Honored (Beginning's End Series, #12), page 18
Evander took the fae by the hands, waiting with eternal patience, as he tested the balance of each step. Of all the various injuries sustained on the night of their fateful escape, Eden’s were by far the most serious. The drop from the sky hadn’t killed him, but it had broken both his legs.
He set his eyes on the vampire, deeming this steady enough.
“It’s these bloody tonics they give us,” he murmured in reply, closing his eyes as the room spun in front of him. Since being dragged back to the palace, they’d been given a draught every day, when they were still too groggy from the last dose to refuse. They hadn’t received one yet that morning, but he was still feeling the effects of the first. “My legs are fine. I’d rather feel the pain.”
Evander clenched his jaw, though his face remained neutral. “They are not fine,” he replied.
To say the vampire blamed himself for the fae’s condition would be understating it to a cataclysmic degree. His last waking memory had been Eden screaming for him, lifting away into the ether—then crashing like a comet from the heavens, when he couldn’t get there fast enough.
Eden’s eyes flicked to his face, weary from discussing it. “You were drugged with silver—”
“One step at a time.”
The palace was near-empty as the friends walked the narrow corridor that led to the feasting chamber. The usual guards were posted at all the doors, but it had been emptied of everyone else. At first, it was a relief. The herbs were fading and those gifted with special magics had already started to heal. But they were in no condition for a confrontation, and their rampage through the enemy camp had no doubt left many personal grudges that were waiting to be fulfilled.
When they pulled open the door, it was just Mierko standing by himself in the middle of the room. The only people who accompanied him were his guards, and a handful of servants.
“Our time together has almost reached a close,” he said bluntly, unwilling to keep them in suspense. “Given how long you’ve been waiting, I figured I’d do you the courtesy of giving you my formal answer. After an agonizing deliberation, I’ve decided to decline.”
There it was, right there in the open.
At that point, the friends were hardly surprised. Since they’d stepped through the gate, a part of them had been waiting for those very words. Kiera had also recapped their entire conversation.
“That is very foolish,” Eden finally replied.
Mierko’s eyes drifted towards him, sweeping up and down.
They hadn’t had much contact since being carried into the infirmary. But he’d been kept carefully appraised of the fae’s condition. It was him who’d sent the daily draughts.
“What are you offering, Eden?” he asked with a trace of bitterness. “What are you offering besides a lifetime of continued subservience under your own race? Do you think I can’t do better?”
“I think you’ll be killed,” the fae answered quietly. The games were done, and it looked like it gave him no real joy to say it. It was nothing now but the cold, hard facts. “I think this valley will turn to smoke and ash. And as for what I offered—I offered you a partnership.”
“You did it with a dagger in your other hand,” the warlord spat.
There was a chorus of barking in the distance. No matter where one resided in the palace, it was impossible to miss the hounds. They kept at it all hours of the day and night.
Mierko closed his eyes with a quiet sigh.
“It’s been like that since they got here,” he muttered, forgetting a moment that he was speaking to company. “The beasts are deafening, and spark without cause. It is endless.”
Eden nodded without thinking, forgetting he was company as well. Then his eyes flew up to attention, and his face went perfectly still.
Since they got here?
“I thought you won your dogs in a game of chess,” he said quietly.
It was the slightest of errors; almost negligible—considering what the rest of them had been withstanding. Yet a harmless slip of the tongue had revealed something far greater, a possibility the fae hadn’t considered yet. He’d thought the man wished only to refuse his offer.
He never imagined he might have another.
Mierko froze where he stood on the dais, unable to believe the slip himself. It was quiet a few seconds, then he seemed to realize there was no further point in pretending.
The game was over, both sides had been played.
“They were a gift,” he answered softly. “Sorne is very generous with his gifts.”
A ringing silence fell over the chamber.
“...I never said his name was Sorne.” Eden stared across the polished floor, trying to pry the secrets from his eyes. A moment passed, and he drew a breath. “He has been here already.”
This was no mindless rumor—gossip picked up at the local tavern. He knew the man’s name, had received his favors. This was no hypothetical. There had been nothing left to decide.
That’s why he summoned the army. They are pledged to fight for Sorne.
“Did you think he would not come?” Mierko asked in the breathless silence. “Do you think you are the only ones making envoys? Did you think yours was the only side to offer, that there wasn’t some other option to choose?” He shook his head, brittle with disgust. “The great arrogance of your people, Eden. In all my days, I have seen nothing to match. The god came, he explained it—as you did. But he presented an alternative. My great kingdom—free of the fae. It is a better offer.”
Kiera let out a quiet breath, unable to believe her own ears. “What did he tell you?” she demanded suddenly. “What did he say about us?”
Mierko glanced over, meeting her eyes. “He told me that you were coming,” he admitted without shame, “gave me a few points of advice. He said the fae would know if I was lying. He said you were not coming with the blessing of his people, that you were traveling alone.” He paused a moment, took a breath. “He said I was to keep you here until he arrived, drawing out whatever secrets I could.”
Kiera nodded slowly, then abruptly froze.
Until he arrived...?
It was at that moment, several things happened at once.
Evander picked up a stone table, throwing it headlong into the guards. It landed with a heavy clatter, but the friends were already running. Not to the doors, but to the windows.
They never slowed their speed. They leapt right through the glass.
KIERA’S FEET STRUCK the packed earth like a dancer, running as she’d never run before. Behind her, she could still hear the shouts of surprise from the banquet hall. The smell of burnt meat and dark wine twisted after her like tendrils, pieces of shattered glass rained down from her hair.
In the barren stretch of land beside her, the others were running as well. It had been close, much closer than any of them would have liked to admit. The only thing that had saved them was that spontaneous jump through the window. If they’d tried to escape through the door...
She trailed off, refusing to think any farther.
Keep running.
The harsh sun baked into the ground, sending up shimmering waves of heat. The forest was beckoning somewhere in the distance, no more than a smudge on the horizon—but they were so far away, she didn’t see what chance they had of reaching it before they were dragged back in chains.
If they were dragged back.
No one had started chasing them yet. They were still picking themselves off the ground, or gathering in astonishment at the window. Perhaps it was at the abruptness of their departure, or perhaps they were merely surprised they’d survived the fall. It was a bone-shattering drop; they’d withstood the impact only through the presence of immortal blood. Perhaps it was the immortals themselves. There were few who wished to challenge them, even fewer with the courage to try.
Even as she allowed herself to hope, there was a distant shout.
Run faster.
With a fractured gasp, she flung a look over her shoulder just in time to see the gleam of the iron gate. In an act of sheer recklessness, Mierko was chasing after them alone. Not on foot or even horseback, but riding on the back of one of the hellhounds themselves.
The creature foamed at the mouth, flinging drops behind it. Its yellow eyes were lit with excitement, and its jaw hung open so wide, those rakish teeth scraped the dusty earth.
Its master was little better, streaking after them like a demon come straight from hell.
When it became clear they weren’t going to outpace him, the friends mustered themselves instead—gathering in a loose formation as the man barreled towards them, swallowing up the precious inches of ground. It seemed incredible they would stop. Kiera’s every instinct was to keep running, screaming for good measure as she went. But she was no longer governed by those instincts, over the course of their journey, they had been driven out of her. She assessed the situation instead.
There is just one of him, and four of us.
Her fingers burned to life, but fizzled out just as fast. The draught of tonic was still too fresh in her system, and the meager weapons they’d been allowed would do little better. Jesse’s hand flew to his cloak, debating whether to remove it. Would it be better to fight as a man? As a wolf?
He took one look at that gaping maw, and reached for a sword instead.
The immortals shared a fleeting look, one of those silent communications the others would never fully understand. There was a slight shifting, a ripple in the air. A moment later, the vampire appeared beside her, angling himself between her trembling body and that rising trail of dust. His fangs were bared and his eyes were ready, but the expression on his face was strangely calm.
Eden stepped away from the others, directly in the creature’s path.
It was a terrifying image: the raging warlord on the back of a monster, the ground quaking with every bounding step. Its claws raked deep grooves into the earth, and the tip of that savage blade stabbed into the sky. A terrifying image, one to bring nightmares. But the fae merely drew his own weapon. Not his bow—whose arrows had already been snatched by the birds—but a silver-tipped sword. The same one that had lain for a day in the infirmary at his feet.
For a hundred generations, he’d been wetting his blade with the blood of men exactly such as this, cropping them down like weeds whenever they grew too high. As the beast thundered closer, he stood there waiting to do it again—a sword in his hand, a gleam of anticipation in his eyes.
But Mierko hadn’t been named chief of the Tezerin for nothing.
At the last possible second, he leapt high off the creature’s back—flying towards the fae with that barbaric sword raised over his head. The beast kept charging, presenting two targets instead of one. It was a daring trick, one that would off-balance even the best of warriors. Best case scenario, he would be forced to choose: to find himself spitted on the end of those serrated blades, or crushed between the creature’s gnashing jaws. There wasn’t time for anything else, just one death or another.
Eden had far surpassed the best of warriors.
But he hadn’t anticipated the beast.
Rather than staying the course, bounding forward with those hungry eyes fixed on its target, it veered at the last moment—shifting direction on a breath, and springing towards Jesse instead.
The next seconds seemed to play out in slow motion.
The shifter threw up his hands, armed with only a blunted sword—nothing that would do enough damage, not from the angle he was standing. The beast let out a howl of anticipation, drops of saliva flying from its teeth. Eden’s eyes flew between them, the quickest flash of ocean blue.
In the span of a heartbeat, he made his decision—hurling his silver-tipped blade not at the warlord descending upon him, but at the creature instead, burying it deep inside that matted head.
It was only a moment, a single drop of time.
But it was all that Mierko needed.
By the time Eden threw the blade, the man was already upon him. By the time the beast struck the ground, that deadly blade sliced the air—coming to a point at the back of the fae’s head.
Seven hells...
Kiera blinked in astonishment. She couldn’t believe it. Simply couldn’t believe it. In all the time she’d been travelling with Eden, she’d never seen anyone outmaneuver him. It was the kind of thing that didn’t seem possible. The fae looked like he could scarcely believe it himself.
“On your knees.”
Mierko kicked out his legs in the same moment, savaging the tenuously healed bones and soliciting a quiet cry. He struck the dirt and knelt there, the blade still pressed to his head.
Evander went utterly motionless before stepping into the open space.
“No, no,” Mierko chided, “not so fast.”
As if to punctuate the sentence, he twisted the leather grip. While the blade itself remained fixed, the obsidian teeth combed painfully outwards, catching in the fae’s bright hair.
Evander froze where he stood, meeting the warlord’s eyes.
“I made a vow upon coming here, that I would allow no harm to come to him.” He spoke softly, never breaking the man’s gaze. “Would you put it to the test?”
“I could kill him easily before you got here.”
“You would not live to regret that decision.”
“He would be dead just the same.”
The conversation paused a moment as Mierko considered his position.
If he was being honest with himself, it was a matter of luck. The friends were still dosed with herbs, and fighting past the worst of their injuries. The hellhound had been a last-minute addition; he’d been half-surprised it had allowed him to ride. If he’d had more time to think, he likely would have waited for reinforcements, not gone after the troublesome fellowship on his own.
But he and the fae had been dancing for days. And the god had given instructions.
“You two, get back inside.” He jerked his head at the mortals. “Like I said, I’ve been tasked with keeping you. My esteemed guest will be here shortly, and he’d like very much to meet you.”
Kiera stared at him in silence, her chest falling up and down with shallow breaths.
“I offered you an alliance,” Eden muttered venomously, “a partnership. Yet you’ve chosen to play servant to another, doing his bidding—”
“Only a fae would insult the person holding a blade to his head,” Mierko interrupted loudly, digging the tip in further. “But it’s no matter. You may not yet realize it, but your people are wildly outmatched, Eden. There isn’t a side to choose. There is only one side. And it’s not yours.”
His soldiers were starting to rally, pouring through the iron gate. Already, they were being joined by others. The camps had seen their commander leaving. They’d followed in his wake.
“The others may return,” Mierko repeated, turning to the vampire, “But you...that wouldn’t work for you.” He stared a lingering moment, speaking softly. “You’re in love with him.”
A little shock ran through the group. Shock that he would say such a thing, shock that it would even register. Yet looking at him now, it had been only too clear.
“I didn’t understand at first,” he continued softly, “but it’s written all over you. There is love between you, unlike anything I’ve seen. Love...and something more.”
As if to prove his point, he pressed the tip of that brutal sword, until the fae winced at the pain of it. Evander flinched compulsively, as if the blade had cut him, too.
“Yes,” Mierko murmured, “there’s something more.”
He didn’t know what it was. He didn’t know that it didn’t matter. Because a line had been crossed and the damage had been done. And a vampire was a permanent enemy to make.
Evander had gone still as a statue, watching the flicker of pain in his lover’s eyes. A dark kind of rage swept over him, and he lifted his gaze slowly to the man with the sword.
Kiera’s eyes flashed between them, as she understood a simple truth.
Even though she was technically a prisoner—outmatched and outnumbered, awaiting the vengeance of a god—she wouldn’t have traded places with that man for anything. Because it might not happen today, and it might not happen tomorrow. But his life was over. He’d been marked for death, tallied against the endless total in the vampire’s eternal eyes.
Apparently, Mierko thought so as well. Because the moment he and Evander locked eyes, he did the craziest thing yet. He fished out a blade, and tossed it at the vampire’s feet.
“Kill yourself.”
There was a beat of silence.
What?!
The mortals gasped aloud as Eden flashed a quick look over his shoulder.
In the ringing seconds that followed, even the vampire glanced up in surprise. “Excuse me?”
“If you love him, I want you to kill yourself,” Mierko repeated bluntly. “Pick up that knife and cut your throat. Do that,” he paused for emphasis, “and I’ll let him live. I have no wish to incur the wrath of his people. Not until the god returns and has his say. Then I can do it freely, in the daylight. There’s no reason he should die today. But you, vampire...you are blinded with affection, blind beyond all reason. You are the only one I cannot permit to leave.”
Because he would return. And he would bring death with him.
“You know what they say about vampires: death follows wherever they go. Let’s put that to the test.” Mierko leveled his weapon. “Let’s see if you can manage to save a life.”
Evander stared a moment, then he picked up the blade.
No!
Jesse let out an oath so vile, they heard it in the forest. Eden strained involuntarily, and was punished with the sword. Kiera flexed her fingers, but the picture tilted in front of her.
What good would it do, anyway? In killing the warlord, she would kill the fae as well.
“Tick tock,” Mierko prompted. “I’m not a patient man.”
There was a saying in Kiera’s village that a man marked for death was always the most dangerous. When one had nothing left to lose, it made them a special kind of bold.
