one to the girl. Not much to check the good count’s ambition.”

  Asher wasn’t the only one listening at doors. I shrug. “The king has his reasons, I am sure.”

  “And if your Alice had died?”

  I walk faster, impatient to be rid of him and the images his question conjures up. “She’s not mine. And she didn’t.”

  “No,” Konstantin says, “but she should have.” He’s watching me closely. “You know it as well as I. You saw her.”

  Of course I did. I left Alice on her knees in the dirt, hands over her ears. It was only a second. Kolya’s men were attacking, a blur of blood and violence. But when I was able to reach for her again, she wasn’t there. She was on her feet—between me and a charging Kolya.

  Less than a blink later she was broken and bloody on the ground, like a child’s toy cast on the rocks. Her lovely face half torn away, her back broken. I thought her neck was as well.

  I’d barely known her a day, but that sight brought me to my knees. I can still hear my heartbeat thundering in my ears and feel the sour burn twisting my stomach. For a moment the world simply ceased to be. There was only that awful pounding in my ears, like the tolling of some demented clock as I worked to heal her, convinced it was hopeless. Then she took a breath and it was like my lungs filled, too.

  I haven’t been quite right since that moment.

  I’m confused—and I don’t like it. Bruins—hell, all shifters—operate on a potent mix of animal instinct and human reason that can make us prone to fits of anger and rage. A lot of shifters use that rage, and their animals as a weapon. But I’ve always been known for an exceptionally even temper, mostly because my bear and I operate in perfect harmony. Growing up with a father like mine made me determined to find another way, and I did. I shift constantly, allowing my bear free rein often and without reservation.

  For the most part, it’s worked. Even when confronting a threat, I’m pretty fucking chill about it. As much power as needed, no more.

  Except yesterday. When I tore Kolya’s men to literal pieces.

  Bruin-on-bruin violence is far from unheard of, especially in the Old World, but it rarely results in such wholesale death. There is no doubt in my mind that had Alice died, Kolya would have shared his men’s fate.

  As it is, the urge to snap his neck at the memory has my fingers twitching.

  I’ve come to a stop without even realizing it, Konstantin still watching me expectantly.

  “Yeah, I saw her,” I snap. Fighting to shake off thoughts of murder, I remember what the cat said to me, back in Niflheim. About the misty realm changing people.

  “Maybe she’s not entirely human.” I mutter the words without really believing them. I smelled her blood when that vamp bit her and scent to a bruin is everything. “She lived in Niflheim a long time.”

  “Perhaps,” Konstantin says slowly, his brows drawing together. “Or maybe she’s human, but with a twist.”

  “Twist?”

  “Have you heard of a magic conduit?”

  I’ve no idea what he’s talking about.

  “Humans who can filter magic,” he clarifies. “Refine it, you might say.”

  “Humans don’t have magic,” I say automatically.

  “Not any of their own, it’s true. They are very base creatures. But we’ve known that to change. Vampires. Werewolves.” He glances at me. “Witches.”

  I stare straight ahead. “Your point?”

  “We ran across conduits a time or two in my day.” As one of the last elementals to be born, Konstantin hasn’t been around for nearly as long as someone like Jack Frost, but he’s old enough. I’m considered a veritable youngster in the FTC world, having only reached my majority a mere five years ago. I would have never been crowned at such a tender age, but my father had died and my people would rally behind no other.

  Konstantin has me by at least a couple centuries. I think he came up in Victorian London.

  “They made valuable slaves,” he muses.

  My lip curls. The thought of Alice in chains, forced to serve some asshole royal like Kolya or the Firebird King, makes me want to hit something. Apparently, it shows.

  Konstantin takes a step back.

  “Valuable—but dangerous, to my mind. I advised Victor against acquiring one of his own, actually.” Unconsciously, he touches the hilt of his sword. “A walking time bomb. They’re very rare these days. Haven’t seen one in the last hundred years, at least.”

  “Then it’s damn unlikely Alice is any such thing.”

  “Hard to say. You don’t know anything about her,” he points out. “Except that she says she was being held against her will. Why go to such trouble to imprison a human on a place like Niflheim if she wasn’t valuable?

  True enough. But his words have me considering something else that has been bugging me. “Who do you think her captor was?”

  “The one you helped her escape?” Konstantin’s lips thin. “No idea, my liege, but I bet we’d know his name if we heard it.”

  He raises his eyes to the ceiling, where Alice is probab
ly still sleeping above us. It’s very early yet and gods know the woman likes her sleep. I rub my nose, my smile fading almost as soon as it forms.

  I drop my hand.

  “I bet you’re right.”

  “If he knows she’s gone,” the mercenary mutters, an edge to his tone, “he’ll come looking for her, eventually.”

  I’m pretty sure the asshole knows she’s gone, since she didn’t show up for their wedding. A snarl twists my lips, more my bear’s than mine. “Let him come.”

  He glances at me, eyes dark and hooded. “Her kind was never held by any but the most powerful, the most ruthless of our world.”

  “If she is what you suspect.”

  “How else did she survive such injuries? You’re a good healer, but we both know you’re not that good. No one is.” He shakes his dark head as I start to walk again. “You must admit, the possibility alone is alarming.” When I look back, his mouth has tightened at the corners, a hint of impatience stealing into his voice. “She would have no magic of her own, true, but she could funnel it, distill it. Even the tiniest bit of power could become lethal in her hands. Natural magic would shrink from her—”

  My stride hitches and slows, seeing again that pit that will no doubt haunt my dreams for years to come. The way the Vorpal sand flowed away from Alice like an outgoing tide. For the first time, I wonder if Konstantin could be right. Maybe Alice is this conduit thing. Because the mercenary is certainly right about one thing—whoever hid her away in Niflheim did so for a reason.

  “Power like that is the fire that forges the sword. Or breaks an unworthy blade in two.” Konstantin’s lip curls, his expression one of dark amusement. “Be careful in your liaisons, my liege.”

  I stop in front of my bedchamber to fold my arms and lean against the wall. “I told you before, Alice is not a liaison.”

  “Be that as it may,” he says. “You need to be wary.”

  “Such concern. I am touched.”

  “Just doing my job. Heirs are dropping like flies, and the king’s favorite happens to meet a mysterious woman in trouble—right before said king calls you home. Rather convenient timing,” he snaps. “The strongest conduits became mages, you know. When they came into their own, they were fearful to behold. Merlin. Morgana. The likes of which this world hasn’t seen in centuries. Placing one so close to a probable heir and the current king would be a coup.” The merc touches his sword again, his expression tight. “You need to watch her, milord, or I will.”

  Shit. I stare as he walks away.

  Konstantin’s conclusion is ludicrous.

  “Alice is no mage,” I scoff, my bear snarling softly in agreement.

  But I think of the flask she drank and how she grew. How she didn’t die on that road before I could reach her—despite sustaining wounds that would’ve killed any normal human twice over in seconds.

  How ever since the moment I’ve laid eyes on Alice Liddell, I’ve felt restless and out of sorts . . . and I wonder.

  I hate myself for it.

  But I wonder.

  7

  This place is filled with light. And people—or excuse me, bruins. Their voices. All those lovely voices. They pass my door, ring up through the window and sometimes whisper in the night.

  After years of longing for just one person to talk to, I’m excited by the plethora of choices. There is Georg, of course, who comes to my room twice a day. Along with Konstantin, who follows like a shadow wherever he goes. And even though I haven’t set a toe outside my door, there is also a servant girl who comes in to clean and one who brings my food. I can’t help but study their faces hungrily, desperate to start a conversation every time they show up.

  Problem is, they don’t seem to want to talk back.

  “Hello,” I try again, smiling at the dark-haired girl who is currently drawing the curtains back.

  She sniffs and looks away. Her name is Jada. I heard the other girl call her that yesterday. She’s young and pretty, or would be, were it not for the sour expression on her face.

  “It’s another gorgeous day,” I continue as the sunshine pours in through the high, latticed windows. The only answer is the clinking of china as she clears away my cup and saucer from Georg’s visit the night before. Picking up his cloak from where he left it tossed over a chair, she sniffs again.

  The look she sends my way makes me blush and my gaze falls to the covers, even though I’ve no idea what I’ve done wrong. I pick at one corner of the sheet, my stomach twisting.

  I’m not stupid. They don’t like me being here. I watch Jada finish her chores in silence.

  She leaves, the door clicking behind her. With a sigh, I sink back against my pillows. Yes, I’m still in bed. It’s all per Georg’s orders, but I think it’s making me worse. The silent treatment from the help isn’t helping, either. Are these bruins really so prejudiced as all that? Or is it something more?

  Maybe it’s me.

  Grumbling, I throw the covers off and get to my feet, sending a hard look at the door, barely resisting the urge to stick my tongue out.

  It’s childish, but it’s either that or cry. Hearing the voices in the halls—the bright music and the easy laughter—it makes me ache.

  I never expected to be lonelier here than I was in Niflheim.

  I walk to the window Jada opened. Picking at the curtain, looking out over the grounds through blurry eyes, I tell myself to stop being maudlin. Of course here is better than there. I just need something to do.

  I don’t even have anything to read to distract me. I mentioned it to Georg once, but I think he’s forgotten. He’s been very busy. With what exactly, I’m not sure, but every time he enters my chamber over the past few days, his eyes are dark and brooding.

  He’s never anything but kind to me, though. Well, a growly sort of kind, I amend with a smile, turning away from the windowsill.

  I nearly tumble back over it when one of those growls fills the room.

  “What the hell are you doing out of bed?”

  Georg fills the doorway, that long brown hair catching the light as he stalks into the room, tossing a greyish bunch of fabric at my unmade bed on his way to me.

  “Umm, getting some sun?” I squeak when his big hands close around my shoulders. They’re heavy and warm through the thin silk dressing gown. I half expect him to shake me, but he only holds me in place.

  His eyes narrow as he takes me in from head to toe and back again. “You look better,” he decides after a moment. “Not so damn pale.”

  “Probably because lying in bed day after day is hardly conductive to good health,” I point out with a sniff.

  “You’re sure you’re not out of breath?” His brow furrows. “Or sore anywhere?”

  It’s impossible to stay annoyed when he looks so concerned. With a smile, I put a hand on his chest, patting lightly. “I’m fine. I promise.”

  He looks down at my fingers. Fascinated, I watch his chest expand, stretching the limits of the fine linen shirt he’s wearing. I haven’t seen him shirtless since that first night, more’s the pity. I was really hoping naked on top was the bruin’s attire of choice.

  He clears his throat, bringing my eyes back to his face. “Well, that’s good, actually.”

  “It is?” Reluctantly, I lower my hand.

  “Yes. I have something to show you. I was going to bring you a few last night,” he says cryptically. “But I decided it’s best to let you choose for yourself. Go on, get dressed.” He gives me a gentle push toward the bed. “One of the maids fetched a gown for you to wear. Fair warning, it may not fit well. I had planned to just carry you, so I told her anything would do.”

  Hmm. Perhaps I should’ve stuck with the poor, fragile human thing a bit longer.

  I pick up the fabric and step behind the changing screen in the corner. Like everything else in the room, the screen is beautiful, a triptych in three panels showing a giant bear woven against a blue-silk sky dotted with golden stars. I hang the dress on a hook and undre
ss.

  Soon I’m naked, only the thin screen between him and I. My heart starts to race.

  I know Georg can’t see me, but somehow that doesn’t matter. I’m far too aware of every breath of air against my skin, but it’s not an unpleasant feeling. There’s a tingling heaviness in my breasts, concentrated in the hard tips of my nipples. I look down, wondering if he would like my naked upper half as much as I like his. I hold my breath as that tingle spreads lower, weakening my knees.

  “You almost done?” Georg’s voice sounds huskier than usual.

  “Yes,” I squeak, grabbing at the dress on the hook. The screen sways and I hold my breath until it steadies. “Just another minute.”

  I yank the fabric over my head. I’ve no proper underclothes and either Georg or the maid hasn’t seemed to think of them. The wool itches my skin. I’ve always hated wool.

  The reflection in the small mirror set in one of the panels has me sighing. The dress is a sack, there’s no getting around it. Too big in the waist, likewise in the bust and about four inches too short.

  It’s also brown and shapeless. The hem is frayed and a few buttons on the high collar are missing. But it’s not like I have a choice. The dress I wore here was destroyed when I was attacked and the one in my pack was drenched in blood, so Georg had the servants throw it out. I can’t walk the halls of a palace in a dressing gown, so the sack it is.

  Wrinkling my nose, I pull my long black hair into a quick plait before wrapping it around my head and securing it with a hairpin stuck in the screen by some former resident. My boots at least were unharmed and I work my bare feet into them, wincing a little.

  Georg frowns when I emerge, but wisely says nothing, holding out an arm.