Our Vicious Oaths, page 34
Kadeesha touched the Marking that Malachi had left on her with numb fingers. Everything had turned numb, so much so that it took a moment before she could make her tongue work. When it finally moved, she said, “And you oh-so-conveniently forgot to mention that detail before,” her voice dripping venom at her mother. But that acid was truly for herself, because as much as she’d used Yashira as the easy target, her condition was not her mother’s fault. She hadn’t slept with Malachi since before the day of the challenge, when Yashira first noticed her Marking. Not that there’d been much sleeping …
“I need a tea,” she said hoarsely. “Mother, I need a thistle-berry tea. I need you to brew it for me and do it quietly,” she pleaded. She braced for her mother to argue, to downright refuse, or to impress upon her the hefty value in bearing Malachi an heir. She was already shoring up defenses against the crushing blow any of those responses would deliver. She let out a breath, which she’d been keenly aware of holding the entire time, when Yashira’s sharp-eyed stare gentled.
“If it is what you want, then I’ll brew it. The ingredients must be mixed under the protective watch of Nyaxia, when the moon shines brightest at night, so it’s safest for you to take. You’ve gotten some luck there, as the cycle is right, but it still means I can get it to you no sooner than the morning. In the meantime, I’ll fetch you a tonic to make the nastier symptoms of a new pregnancy vanish in case they arise once more before the morning,” her mother promised.
“Thank you,” Kadeesha heaved out.
“In the meantime,” Yashira cautioned, “stay away from Malachizrien until you’ve terminated the pregnancy if you do not wish for him to know about it. I’m assuming it was a bit too soon after conception when you last saw him. But now that you’re at the stage where a thistleberry test works, if you see Malachizrien, as the father and the other bearer of the Markings that link you two, he’ll be able to scent the pregnancy even in these earliest stages.”
Nodding to her mother, Kadeesha wrapped her arms around herself. When she thought about Malachi’s reaction if he were to find out … She couldn’t say for certain how he’d react, but she knew the issue would result in a vicious clash between the two of them.
And for so many reasons she couldn’t articulate, the idea of such a confrontation dismayed her.
DESPITE YASHIRA’S WARNING, she couldn’t hide away in her room. If nothing else, it was her turn to visit Samira in the infirmary and read from her favorite poetry collection. The Apollyon healers hadn’t suggested it; in fact, they’d downright snubbed it as a valid remedy. Among her folk, though, there was an old belief about stories being fuel for the soul. So somewhere along the timeline of Aether history, the idea developed that reading to a loved one who might be forever lost in the throes of a healing sleep was a way to coax them to rouse. It may have only been folklore unrooted in any magical healing theorems, as the pedantic Apollyon healers condescended to remind her each time they stumbled upon Kadeesha reading to Samira, but that wouldn’t stop her. She’d do and try everything at her disposal that might even merely increase Samira’s chances of coming back to Kadeesha. In the face of all of that, Malachi could sniff her neck all he wanted … and then kiss her ass. This was her body, her decision, and he could go fuck himself.
Her hands shook as she opened the leather-bound book in her lap; the immensity of being pregnant, for Celestials’ sake, had left her lightheaded and with a stitch in her chest all day. She inhaled deeply, reminded herself she’d take care of it when Yashira brought the thistleberry tea, and tried her best to shove the renewed panic aside. She was having little success. But she was in the infirmary for Samira, not to nurse her own damaged psyche, so she pressed on anyway. She bent forward and kissed Samira’s cheek. “I’m here, sister,” she told the female she’d been close with since they were both toddling around the palace’s nursery. “Which poem would you like to start off with today?” she asked conversationally, then swallowed the lump in her throat when only silence answered. The love sonnets. It was the answer Samira would have given if she were awake. That particular topic was the last thing Kadeesha wished to be immured in right now, but, again, it wasn’t about her. She flipped open to the center of the book, where twelve of the most famously penned love sonnets in the realm began.
“Lornian love poems? I never would’ve pegged you as the type,” drawled Malachi’s amused voice.
She froze. Then, she scolded herself for the pitiful reaction and swiveled around to stab him with an icy glower. “You’re interrupting. I’d like privacy with my sister. Go away.” The sooner he did it, the better. Then perhaps she could avoid any unnecessary topics of conversation that’d be a moot point in the morning.
Malachi, who stood too damn close, only a fraction of an inch behind her—how the hell did this slab of a man move so quietly?—arched an eyebrow. Her eyes traced the shape of it without her consciously thinking to do so. Then, they dipped to his lips that were smugly pressed together. She traced their lush curves too. Amid a lashing internal bewilderment, she realized she’d come to damnably like that ever-imperious eyebrow arch and that rankling smirk. Both draped him in even more wicked darkness, in near-overwhelming carnal energy, above what already cloaked him by way of merely existing. She scowled, because why in the hell was she indulging in such musings? Especially at this precise time?
All she needed to be thinking about was how to shoo Malachi very, very far away.
“I said leave,” she hissed to him. “It wasn’t a request. You’re intruding.”
He folded his arms across his impressive chest. “I’m pretty certain this is my palace.”
Kadeesha swiped a hand at the small amount of distance he’d left between them. “And I’m entirely certain this is my personal space.”
His eyebrows crept higher. “Last I checked, you enjoy me in your space. You frequently beg for it, actually.”
Liquid heat shot straight to her sex, because apparently that region didn’t get the memo that things between her and Malachi had just gotten thornier. She’d already told herself that even after she ended the pregnancy, he wasn’t touching her again. Ever. Not when the cursed Markings screwed with her fertility windows. She’d just have to find a different way to go about making him easier to kill. “I’ll take care not to do so again, since you’re so haughty about it,” she shot back.
He grunted. Stepped closer. His stare sharpened. She held her breath for the bomb to detonate. But all he said was “You haven’t answered my question.”
She blinked. “About what?”
He pointed to the leather volume she was clutching so hard her fingers groaned. “I asked about your apparent attraction to Lornian’s love sonnets. You don’t seem the … sappy type.” He said sappy like it was a horrendous trait. Kadeesha shook with laughter; she couldn’t help herself.
“I think we both know I am no such thing,” she returned. “I don’t actually like much poetry at all. But Samira loves it, and the Aetherfolk believe literature—”
“Touches the soul. So you’re reading to her in case it’ll help rouse her quicker,” finished Malachi. He didn’t remark on it scathingly, like the healer who’d passed through moments ago and had been one tongue cluck away from missing his tongue altogether. Rather, Malachi stated it matter-of-factly. Then, he turned and barked to a passing healer, “You—come here.”
The short, sturdily built male hurried over to his king, bowing low. “Yes, Your Grace?”
Malachi pointed to Zayvier’s sleeping form across the infirmary. Zayvier’s hair was spread out around his shoulders in a mass of shiny night-black curls. His nose was wide and proud. Regal. His cheekbones were sharp enough to cut glass. Malachi might’ve been the king, but his friend, Zayvier, looked every bit the royal himself. The male was hauntingly beautiful even while locked in the darkest depths of sleep. “He enjoys books about adventuring, treasure hunting, quests, all shit like that,” Malachi bellowed to the healer who stood before him in a slight panic. “Make sure he’s read to daily.”
The healer’s features pinched together. His brown gaze traveled to Kadeesha with the book in her lap; his lips pressed into a snide line. “Your Grace, Apollyon healers practice more evolved—”
“I’m sorry,” Malachi cut in, “it sounds like you were about to provide a rebuttal to a direct order from your king. But you’re not a moron who values their life that little, right?”
The healer paled. He shook his head furiously and stammered, “N-no … Your Grace. I’ll … I’ll see it done.”
“Make sure that you do. Begin now with Lord Girard and keep it up throughout the day and night. Also, assign someone to do the same for Lady Samira.”
The healer bowed and hastened away.
Kadeesha might have felt bad for the male if he hadn’t cut her the disdainful look, like it had been her order or idea. Malachi stalked away then, and the great Celestials must have been granting Kadeesha a boon. But she relaxed too quickly. A moment later, he was dragging a chair beside hers and plopping down in it, hooking one ankle over the opposite knee. What the fuck is he doing?
“Don’t you have more nobles to question and torture or further war plans to make?” she casually asked. The chuckle that reverberated around her was as dark as the skies under a new moon, yet it carried an entwined levity. The contrasting energies in Malachi’s laugh produced the effect of making his chuckle curl around Kadeesha. It invaded every sense of her being. She clenched her jaw, then relaxed it. “I don’t believe I said anything humorous,” she told Malachi calmly.
He plucked the book out of her hand and started thumbing through its pages. Another demand to leave was on the tip of her tongue when he stilled on a page and tapped his index finger to it. “Samira might like some variety, and Lornian’s pastoral sonnets are masterful works of art,” he announced. Then, he started reading one about the first snowfall of a new winter. His voice took on a melodic quality that wasn’t … unpleasant. Okay, that wasn’t even remotely fair.
It was sublime.
Even she, who never had a particular affinity or ear for poetry, could surmise that. Malachi’s smooth, rich voice was crisp and clear and bright and stunning, exactly like the blankets of undisturbed, pristine snow he was reading about. By the time he finished, Kadeesha found herself stuck. She knew she looked absurd, but she couldn’t do anything except gape. He’d read the stanzas like a master poet himself, nailing cadences and rhythms and the pensive, reverent tone of the lines perfectly. He winked at her as he handed over the book. “I am a king of many talents.”
Like always, the supreme arrogance he had to infuse into every situation helped her shake off the stupor. “When, precisely, did hauling that huge-ass ego around start?” she inquired. “I’m curious: Did it begin in your formative years or did adulthood bring it on?”
His lips twitched. “My ego isn’t the only huge-ass package I haul—”
She groaned. “You’re not serious. You sound like a juvenile.”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t make it any less true.” He had leaned closer into her side to murmur the taunt … and that’s when she could hear a sharp intake of breath through his nose. He pulled back, nostrils flaring, and her heart thundered against her chest as she watched him continue to sample the air through his nose until finally he startled in his seat. Malachi, the fearsome, ruthless king of the Apollyon court, literally jumped as if spooked.
“Why do you smell that way?” he rumbled. “What the fuck is going on? You aren’t in a fertility window; I know I didn’t scent that before.”
She pushed her shoulders back. Was he accusing her of some crime? The full brunt of every tumultuous emotion that she’d been holding back since she peed on the thistleweeds broke free like a dam had shattered. She slapped the Marking at the base of her neck. “According to my mother, this—you—are the reason!” she snarled. “Apparently, one more reason these infernal things are obsolete is that they fuck with fertility cycles.”
Malachi went still as death. The light snuffed out of his brown eyes, leaving them that icy, pitiless shade of unforgiving black that made him all the more terrifying. “How long have you known?” he asked quietly.
“Since this morning,” she said stiffly.
“And your plans?” His pitch was still toneless—neither malevolent nor threatening, but frigid nonetheless.
She held her chin higher. “My mother is brewing me the proper tea. I’ll ingest it tomorrow morning. Trust me, Your Grace, I do not want to bear your child.” She didn’t want to bear anybody’s child. Not at this stage in her life. Before, when she’d grown up knowing she’d already been promised to Rishaud, her stomach had turned at the mere thought of giving him heirs, of handing him innocent, vulnerable children to torment. Before her first fertility year post-marriage was due, she’d planned to permanently rectify that concern and ensure she could never become pregnant. And now, here she was—somehow still pregnant with the child of a bloodthirsty, ruthless asshole. She ground her teeth because even as she thought it, there was a kernel of a voice that chimed in that Malachi and Rishaud were perhaps somewhat different. She’d observed Malachi to at least deeply care about those he considered loved ones—his Cadre, auntie, and Trystin—he held them all in treasured esteem and took extreme care with each of them. Not that any of that mattered now. Yes, he wasn’t Rishaud, but it didn’t mean she wanted his child.
Yet the path her mind just took rattled her greatly, because why the hell would the tenderness he showed those in his inner circle even matter? Her mind was unnervingly all over the place; it had to be some bizarre effect of the nascent bond formed by their Markings. For maybe the thousandth time, she cursed her recklessness when she’d let him bite her and had bitten him back.
“You are certain that is the course you wish to take?” Malachi’s darkened gaze remained fixed upon her. His stare took on a quality that made it evident he was searching whatever expression he saw on her face for confirmation.
“Without question,” Kadeesha answered immediately.
Malachi probed her features a moment longer, then nodded. “Come to me if you need anything. I’ll grant you the privacy you’ve requested.” He rose from the chair and stalked out of the infirmary. Kadeesha sagged against the chair, surprised by how much relief she felt amidst how stricken she was over the pregnancy. Malachi’s reaction could’ve been much worse. He’d handled the revelation about her altered fertility in a shockingly composed manner. And having the space to make her own choices in this matter highlighted a freedom she’d never before had. For the first time in a long time, she truly felt in control.
Chapter Thirty
TOO ANXIOUS TO HAVE GOTTEN MUCH REST OVERNIGHT, Kadeesha flung the heavy furs off her and gave up pretending to sleep when the first golden rays of dawn streamed through her window. She bathed and dressed in her flying leathers. After Yashira brought the pregnancy-ending tea, she planned to burn off any lingering nervous energies and other pesky emotions by taking to the skies with Zahzah for more combat drills. She was lacing up her boots, furiously tugging at the laces with more force than necessary, when the knock she’d been waiting for came.
The footsteps that sounded behind her call to come inside thudded heavy against the floor. Too heavily to belong to her dainty mother. If she didn’t already have an inkling who was in her room, her Marking pulsed with a steady warmth. She snapped her head up and glowered at Malachi, only to gape when she sighted the small white teacup trimmed in gold between his hands. She barely had time to process it, though, because Malachi was glancing over his shoulder and telling someone else “You may enter,” in the ever-imperious, ever-commanding voice he fancied donning.
Frowning, Kadeesha’s stare cut behind Malachi to the door he’d left ajar. A dozen or so servants poured inside. One carried a silver tray with a pair of crystal pitchers and four silver goblets. The rest carted tiered platters teeming with food. They set the food and drink down in a neat array on the glass-topped table in the sitting room, bowed to Malachi, and departed.
Malachi sat in one of the chairs at the table, hooking his left ankle over his right knee. “I fetched your tea from Yashira and brought food along because she said you’d need to ingest the brew alongside proper sustenance to avoid feeling run-down,” he said by way of greeting. He placed the teacup he held in front of the empty chair closest to him at the table.
“There’s enough food here to feed a small army. Surely my mother doesn’t intend for me to need to consume this much.” It was all she could think to say, her mind stuck on the fact that Malachi was sitting in her room, with the tea, instead of her mother. “Did she seek you out?” Kadeesha automatically went on guard. Yashira was playing games—ones Kadeesha didn’t find amusing.
Malachi’s hulking shoulders rose, then fell. “I sought her out.”
It was the most disorienting answer he could’ve given. It was yet another occurrence this morning that Kadeesha couldn’t fit her mind around. Why would he do so? Why would he bother being so … involved? Then, she pinned down the reason. She smirked, propping her hip against the pillar at the foot of her bed. “Making sure I don’t change my mind and continue to carry your bastard child as some power play, hmm?”
There was a barely perceptible tightening to Malachi’s jaw. It was such a slight, fleeting response that she would’ve missed it if she weren’t staring at him so intensely. “It isn’t a concern, actually,” he said tonelessly. “I’m well aware you’d likely rather die than bear my child. I let members of your court be killed, and then coerced you into abandoning your court and playing the role of my war prize in mine. You hate me. If our roles were reversed, I’d want to gut me too. As it is, you only tolerate me when I’m fucking you senseless, because my dick game is just that good, as you so graciously pointed out in my study.”
She rolled her eyes. However, she couldn’t quite refute it without them both recognizing it for the utter lie it would be. And Malachi would then call her on it. No upper hand for you today. She pushed off the pillar and walked to the table. She dropped into the chair in front of the teacup and wrapped her hands around it. Malachi tracked her movements the entire time, his face contorting with an emotion she couldn’t name. “Why’d you really come?” she asked point-blank, needing an answer for … Well, the reason she desired an answer was another thing that she couldn’t grasp the precise nature of.
