by Frost Kay
He bent and kissed her lips, thankful she was being reasonable. “Prepare yourself, love. I’ll be waiting for you with Peg.”
Tehl pressed one more quick kiss to her lips and forced himself from their room. He couldn’t think about how easily Sage could be hurt in the coming months. He would trust her and protect her to the best of his ability.
No one was taking her from him. Sage was finally his.
Together, they’d rid the world of the monsters.
Sage
Sage stared out at the ocean, her body slowly going numb. Scythia approached. He was coming for her. She knew it was only a matter of time before he hunted her down. Her gaze dropped to the waves crashing below, their siren call still there, but much less appealing.
She hissed and spun, storming inside. Even now she could feel the tell-tale panic trying to claw up her throat. Her reflection caught her attention, her steps pausing by the mirror. Every time she looked at herself, she saw the warlord. The product of his tampering.
Her hand wandered to her bare throat. He had no power over her anymore. She was free, and despite the changes to her physique, she was still herself. Cool, emerald eyes stared back at her, as cold as the light armor covering her arms and chest. If was ironic, really. The armor protected her body, but it was her mind that needed the protecting.
“Sage?”
She jumped and glanced at the door. Blaise stood in the doorway, watching with evident concern. The Scythian closed the door softly and leaned against it.
“He won’t win,” Blaise stated.
“Who are you trying to convince? Me or yourself? You and I both know we’re not ready for war.”
“Aermia is ready. You aren’t.”
She grimaced and turned back to the mirror, hating that Blaise was right. She wanted to pretend none of it ever happened. She wanted to forget.
“You can’t pretend he’s not out there. You can’t wish him away. You need to fight, or he wins.”
“I’m not strong enough.” There. She’d said the words that had been haunting her for weeks. She was scared to be near the warlord. What if he messed with her mind again? Could she even trust herself?
Blaise moved to her side and stared at the mirror. Sage stared at her friend’s reflection, eyeing the painted, swirling patterns that adorned the exposed part of Blaise’s right arm. It was beautiful in a terrifying way. Blaise had always been stunning with her olive skin and dark hair, but the paint added a touch of danger.
Her friend pulled a small container from her pocket and plopped it down on the vanity. “Sit,” she ordered. “And face me.”
Sage turned and sat slowly, staring up at Blaise. “What now?”
“You sit still, and you listen.”
Blaise leaned over her and opened the little container, pungent herbs filling the air. She dipped her thumb into the black sludge and pulled it back. She gave Sage an inscrutable look and lifted her chin up.
“Many years ago, my ancestors created the Tia paint. It was a rite of passage, if you will. Close your eyes.”
Sage closed her eyes and shivered as Blaise smeared cold paint from her forehead to her eyes, and then down to her cheek.
“Keep them closed.” Blaise shifted and began drawing on Sage’s face again. “Birth is a miraculous thing. It’s always been difficult for women as a whole. Only the strongest survive such a brutal experience. When the time came, the medicine women would paint an expectant mother’s face. It was said to help her fight, to embolden her in the face of such pain and the possibility of death.”
“I’m not with child.”
“The tradition evolved. When war between clans erupted, as it always does, the men started to wear the face paint as a symbol of what they were fighting for: their women and children. It wasn’t simply war paint, but a mark of their devotion and dedication to those they loved.”
She spun Sage around. “Open your eyes.”
Sage opened her eyes and stared at the painted woman in the mirror. Dark charcoal lined her eyes, causing the green to pop. Three bold lines slashed through her left brow and down to her cheek. Black dots followed the underside of her right brow and extended from her eye in three separate lines. Her gaze zeroed in on her obsidian lips. The creature in the mirror didn’t look like her, and yet, when she smiled, so did her reflection.
Blaise placed her hands on Sage’s shoulders and squeezed, pulling her attention from her reflection.
“You are not the woman he held in his cage. That Sage is dead and gone. He forged you into something else, not his pawn, but his demise.” Blaise smiled, but it wasn’t nice. “You are his greatest mistake. You are not his consort. You are his judgement, his enemy, and his ultimate destruction.”
“I am not his consort,” Sage whispered. “I am his destruction.”
“You are his death.”
“I am his death.”
“My mother would have never risked her plans for you if you weren’t important. She believed you would bring change. I believe that as well.” Blaise hugged her from behind and rested her chin on Sage’s shoulder. “We are sisters in arms, you and I.”
“Sisters in arms,” Sage murmured. “I will fight.”
“And I will stand at your side. That monster will regret ever hurting those we love.”
The ember of rage that always seemed to smolder in Sage’s gut, ignited. She was his greatest weakness.
To eradicate the darkness, she had to become darkness.
He’d never see her coming.
The Warlord
They thought they were so clever. They were children really, playing at being warriors. They had no idea what the future held.
Zane smiled as he watched the Aermian army scurry about like ants as they built their camps.
Ignorant.
They were ignorant of his spies. Ignorant that their greatest enemy walked among them. A leren among babes.
He stilled and glanced over his shoulder, as awareness tingled over his skin. A sixth sense that she was near. He narrowed his eyes on the approaching party. The crown prince lead the group, but Zane didn’t care. He only had eyes for one person. The goddess in armor and war paint.
“Sage,” he whispered, all covetousness and possession. His consort stole his breath away, her beauty so bright it felt like it burned him where he stood.
He kept his head bowed as the group passed him, his fingers brushed her cloak for one second before he receded into the bustling camp. He could steal her away now, but that would be too easy.
His consort has challenged him, and he loved a good fight. No, he wouldn’t take her this day. He’d wait for her surrender, and it would be all the more sweet.
Zane adjusted his cloak, and grinned.
Soon enough she’d bow to him. All he needed was a little patience. His consort would grace him with her presence soon enough.
Then he’d destroy her world.
* * *
Continue the Aermian Feuds with:
Reign of Blood and Poison
You’ve just read a book in my AERMIAN FEUDS series. If you’d like to continue the adventure, try WARLORD’S SHADOW - a short story about Maeve.
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KINGDOM OF REBELS AND THORNS.
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