Honored (Beginning's End Series, #12), page 9
“I’d have thought you’d have a thicker skin,” Eden panted, his shoulders pressed against the hot stone. He was stronger than the man by miles, yet all that weight was angled directly on top of him and was surprisingly difficult to levy. “It was no insult, merely expedience. You must—”
Mierko smashed their foreheads together, drawing an unexpected cry.
“You must stop giving orders in my palace,” he interrupted, struggling to keep his hold. “I understand that is a strange concept for a fae. The idea of it being someone else’s palace. You can rest assured, we will all be patient as you try to adjust.”
Eden’s eyes flashed in violent anger, but he kept his lips shut—perhaps not trusting himself to reply. He used his hands instead, catching the man beneath the chin and wrenching him loose, like he weighed no more than a puppy. He pushed to his feet in the same instant, drawing back an almost leisurely fist, before punching him square in the face. The warlord stumbled back, dazed and bleeding, while he wiped his knuckles calmly on his sleeve.
“That’s four points to me,” he said quietly, touching a brief hand to his forehead. It was bruised, but unharmed. “We can stop now, and you can answer my question. Or we can finish, and you can answer it then. The choice is yours. This is your palace, after all.”
There was another swell of anger from the crowd, but it was held in check by the presence of the vampire. The sight of him alone was enough to make a small gap in the ranks—an area of space in which no one, even the famed warriors of the Tezerin Valley, would dare to come close.
Mierko regarded the fae in silence, then picked up his sword.
Utterly predictable.
Kiera shook her head, without realizing she was shaking it—leaning heavily against Jesse’s side. At first, it was only for balance. She’d been standing on her tiptoes just to see above the crowd. The longer the men fought, beneath the punishing rays of sunlight, the more it had become a necessary support. Her legs seemed in constant danger of giving out on her. Her blood was racing.
“It’s too hot,” she suddenly whispered, tearing her eyes away from the rest. Her fingers were burning, like she’d been holding them to a stove. “Jess, it’s too hot. I need to go inside.”
He glanced down at her in surprise, unsure what to say in reply. There was another cheer from the crowd behind them, and in short of a better solution, he ended up going with the truth.
“Sweetheart, I don’t think we can. It’s a risky time to be splitting up, and I don’t think the guards would let us.” He started to say something more, then lifted a sudden hand to her face. A look of instant concern swept across him. “You’re burning up, and pale as a sheet...”
The image tilted dizzily, and she clung to his arm—never seeing the way he nearly yelped at the scorch of it. Her fingers left tiny marks in his skin, red streaks against the tan.
“You really wish to continue?” Eden continued obliviously across the courtyard, reaching to pick up his sword as well. It was near blinding in the sunlight, flashing like a silver flame in his hand.
Mierko didn’t answer, he merely threw himself forward once again.
There was a deafening clang as their swords locked together, a dreadful scrape as they dragged themselves apart. It seemed impossible, given the impact, they hadn’t knocked each other to pieces.
But the warlord had already rallied, pulling a dagger from its sheath.
He used the two weapons in tandem, whirling around in a shocking display of speed. Eden dispatched the knife easily enough, and blocked the uplifted sword, but there was something about the man that was never quite as he expected. No sooner had he fended off the first two attacks, than Mierko dropped all his weight, twisting the obsidian teeth on that mighty sword. They blurred into liquid shadows, scraping the top of Eden’s unprotected shoulder. A thin trail of red appeared on his ivory tunic. As he glanced down in surprise, a sudden hush descended upon the crowd.
He can bleed.
Kiera could almost hear them say it. With a trembling breath, she hoisted herself up higher, craning to see over the mass of towering heads. Instead of finding the fae, her eyes rested upon the vampire. The moment the blade had touched Eden’s skin, his lover had flinched as well.
Mierko threw a glance over his shoulder, finding his eyes in the crowd.
“A point for me,” he said quietly, taking a formal step back. He lifted his dripping blade as proof. “You see that,” he continued, locking eyes with the fae, “we are not so unmatched as you think. Just three points behind. Do not think for a moment, I could not—”
But they would never know what he was going to say. Because at that moment, the fae’s dwindling patience finally ran out. In a sudden blur of speed, he whipped around and kicked the man directly in the chest. Hard enough to break ribs, hard enough to crack stone. There was a strangled gasp as the warlord tumbled backwards, landing without a shred of dignity on his back.
Eden gazed down on him coldly, like a marble statue come to life.
It was clear to see now how much he’d been restraining himself. Drawing the man into conversation, humoring his little game. But the sun was ticking overhead, and his own blood was on the courtyard stone. The time for banter had ended. The time had come to leave.
“We are expected back,” he said shortly. “I would have your answer, so we can return.”
Mierko blinked dumbly, like he’d never imagined he might actually end up on the ground. He lifted himself quickly, feeling the eyes of his men. Within seconds, that blade was back in his hand.
“You must give my companions time to consider your offer. Surely you would not place the weight of such a decision on a single day. Come on, lift your sword. We’re not finished yet—”
But it seemed the fae was done fighting.
“Consider all you like,” he answered stiffly, “we need not be here while you do it. The councils of warlords are no concern of mine. If you wish to give terms, send a raven—”
Mierko’s sword flashed between them, leveling at the fae’s chin.
“You will stay,” he said bluntly.
This was a man accustomed to getting what he wanted. A man accustomed to taking it by force. He had no doubt it would work yet again until Eden dropped his sword to the ground.
It landed with a loud clatter between them.
“That is not for you to say.”
This was a man accustomed to giving his own orders. He didn’t take them well.
“I appreciate the hospitality,” he continued with surprising composure, given the blade still leveled at his neck, “but when a guest is no longer permitted to leave, they are called something different. You have built much,” he added, “in the time that’s been given to you. I would hate for you now to stumble, and make some grave mistake.”
There was something about the way he said the word that sent a collective shiver through the crowd of beastly, weather-hardened men. Kiera pulled herself a bit higher, struggling to see past their trembling shoulders. She caught only a glimpse of the fae’s bright hair, his straightened back.
He lowered his voice, staring the warlord in the eyes.
“My people are expecting me. They are not inclined to wait.”
A silence fell between them, so long and reaching, there was no predicting the hundred different ways in which it might break. But if she’d been given the better part of a month, Kiera wouldn’t have guessed the ending. Perhaps because she’d never have wanted to believe it herself.
“Your people,” Mierko repeated with a trace of humor. He stepped closer, sliding the blade along the fae’s throat. “Tell me something, Eden...do your people even know you’re here?”
Chapter 8
“Malecos!”
From the farthest reaches of the palace, one could hear the fae shouting. Were it not for the five thousand troops that lay stretched across the valley, one could hear him from the trees.
Kiera watched as he stormed once again past the bed where she lay resting, flecks of blood dotting the ground behind him. She had debated, many times telling him to lower his voice. They were in a hive of listening ears. Did he want more trouble? Always a touch more reckless, Jesse had the nerve to suggest such a thing out loud. The look he’d received in return had silenced him.
It was because of her, they’d finally left the courtyard. After the warlord’s open challenge of the fae’s story, there was a good chance their sparring might have escalated to something else. But no sooner had those final words passed between them, than the heat overtook her and she went abruptly limp in Jesse’s arms. Sensing an opportunity, he’d shouted—not to Eden, but to Evander.
The vampire had cut swiftly through the crowd, towing the fae by the arm.
Probably saved his life, not that Eden notices.
“It’s an outrage,” the fae snarled, looking ready to tear apart the entire palace with his bare hands. His boots were still dusty from the courtyard, and the shoulder of his tunic was stained. “The boy would dare to challenge my word? All the while he twirls that pointed stick of his, playing his little game. I tell you,” he vowed, “before we leave this place, I will snap that twig in half!”
At this point, it was unclear whether he was talking about the weapon, or the man. Knowing him as they did, it was likely he meant both. His point, however, was laced with hypocrisy.
How dare the warlord question his word!
Mierko was right. No one knows we’re here.
“How are you feeling?” Jesse asked her quietly, ignoring the immortal rampage in the background. It was a talent he’d picked up early in their travels, and honed to perfection. “Would you like some more water? There’s nothing in your glass.”
His arm was still striped from where she’d grabbed him, a row of slender fingers imprinted on the skin. The fae had been preoccupied, but Evander had seen them immediately. The two had exchanged a silent look, then he’d tugged down the cuff of the shifter’s sleeve.
She shook her head silently, still watching the fae. The dizziness had passed, and the room had steadied. If it weren’t for the smoldering pendant, pounding like a second heartbeat against her chest, she’d have half-believed it was actually the heat that had overwhelmed her.
“Does he know how many times I could have killed him?” Eden demanded, unable to pry that grinning face from his mind. “And his pets, and his guards, and everyone else in that bloody courtyard?” Everyone in the courtyard, perhaps. But not everyone the valley. He took a glass pitcher from the table and shattered it against the wall. “I want to get out of here!”
Evander unpeeled himself from the corner where he’d been watching in silence. Since they’d returned to their chambers, under heavy escort, he’d done nothing to either support or protest his partner’s rage. He said nothing about it now. He merely caught the fae by the shoulders and pressed him gently into a chair—rummaging in the nearby drawers for a needle and thread.
The wound Mierko had given him was relatively harmless, but the obsidian cut deep and it had yet to stop bleeding in the time they’d been back. He found what he needed and sank gracefully to his knees, tearing a neat line in the shoulder of Eden’s tunic. After considering the angles, he kissed away the blood and began sewing it shut, but the fae was working against himself—never sitting still long enough to make any progress, before springing right back to his feet.
“It’s this desert sun,” he muttered venomously, “it makes people mad.” Looking rather mad himself, he stalked once again to the window, oblivious to the threaded needle hanging down his back. “How else could you explain it? The boy is tilting at castles and fancies himself a king.”
Kiera glanced up sharply; it was the second time she’d heard that exact turn of phrase. The first had been from the vampire, making the same assessment himself. The warlord who put on airs, throwing banquets and receptions. The savage clansman who would fashion himself a crown.
“Mios,” Evander called softly, still kneeling on the ground, “let me finish.”
“We should have wiped this place from the map long ago,” Eden continued like he hadn’t spoken, beginning his manic pacing once again. The needle swung lightly from his shoulder, dipping in and out of the light. “I was riding with the cavalry in Kinsbreth, not far from here. We could have done it then. We should have done it then. Now look how they’ve grown...like weeds.”
A memory surfaced from long ago, when Kiera had asked the fae why his people viewed their mortal neighbors with such contempt. True to form, he’d answered with a teasing smile. ‘You mean besides the general murder, havoc, and destruction? That and the fact that your people seem to spread like flies?’
It was an ironic condemnation, given that the kingdom of immortals was responsible for singlehandedly keeping those same mortals alive. It was more ironic still, given what they were doing when the conversation passed. Recovering on a mountain from a resurrected monster, on a journey of endless sacrifice to protect the people of the realm from an evil greater than themselves.
He loved them, that was the curse of it. There were many of the shining faces she’d seen in the ivory citadel who felt the same. She rarely heard him speak like this—exterminations and past regrets, a sweeping judgement that painted everyone beneath it with the same brush.
She couldn’t say she disagreed with him. But it seemed a bad omen to hear it now.
He’s angry, can you blame him?
“Pay him no mind,” Jesse whispered loudly, having decided to weather his friend’s rage in a different way. “Nothing makes a fae angrier than the sight of their own blood.”
She lifted a finger for silence, glowing at the tip.
Do not make this worse.
“Did you wish to say something?” Eden demanded, whirling to face him with unsettling speed. “The fool who insisted we come to this valley? The ignorant halfwit who decided he wanted the big, scary warriors to fight on his side?”
Jesse looked at him, straight-faced. “Are you talking about me?”
Seven hells.
Eden took a step towards him, his enchanting face white with rage. He’d already thrown whatever was in reach on the table. He welcomed the chance to break something new.
“There is a latch on the window,” he said quietly. “I want you to open it and lean outside.”
“You said you’d forgiven me for the valley.”
“I changed my damn mind,” the fae cried, “about the damn valley!”
With that, he turned his back and started pacing the room once again.
The movement was the only thing that could soothe him, not that it did much to actually soothe him. It had been the same since he was a child, first in the arms of his mother and then the nursemaids who followed her death. In the bright sunlight streaming from the window, it was easy to see he was a child still. For hundreds of years, he’d stayed no more than twenty.
The shifter was both his ward, and his brother. Brothers liked to fight.
“Allow me to share my reasons. Allow me to—”
“Enlighten me?” Jesse interrupted, with a little smile.
The fae drew in a slow breath, then released it.
“They have spoiled it,” he muttered, hissing the words through his teeth. “Even that, they have managed to spoil. Elegant speech lay waste in barbaric mouths.”
It looked like the shifter might have found something clever to say about this as well, if Kiera hadn’t pushed to her feet, managing to speak first. Her legs were shaky, but the room had steadied. The pendant, once throbbing against her collarbone, had receded to a dull ache.
“Yes, you are so very different,” she chided the both of them. “Cool heads and calm voices all around.” Her eyes flicked to Evander, sharing a look as if to say, how are we the rational ones?
He shook his head in silence, like he’d been thinking the same thing himself.
“You need to be quiet,” she continued, throwing a stern look at Jesse, “before he kills you by accident.” Or very much on purpose. “To be clear, I’m talking to the ignorant half-wit who insisted we come to this valley.” His smile grew sullen, as she turned to the fae. “And as for you...” Where do I even start? “Eden, you are still bleeding. For the love of the gods, could you just—”
“He was faster than I imagined,” Eden said abruptly, a thoughtful line creasing the center of his brow. “Strategy can be taught, and bravery learned, but I had not counted on his speed...” He contemplated this a hanging moment before resuming at twice the pace. “It matters not. He rushes only to his own peril. Five points of blood,” he added derisively, “have you ever heard such—”
He choked off with a gasp as she caught him by the needle dangling from his shoulder, dragging him back to the vampire like an obstinate dog on its leash. Once there, she deposited him without ceremony and returned in a huff to the bed. Jesse eyed her warily, giving her a wide berth.
I can also shoot dragon fire.
There was a chance her friends sometimes forgot this.
She delighted in helping them remember.
“Oh good,” Evander said lightly, “you came back.”
Without further interruption, he continued his work—dipping the needle in and out with hands that were quick as they were careful. It was a grisly business, but the vampire made a kind of art of it. With a sudden jolt, Kiera remembered his murmured praise of Sindriel’s talent with the needle. Stitches so fine and neat, they would leave no scar.
He likely had a great deal of practice.
“Would you say something?” Eden said quietly, breaking the long silence. He was positioned in the chair, but his lover was still gracefully kneeling, intent upon every stitch.
The vampire glanced up quickly before continuing with the thread. “You wish me to speak?” he asked. “You have been talking enough for the both of us.”
It was quiet a while longer as he worked from one end of the wound to the next. The others winced sympathetically every time the needle dug into skin, but the fae didn’t flinch. He was still watching the vampire with quiet attention, staring at that dark crown of hair.
