The Becoming, page 37
“It’s as long as never. Where’s he going to sleep?”
“Dragon’s Nest. The mountain. He’ll know when I need him. I’ll know when he needs me. Tomorrow,” she said, then stepped back.
With Cróga, he rose up, the wind of wings blowing through her hair. They circled together as the first stars flickered on.
They skimmed over the trees, and away.
“Huh.” Marco just shook his head. “I think we could all use a drink. I got the chicken and dumplings going and put together a charcuterie board. So I think it’s time to show off my bartending skills.”
“I can smell the chicken, and wouldn’t say no to a drink.” Keegan started inside. “And what’s this charcuterie then?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
While Breen and the others dug into Marco’s chicken and dumplings, Shana entered Odran’s private chambers.
He’d sent her an invitation—a command, but she preferred invitation—to dine with him. She’d changed into a more formal gown, one of deep gold with a daringly deep neckline.
She’d draped herself with jewels, and found the servant given her had an acceptable skill with hair. She wore it swept up to showcase her face—and the jewels.
She’d expected grandeur and luxury in the god’s private rooms, but they exceeded even her expectations.
The black glass walls shined like mirrors. Hundreds of candles shot light from stands of polished gold. More gold stood as columns flanking the hearth where a fire blazed. Furnishings, a long divan, wide, high-backed chairs wore gold, silk, or velvet—and really, could one have too much gold?
Jewels dripped from lamps on marble tables, and the windows held views of the night-dark sea.
He sat at his ease at a table set for two, luxuriously with gold plates, crystal goblets, platters of meat, serviettes of gold linen.
She dipped into a deep curtsy. “My lord.”
“Sit.” He waved a hand at a female servant, one who wore only a collar, like a dog, to pour the wine.
“She once sat where you are because she pleased me. Then she did not.”
When Odran lifted his wine, Shana did the same. “Then it will be my honor and duty to please you always, and in all ways.”
“We will see. You shared a bed with the taoiseach until he tired of you. Tell me what you know of him. The things a woman who’s had a man’s shaft inside her knows.”
Though it burned, she ignored the casual insult. “The Fey see him as strong, the holder of the sword and the staff, the protector of Talamh, and the defender of justice.”
Rings glinted and flashed on the hand he flicked. “Such is tradition, and tells me nothing.”
“Because they’re blinded by tradition, they don’t see his weaknesses.” She sipped wine. “He leads from duty, not desire. He has no ambition beyond the peace and safety of Talamh. If not for duty, he’d spend his days plowing the fields in the valley with his brother, planting his seed in someone content for only that. He leads, but he doesn’t rule.”
She shrugged. “This isn’t strength. In other worlds, one in his position commands. Rulers don’t barter and trade, they take what they want. A ruler, a true one, rules with passion, as you do. Rules with power absolute. Instead, Keegan sits at the council table, where they natter about small things and think nothing of what the powers of the Fey could amass in other worlds.”
That had the faintest smile curving his lips. “But you think of it.”
“Oh, aye. The world beyond, where the woman with your blood travels back and forth so freely, a world of great size and riches, resources and people with no magicks? It could be conquered like that.” She snapped her fingers. “And so could others, could all. And what they have would be ours. Instead, we bind ourselves with foolish laws and weak traditions, we revere choice and freedom as if they were gods.”
“But you do not.”
“I do not.”
He signaled to the woman again. “Serve us.” As she stepped over to fill Odran’s plate, then Shana’s, from the platters, Odran considered his guest.
“And still, this tells me little of the taoiseach.”
“It tells you, my dark lord, he’s a slave to duty, and would die for it. Like your son, who took him as a son. In other things?” She shrugged delicately as she ate. “He enjoys books and music, has more of an appetite in bed than for wielding the power of his office. He lacks patience, particularly for formalities, and has a quick temper. But a soft heart—too soft for true strength. He bears the weight of leader, but takes none of what could and should be his.”
She gestured to indicate Odran’s rooms. “You won’t find gold or jewels in his chambers at his own castle. I’m told he took the one from outside to the Trolls in the valley and bargained for what she wanted instead of taking. Bargained and drank with them. Trolls.”
She sampled the meat on her plate. “He would heed his mother in most if not all things like a child rather than a man grown. His gift is strong. If any tell you it’s not, they lie. He is skilled, as skilled as any I’ve known, and though I haven’t witnessed him in battle, I’ve seen him train others. He’s fierce.”
“As was the one who came before him, and yet he—the son I created—is with his pale gods.”
“Aye, and it’s said Eian O’Ceallaigh taught him well. Perhaps knowing the boy he trained would lead one day. And so Keegan knows every hill, every dale, every river, every forest in Talamh, and would know most who live there by name. Another skill, as it … endears him to them. So they are loyal to him.”
“But you are not.”
She ate delicately. “I have no loyalty to him. If I had taken his mother’s place as his hand, I would have used my influence to ease him away from useless traditions. I enjoyed bedding him, but I bedded him with a purpose. If the one from outside hadn’t come, I would have achieved that purpose. Then, it would have been my hope to meet with you, and discuss mutual goals.”
“And why would you think I would meet with you, or discuss goals with you?”
Smiling, she shook back her hair. “I had hope that you would see, through your great powers or through your spies, that with me there were changes. Some I could believe you would approve of. And you might consider I could help you attain all you want.
“May I have more wine, my lord?”
Watching Shana, he signaled to the woman.
“And now you sit here, defeated in your goals, having made no changes.”
“Aye, that’s true. And still I would discuss with you how I might help you attain what you wish, and have some small benefits—whatever you deem I earn. My father sits on the council,” she continued. “And though my mother has no interest in politics and policy, he found a willing ear with me. I know the defenses and offenses planned against you, my lord Odran. I know the castle as Keegan knows the world, as I made it my world.”
As she drank more wine, Shana accepted flirtation wouldn’t work here, not with a god who could take any he wanted. But knowledge could.
She would make certain it did.
“And I know what I think your spies and scouts, even any prisoners you may have taken, do not, as only a handful know. And that is the location of every portal in Talamh, what worlds they open to, and how each is secured. And while I may not know all, I know many of the portals in other worlds.”
“You’ve traveled through them.”
“I have not, my lord. And though it is not permitted, my father indulged me by showing me on maps. I would be honored to do this for you if it would please you.”
“And in return?”
“In return I would see those who turned against me punished. I would enjoy, after you’ve drained the one from outside of power, when you have finished with her, putting a collar on her like this one.”
“Because she took the taoiseach from you.”
“He’s but a man, and men are easily come by. But because she took what I worked for, what I earned.” Shana held out her palm. “And I have this to remind me. She will have scars, should you grant this wish, to remind her.”
“And the taoiseach?”
Her eyebrows rose. “You would execute him if he survives the war. Keegan, his family, a public execution so all of Talamh knows who rules.”
For the first time, he smiled. “You like the taste of blood.”
“I prefer wine, but what is rule without power, what is power without force? And to hold worlds, there must be fear, and aye, there must be blood.”
“And all you want for assisting me is what’s left of the girl when I’m done with her.”
“Well now.” With a laugh, she gestured with her wine. “If you’re well pleased with me, I wouldn’t mind if you granted me a place—oh, a small one, inconsequential—where I might rule. Under your dominion, of course. Or more, if you’re very well pleased, a place to sit beside you. To lie beside you. I could give you sons, and from them, you would take what you will. Power to drink for years and years.”
“And if you displease me?”
“I don’t believe I will. My lord, all of my life I’ve wanted what I have at this moment. To sit beside a ruler of great power, of great vision, who will use it to gain more. Who will indulge my frivolous affection for lovely things. For this, I will give all I have to please you.”
“Then you’ll begin now.” He rose. “Dispense with this,” he told the silent woman before striding into the next room.
Because she enjoyed the wine, Shana took her goblet with her.
She didn’t bother to disguise the gasp at the vast bed, the towering posts of gold, but wandered past another raging fire to circle the vast room.
She could see herself—wanted to see herself—sitting at the long dressing table with its drawer knobs of diamonds as big as a baby’s fist, or lounging among the plush pillows on the settee. Standing on the terrace looking out at all she commanded—through Odran, of course. But it would be hers. She would see to it.
Whatever the cost, whatever the price, she would have this.
“Your taste is more exquisite than any. I am humbled to stand in such a room.”
“You are not humbled.”
She smiled, lowered into a curtsy. “Already you understand me. But I am honored.”
“Disrobe.”
“Myself or you?”
“Yourself.”
“Then I must ask for the assistance of a god, as I cannot unfasten the gown.”
She set the goblet down on the dressing table, walked to him, turned her back. “If you would, my lord.”
He tore it so the gown ripped in two. Shana merely stepped out of it, kicked it aside. “Such strength. It thrills me. I lack it, but if you’ll allow.” She turned to him, wearing only the underpinnings she’d selected for this exact purpose, and began to unfasten his doublet.
“I would see you, Odran, god of the dark. And though I know you can take me willing or not, I give myself to you. Now and always, as you wish.
“Ah, such beauty.” She ran her hands over his bare chest—slighter than she’d imagined, his skin smoother, but for the small scar at his heart. “Grace in strength,” she murmured as her hands traveled down to unfasten his trousers.
She found him already hard, like stone, like the marble columns, and smiled.
When she started to put her arms around him, lift her lips for his, he shoved her against the thick post of the bed, and drove into her.
Cold, cold, like a shaft of ice impaling her. Shocked, she cried out, but he battered her against the post, and for a moment, she thought she felt claws dig into her hips.
She didn’t resist, and because he watched her with eyes that had gone to black, she lifted her legs to wrap him, around his hips, and, closing her eyes as if in ecstasy, cried out again and again.
Cold, sharp, vicious—gods, she wanted to scream for him to stop. And feared if she did, he wouldn’t until she lay dead at his feet.
She thought of the slave woman in the collar, and held on to him as if enthralled. She would die before she served meat and wore a collar like an animal.
Then something changed, and instead of pain and fear, she felt a terrible pleasure rising through it. Dark and dangerous, it conquered her. Wild with it, breathless from it, she gripped his shoulders, looked into those black eyes, and said, “More.”
When he was done with her, he tossed her on the bed. She felt slightly ill, her body throbbing as her burned hand had, and wished only for the oblivion of sleep.
Then he climbed on top of her, hiked her hips high as she moaned.
She screamed when he sodomized her. And though she feared he would tear her in two, that dark pleasure broke into her again until she wept with it.
Until she craved it.
He used her over and over, tirelessly, brutally, until she thought the endless pains and pleasures might kill her.
When after the long night he ordered her to leave him, she stumbled naked back to her room, her body bruised, tiny gouges bleeding.
And understood now that she knew those pains, those pleasures, she would rather die than live without them.
When Brian woke, he lay a moment longer in the warm bed with Marco beside him. He had duties, and would never shirk them, but thought how lovely it would be to stay, to wake together.
Another time, he hoped. They would have other times.
Quietly, he rose.
He would use the shower—a much fancier sort than any he’d found on his visits outside of Talamh. Marco had shown him how it worked, and together they had shown each other what interesting things could happen inside a glass box under a hot rain of water.
He’d imagined himself falling in love at some point. In the future. Eventually.
But he hadn’t known what it could be, not really. He hadn’t known the lightning strike, the floating on a quiet river, the wild flight among stars, the simple rest.
Love was all of that and so much more.
He’d found someone he wanted to join hands and walk with for the rest of his life.
Whatever god, whatever fate had put Marco Olsen in his path, he would be forever grateful.
He dressed in the dark before brushing a light kiss on Marco’s cheek.
“I’ll come home to you tonight,” he whispered, “and every night I can.”
Carrying his boots, he walked downstairs.
Though Marco had told him Breen rose early, it surprised him to find her in the kitchen in the first breaths of the new day.
“Good morning to you.”
“Morning.” She lifted the mug in her hand. “I made coffee.”
“Thanks for that, but I don’t have a liking for it. I’d make myself tea if you’d show me how this thing works.” He tapped the stove.
“Sure.” She turned the burner on under the kettle.
“Ah, well then, that’s simple enough.”
“I’m no Marco, but I could scramble you some eggs.”
He smiled at her, this key to so much who offered to make him breakfast. “It’s kind of you, but I’m hoping you won’t think of me as a guest here.”
She smiled back at him. “Okay then, you can scramble your own eggs. Bread, bread knife, toaster.” She pointed as she spoke. “Butter and jam in the fridge—along with eggs. The cottage is Marco’s as much as mine. You’re Marco’s so it’s yours. That’s how things work for us. If you’ve got this, I need to check on Bollocks. He’s already out and in the bay.”
“I can manage, thanks.”
She went out to drink her coffee in the air while her dog romped in the bay, while the mists rose over it and the waking sun shot tiny rainbows through it.
Keegan had left only moments before Brian came down. He’d taken no time for coffee or tea. He would, he told her, come back to resume her training, but had duties first.
So did she, she thought. A duty to the work she’d chosen, a duty to the dog and dragon who’d chosen her as she had them. A duty to the two worlds she knew, and the people in them.
Keegan left so quickly, and with so much, obviously, on his mind, she hadn’t told him about the dreams.
She didn’t know what to tell him anyway except they’d been dark, disturbing, scattered, and full of screams of pain, moans of pleasure.
Firelight against black walls, something—someone?—rutting in the shadows.
Then a light, already dim, extinguished.
Probably just a stress dream—a sexual stress dream. Though she hadn’t gone to bed stressed. She’d been happy—ridiculously so— then Keegan had made her happier yet—and exhausted, so sleep had come easily.
But she was stressed now, and couldn’t say precisely why.
She watched Bollocks bound out of the water, leap through the mists as she heard the door open and close behind her.
“You’re wet,” she warned Bollocks as Brian strode toward her. “Be polite.”
Instead of leaping on Brian, Bollocks sat, held up a paw to shake.
“And a fine morning to you as well.” Brian handed Breen one of the slices of toast he held before he shook the offered paw. “I thought you might like some yourself.”
“Now that you mention it.” Breen bit into the toast he’d loaded with butter and raspberry jam. “Thanks.”
“Marco tells me you train—exercise—in the mornings, then write your stories.”
“That’s the usual routine. I missed a lot of both when I was in the Capital. Marco’s not a morning person. But once he’s up, he’ll work.”
“On the machine, the computer.”
“He’s a whiz on it.”
“And with the cooking and the music as well.”
“Multitalented, our Marco.”
“I love him, and wish for a life with him.”
She lowered her coffee, let out a long breath. “That’s really fast.”
“I know it, but it’s as real as anything I’ve known. This isn’t just a moment for me. Not just a day or a week. It’s always.”
She’d seen it, she admitted, in both of them. Maybe she had a dozen questions about where it would go, where it could go with two people from two worlds. But what mattered, what really mattered, was love.
