Honored (Beginning's End Series, #12), page 12
“He let the...” She trailed off, unable to say anymore. The mere act of talking was enough to dizzy her senses. The base of her skull was tingling. She felt light enough to float. “There was a man from the river lands, he tried to leave. Mierko let the...he let the hounds...”
A violent shiver swept over her body, stealing the words from her tongue. If she said them out loud, she might never recover. At any rate, there was hardly a need. The immortals couldn’t see who’d been fed to the beast from the window. But they’d heard his screams for themselves.
Eden’s hand tightened, cupped around the back of her head.
“It’s over now,” he promised softly, kissing the top of her hair. First once, then again. His hands were like anchors, keeping her grounded. “You are back with us, mi stera. You are safe.”
I am back with you. I am not safe.
For a long time, the room stood silent. The only noise was the distant screech of the birds and the sounds of the men drilling outside. The line of afternoon shadow passed slowly across the polished floor. The camp was lighting cooking fires, preparing for the evening meal.
Presently, Jesse came round to himself. He glanced up from the bed, where he’d sunk into a stupor the second Eden released him. His eyes caught the distant smoke before flying back.
“He’s expecting us for dinner,” he said roughly, unable to make it very loud. The others looked at him in silence. “His generals are coming. He says they want to hear more of our plan.”
Kiera blinked at him without comprehension. Her mind was sluggish, and despite the long span of time that had silenced them, she’d yet to leave the cool embrace of the fae’s arms.
What plan? she wanted to say.
She turned to Eden instead.
The fae had startled when Jesse had abruptly spoken, but after the words settled, he’d gone very still. His eyes flashed out the open window to the pricks of a thousand torches, massing like fireflies against the darkening sky. They lingered an uncounted stretch of time before flashing to the vampire. Their gaze met and there passed between them one of those looks that made the others secretly wish for all the things they openly teased; a blood connection, the gift of immortality.
A single look, then he was decided.
“In that case, we had better get dressed.”
It hit like a shockwave, rooting the rest of them to the spot. They had expected a burst of anger, or perhaps some of that cool sarcasm. A loathsome defiance, with a barricade against the door. Whatever it was, they expected it to be very different, the farthest thing from compliance.
Unseen by the others, Evander slipped back into the bedroom.
Jesse pushed to his feet slowly, unable to believe what he’d heard.
“You’re being serious?” he asked, regarding the fae in astonishment. His eyes cut to Kiera, as if to verify. “You actually think we should go?”
Eden cast him a swift look, already fastening the laces on his tunic. “There is nothing that will come from waiting idly in this room,” he answered briskly. “If our fate is to be decided by the people at that table, I would have my voice among them.”
Kiera’s pulse quickened, spreading warmth back into her arms.
His certainty was catching. If it wasn’t quite confident, it was at least resolute—that was something she could grasp. In the absence of everything else, it maintained a certain logic. And there was a quiet bravery, as well. They would not lock themselves away, to await the verdict of others.
They would have a hand in determining such a thing themselves.
“You’re right,” she said quietly, strapping a sword to her waist. It was the silver crescent given to her by the Nassi. A people who valued such bravery themselves. “I’m going.”
Jesse’s eyes followed along as she crossed to the washroom—cupping her hands beneath the ivory pitcher, and splashing some water on her face. After what they’d just seen, a part of him wanted to protest. An even greater part, wanted to run screaming. But the rest of them were already moving and that momentum was sweeping him along. He nodded slowly, reconciling on the spot.
“I suppose it’s our only option,” he agreed faintly, doing as he’d done his entire life and pushing those blood-soaked memories to the farthest corner of his mind. “If the man himself is decided, we’ll press our suit to his generals. The four of us—”
“The three of us,” Eden corrected sharply, tucking a dagger into the side of his boot.
The mortals paused in unison, realizing only then the vampire was gone. A few seconds went past, as they weighed his absence against the chances of their survival. A silent look passed between them. They didn’t like the odds. Kiera took a step forward, trying to keep her tone light.
“Evander won’t be coming?” she asked unnecessarily. The others were already arming themselves in preparation, there was only one person the fae could possibly mean.
Eden shook his head curtly, eyes on his task. “He’s going to stay—”
“Of course I’m coming.” Evander strode down the hallway in a fresh tunic, locks of dark hair curling by his chin. He had sensed the way the wind was headed the moment the fae came to a decision. Rather than waste time in argument, he’d simply moved to the next step and began making preparations himself. “You think I would let you go alone?”
“You are in no state,” the fae said gently, abandoning the cuff he’d been lacing and sweeping to the vampire’s side. His eyes drifted over him, tightening at the edges. “Please, my love, do not set this between us. For hours, I have been watching...you are not well,” he concluded. “I would not have you sitting in a banquet hall in a company of those men.”
Instead of taking offense, like the others might have worried, Evander looked at him with true affection, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smile. “You think the same fear does not press me?” he replied fondly, hiding the effort it took just to say the words. “The thought of you sitting in a banquet hall in a company of those men? You have such little sense, there is a part of me that’s terrified you might enjoy it. Better there is someone to ground you—”
“You are in no state,” Eden said again, firmer this time. He had not missed the effort, just as he hadn’t missed the hours of fevered shivering that had come before. “I would no sooner have you there, than argue the decision. If you are unwilling to remain here alone, we shall stay together.”
And abandon that last-ditch plan we just made?
“I don’t think that’s an option,” Jesse muttered under his breath.
Eden’s eyes flashed, though he kept them on the vampire. It was difficult to say whether he was intending to follow through on his promise. But his love for Evander knew no limits, and he wasn’t particularly inclined to the concept of a bluff. His temper spiked, simmering to a low boil.
“Let Mierko try to force it,” he said quietly. “Let him try to force us to comply.”
At that point, Kiera set down her cloak, glancing from one immortal to the other.
They were on opposite sides of the room, one was fixed and unyielding. The other, with a grace that seemed almost noble, given the strain it caused him, crossed the space between them. His dark eyes were tender with affection. His lips were still curved with a trace of that first smile.
“We are here for a reason, mios.” Evander reached a casual hand, tidying a flyaway strand of the fae’s bright hair. “And are not the generals the very people you wished to see? The people with room in their opinions?” He tilted his head, trying to catch that stubborn gaze. “We have tried it your way, with threatening jabs and points of bloodshed. Is it not time for a little diplomacy?”
Eden released a hard breath, studying the shadows beneath his eyes. “You are not yourself,” he answered softly, brushing his thumb along the hollow. “I have never seen you like this.”
His eyes tightened with worry and he continued speaking in a low murmur, keeping it from the others by slipping into his native tongue. Whatever he was saying, it was persuasive, almost pleading. But the vampire merely shook his head, saying a few short words in reply.
“It is decided,” Evander announced, reaching for his cloak. “Diplomacy reigns.”
Kiera threw a swift glance at Eden, surprised he wouldn’t have pressed harder, but even the fae seemed to know when he must accept defeat. Instead of saying anything further, he merely drew his sword, reaching for the vampire’s belt and sliding it into the sheath. Of all their collective weapons, it was by far the finest, made by his own people’s skillful hands.
“You will not use it,” he said flatly, already turning. “There will be no need.”
Evander inclined his head as the others gathered their own scant possessions, a random assortment of daggers and silver blades. Most of the fae’s weapons had been silver, a necessary precaution that spoke to older times, but the covers and grips were safe enough. Jesse lashed a gilded hatchet across his shoulder, catching his girlfriend’s eyes with a forced smile.
“Diplomacy reigns,” he repeated, tightening the strap across his chest.
She nodded silently, eyes drifting past the rest of them to the faint glow coming from the window. The sounds of the camp were louder now, mixing with those of the coming feast. Over the din of it all, she imagined she could heard the links of the chains that leashed the hellhounds, sliding back and forth in their iron rings, lengthening and contracting. Clink, clink, clink.
She pulled in a shaking breath, reaching not to her sword for reassurance, but for the outline of the pendant draped around her neck. It glowed warm beneath her fingers. She breathed again.
Diplomacy...or something like it.
Chapter 11
Having attended one banquet in the Tezerin dining hall, Kiera thought she might have some idea what to expect. It would be loud, the kind of loud that sent the ears ringing. And the chamber, great as it was, would be packed with too many people. It had seemed another part of the strategy, she’d thought that first night. A show of brute force to weaken any preexisting sense of resolve. A talk with Eden had confirmed it. But the force was not to overwhelm, he’d said, it was to disorient.
That was what she’d been expecting. A great disorienting clamor, something to match or perhaps even outstrip the first. When the doors pushed open, she’d held her breath.
But the room was empty and quiet. A single table with a dozen faces turned towards them.
“You have come,” Mierko said, rising to greet them. In his hand was clasped a bronze goblet, those around the table had been seated with the same. “Please, join us.”
A meeting with the generals. Only the generals.
The friends paused instinctively, eyes darting around the hollow chamber, like at any second, a band of screaming mercenaries might leap from the shadows. A moment passed in silence, then they proceeded forth. How many times had they done it, Kiera wondered, as they walked at a measured pace between the empty tables. Their boots rang with every footstep, echoing off the stone walls. How many times had they gone together towards some great evil, unsure what would happen next, unsure whether or not they’d still be standing when it was all over and done?
He doesn’t want to kill us, she tried to reassure herself. He would have done it by now.
It wasn’t until she drew closer to the table, seeing the faces of the men sitting around it, she realized that killing them might be too simple. There were many things that were worse than death.
It was a living crystallization of every piece of horror she had witnessed in the camps, each one of them grander and polished, wearing the distinctive marks that set them apart from every other savage tribe. On one end of the table there sat a man with curling hair and a pointed beard; three slanted cuts on his neck declared him chief of the Azradeen, infamous scourge of the southern coast. At the opposite end was a man who must have had giant blood. Taller than everyone else at the table by half, no chair was large enough to hold him. A long bench had been dragged over by the servants. Even then, his weight was enough that the corners bit into the stone. There were raiders and plunderers, pirates—who, despite their time inland, still managed to carry the scent of the sea. A man with blue-painted skin and tattooed stripes twirled a dinner knife absentmindedly, while another, razor-thin, and plucked completely bare, had taken the chair across from their host.
Of all the horrors sitting around the same table, Kiera cringed back with a reflexive shudder, unable to look away from his face. Like someone had struck a bell, his dilated eyes went directly for her, fixing, as though she was prey. A kind of hiss emanated from deep in his chest, and his hairless limbs began to slowly untangle, uncoiling and unspooling, rising from the table like a snake.
Mierko slapped a hand down, drawing his attention.
“More wine,” he called to the servants.
The frightful moment passed.
“I believe our guests require no introduction,” he continued pleasantly, gesturing the friends to sit, “but I shall do them the courtesy. There is a chance some of you have met before,” he added lightly, flashing a look at Eden. “An immortal messenger come straight from the high council, no doubt a soldier before that...I can’t imagine your paths haven’t crossed.”
In any other room, it would have marked the fae with distinction. In present company, it did nothing but place a target on his back. As the warlord went slowly around the table, calling out the various introductions, Eden sat rigid and unmoving—his eyes following every gesture, while the rest of him was stock-still. Indeed, he was familiar with many of the tribes, if not the individual faces. In a matter of dark irony, he’d met several of their ancestors on the battlefield. This was unknown to everyone present, including the fae himself.
Kiera sat in perfect silence at Mierko’s elbow, watching as he went slowly around the ring. It was impossible to know the proper custom. Should she dip her head in acknowledgment? Should she refrain from drawing additional attention to herself? When he got to the hairless man across the table, she did her very best to nod. But no sooner had she broken the seal between them, Mierko threw an immediate arm in front of her, adding a blunt, that one is better left alone.
She nodded with a little shiver, wondering why he’d seated the man so close.
It’s to keep an eye on him, she suddenly realized. This man doesn’t place his enemies at the opposite side of the table. He wants them right in front of him, somewhere he can see.
“You weren’t lying,” one of the men barked, leaning back in his chair as the servants laid platters of food in front of them, “a vampire and a fae, traveling together. And a woman,” he added with obvious appreciation, looking her over with a pair of greedy, wolfish eyes. “Too long I’ve been in the mountains. The world has turned upside-down.”
Jesse stiffened in the chair beside her, reaching invisibly for her hand.
“I would not have told you otherwise,” Mierko replied calmly, gesturing for them to begin.
It was the same food they’d been served the night before, with a few peculiar additions. At the far end of the table was a dish that smelled so strongly of salt and brine, it was all Kiera could do to keep from gagging. Instead of setting a plate before the giant, he had been presented with the entire leg of a stag. She watched in silence as he snapped off the hoof, flicking it across the chamber.
“It is fortunate timing,” Mierko continued with a glance at the friends, “that you arrived when you did, just as my kinsmen were arriving themselves. I have taken the liberty of sharing your news, in broad strokes, of course. I will leave it to you to fill in the details.”
“And take your time,” another man interjected, leaning back with a self-satisfied grin. The left side of his face had been burned beyond recognition, and he was missing one of his hands. But the men sitting on either side gave him a respectful distance. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had the pleasure of speaking with a fae. Never in all my years, has one come asking me for help.”
There was a tittering of laughter around the table, a turning of attention. A muscle in Eden’s jaw tightened, like there was something more to the story that Kiera didn’t quite understand.
Nevertheless, he nodded, acknowledging the truth of it.
“These are indeed strange times,” he replied, summoning that eternal composure. “As you can see by my own choice in companions, this is an enemy unlike any we’ve ever faced. Many of my people were content to fight him alone,” he added, eyes sweeping around the table, “as we’ve done so many times in the past. But a problem so great, is a call for unification. A chance to bury old grievances, and turn our eyes to the future. A realm divided, is one easily conquered.” He paused a moment, forcing himself to say the rest. “We have come in the hopes of rectifying that.”
It was a lovely bit of speech for an ugly group of people. Regardless, his words had carried further than Kiera might have guessed. Instead of promising riches and plunder, the kinds of things these men delighted in taking for themselves, the fae offered something far greater: clemency.
A chance to no longer be hunted, no longer despised. No longer keep looking over their shoulders, with the tips of immortal arrows pointed constantly at their backs. If they wanted, they could put down roots, learn a trade. In his heart, no man wished to remain an outlaw forever. In an ironic twist, their gracious host was a living example. For generations, the Tezerin had roamed the length of the coastal range. It was only recently they’d built themselves a permanent home.
The reactions around the table were varied, with everything from open derision, to hard gusts of laughter, to angry mutterings beneath their breath. Most simply glanced at each other before tearing into the plates in front of them, like they’d come for no other reason but to feast. But there were a few who continued watching the fae long after he’d finished speaking, like they were trying to measure the truth of it. Mierko’s eyes caught every one of them, like he was writing down a list.
He let the words settle a few moments, enough time for the surprise of it to fade, before he leaned back in his chair—a goblet of wine dangling loosely in his hand.
