by C. E. Olson
This time, Varis’ smile is genuine. “What a beautiful little traitor you are.” He kisses her again, wishing this were more than just a dream. “How's Trys holding up in the Stone Realm?”
Aine chuckles softly. “He hates it. I brought him some food and he said everything here has no flavor, but he misses you.”
“Protect him, Aine. They will come for him, it's just a matter of time. And I'm going to need him — all of you — when I do get out of here,” Varis says. “He won't leave me here much longer. There's nothing in it for him to let me starve down here out of sight.”
Her face changes to something pained as she nods. “I’ll follow you into the afterlife and throttle you if you don’t come home to me, Var.”
“Mm, sounds tempting,” he teases as he slides his hand up her body to wrap gently around her neck. “But I think we both know you like that more than I do, hm?”
“Shut up,” she retorts, but her words hold no bite. “I— we should stay on task.”
It's obvious to him that she's worried about getting him out, but he has no answers for that, and the way she's trembling also tells a different story. Varis squeezes gently and pulls her down into a slow, heated kiss. “Can you feel me where you are, Your Grace?”
“Yes,” Aine whispers. “It’s only slightly muted on my end. How about yours?” Her slender hand glides down his stomach to palm him, and as he rocks up, he realizes it’s unlike any other sex dream he's ever had.
The moan he lets out is answer enough, and suddenly, their clothes disappear. Varis barely registers Aine’s explanation that she can do virtually anything she wants in this plane and instead, takes full advantage of the situation and flips her over to kiss down her beautiful body. He may be starved for real food, but it's nothing compared to the fire he feels for Aine.
“Let’s see if it happens as quickly here as it does when we’re awake,” Varis whispers before kissing up her thigh to the space between.
When he reaches his destination, her moan travels straight down his spine. He loves this, loves making her feel good and how the world simply disappears around them. She finishes much faster than he thought she would, so he keeps going, coercing her to two more climaxes before she finally shoves him off.
Aine pulls him up desperately, her body searching for his, and she doesn’t stop shaking until he’s sinking inside of her. “Varis...” she moans. “I need you.”
“I know, Your Grace. I'm right here.” He slides faster, knowing it'll never be enough until they're back together in person. Still, even this is infinitely better than nothing, and he finds himself unable to hold back as her nails dig into his skin and her teeth find his neck. “Ahh, right — there,” he grunts out, keeping his neck bared as he lifts her ass to angle deeper.
His Queen sucks messily like she wishes the marks would stay, but knows deep down they won’t. Her mouth only leaves his skin to moan his name and whisper incoherent things, but she bites and sucks harder when she returns to it.
This time, they tip over together, and it feels so real to him that he's sure he'll wake up to a mess. “You're amazing,” he whispers before catching her in another heated kiss. “I’ll find my way back to y—”
He's abruptly pulled from the dream as his body is doused with hot, nearly boiling water. It stings his skin and seeps through his tattered clothes to places he wishes it couldn't reach, but he's on his feet to defend himself in a split second. “What in the bloody hell was that for?”
“To wake you up,” Batkin says dully. “The King wants to see you. Come on.”
Varis rubs his neck and tries to clear his throat, but it doesn't seem to help the raspy quality. “Can I get cleaned up first? Maybe some water?”
“You just had water,” he deadpans. “Come.”
“Funnily enough, I just did that, too.”
Batkin looks disgusted as Varis walks forward, but he refuses to be embarrassed. He's half-naked thanks to his torn clothes, covered in dried, crusted blood, and more than one mess of his own creation. Dignity is out of the question.
The walk to the throne room is long and tiresome, but Varis keeps his head held as high as he can. Balian’s expression mirrors Batkin’s as he takes in the appearance of the once-mighty Hammer, but he doesn't comment as Varis is led in front of him and shoved down to his knees.
“We've received news from the Golden Realm,” Balian says coldly. “Would you like to hear it?”
“Not particularly; the Golden Realm and I seem to be at odds at the moment,” Varis says without thinking, then immediately snaps his jaw shut and apologizes. “I would be grateful for any information you'd be willing to share, Your Grace.”
Balian leans forward. “I have your execution scheduled, you know. Three days from now, half my court will descend on Attarand to watch you lose your bastard head, so I'd watch how you speak to me.”
“If you're already executing me, wh—”
“Why should you watch what you say? Several reasons, but I'll give you three: Reeve, Aine, and that peryton they're trying to hide. If you need better motivation than that, let me remind you how creative I can be when killing those who cross me. I can either give you the honor of a quick death, or I can have you flayed, splayed, and eaten alive. Your choice.”
Varis swallows thickly and nods. “Of course, Your Grace. Those are all very compelling reasons.”
“Lastly, you may yet be of use to me. As you predicted, the Lunar Court’s new leader is coming for me. Luckily for you, my spies tell me you weren't directly the cause, and that blacksmith I sent you after was his mate. We won't touch the fact that Sontar would still be in power if it weren't for you.”
Varis huffs. “I'm no use to anyone like this. Two of the cuts Naslan’s sword inflicted are infected and I’m weak from lack of proper nutrients and rest.”
“Lack of nutrients,” Balian mocks. “It's been three days. Suck it up. Now, my time is worth more than you'll make in ten lifetimes, so listen to me closely: the damage is done, and you're going to clean it up. Brief the Sentinel on what you know of the Lunar Court’s soldiers. Their weapons, how they organize, their fighting style, how many there are.”
Bowing, Varis switches back to a very familiar mentality. “Have you sent messages to King Rhal or King Orist? Having Boedal or Epriven on our side will only help.”
“Rhal hasn't answered, and Orist flat out refused to lose a single Epriven knight, the selfish twat. We’ll work with what we've got, and if that fails, I can still turn you over to them. I might've given the order, but you did the deed. I'll deal with my cousin and Orist later.” The King snaps his fingers, prompting Varis to be hauled to his feet. “Clean him up and feed him. Get what you can out of him, then let him go back to his brother and the Fae bitch so she can heal him. There's nowhere in this realm or the next that he can hide.”
“I wouldn't hide, Your Grace. I came here willingly for a reason. I'm not a coward.”
“We'll see about that,” Balian threatens, but Varis is robbed of the chance to respond.
He's pulled from the throne room and taken straight to the chambers he usually stays in when at Attarand, where he's left to feed himself and bathe. The water feels unbelievably good against his skin and the bread feels even better in his belly, but nothing tops the relief brought on by hydration. Varis cleans his cuts as well as he can and then dresses before making his way to the war room.
The remaining Sentinel — Gerves, Louvel, Tamas, Batkin, Watt, and Varis’ old mentor, Aylard — are all waiting for him when he arrives. Watt offers a warm smile that fades too quickly when he sees the looks the rest of his comrades are giving Varis, but Varis himself barely notices any of it. “So, we’re here to plan the defense of Ostusen. If there's anything that any of you would like to get off your considerably buff chests before we begin, now’s the time.”
Aylard is the one that steps forward first. “What you did was unforgivable, Hammer. I trained you — hells, I raised you to be a man of the King. Ho
w did some twat with wings get you to forget your oath?”
“I didn't forget my oath, Aylard. Balian fell prey to Sontar’s trickery. If anything, I served my King better by killing his true enemy than I would've by killing Aine as he requested,” Varis argues, not touching the comment about wings.
“Says a boy in love.” Aylard stands straight like he’ll hear no more of it, and to Varis’ relief, Watt comes to his aid.
“I think we have more important matters at stake. War is coming, and whether Varis’ actions triggered it or if this was always our fate, we’ll never know. It’s coming now. What do we do?”
Varis huffs. “We have more dragons than they do, which isn't saying much. They won't be able to use those to cross over if they're planning on bringing an army here, so they'll need to use the portal. They'll arrive in Boedal which is why I tried to stress the need for King Rhal’s help, but I imagine he’ll get the message when Fae soldiers start arriving by the hundreds. And yes, I believe their numbers are in the hundreds, not thousands.”
“So we can do this, then?” Gerves asks. “We can beat them? We outnumber them.”
“Not by enough,” Varis argues. “How many of you have actually killed one of the Fair Folk? Two of you?” He looks around, and when no one else speaks up, he sighs. “One of their soldiers is worth five of ours. Some might even be better than that.”
Louvel points to the map spread out in front of them. “So, we set up archers all along the coast. If they're coming through Boedal, they'll need to cross the sea to get here. Torch their boats before they can even dock.”
“Yes. Unless we hear something else about their movements, that's what I suggest. If we face them in open combat, we will lose. We should also place a smaller company of soldiers at our own portal. I don't know how the Sun Court will respond to me stealing their Queen.”
“And what of the sorcerer?” Batkin asks.
Varis had hoped that the sorcerer wouldn't be necessary, since his methods are often crude and deadly for more than just his targets. “I'd rather deal with his apprentice than him, but send for him, anyway. I'd like to hear the options before I make a decision.”
“Before you make a decision?” Aylard repeats. “And who put—”
“Me in charge? I did. If you're not happy with that, feel free to do better. But you said yourself, you raised me, Aylard. You know exactly how deadly I can be when I want to.”
“That's just it, Bastard. Do you want to be? Or has your time with the stolen Queen changed you for the worse? We have no way of knowing where your true loyalties lie now.”
And thank the gods for that, he says silently. His allegiance has lain solely with Reeve since the day his brother snuck into Attarand the first time to see him, and now, his loyalties have shifted — to include Laix, Aine, Trystrel, Echo — and no one else. “Our King trusts me to handle this. If you don't, I suggest you take it up with him, not me. Now, if you'll excuse me, these cuts are starting to fester. Choose the company that will go to Ostusen’s portal and prepare them, then send every archer you have to the coast of the Baldes Sea. We won't make it easy on them.”
When he hears no argument, he bows his head slightly in mock respect and backs from the room, no longer trusting them not to stab him in the back. If he wants to survive the coming days, he has to be careful... and that means being wary of everyone.
Chapter Nineteen
Varis stops in his quarters only long enough to peel the bandages off his wounds with a hiss. Whatever fluid is seeping out of them is causing the gauze to stick painfully to his skin, and the last thing he wants to do is put himself into a situation where he can no longer get them off. But as he tosses the gauze to the side and breathes in, the smell that meets his nose startles him. These aren't ordinary cuts and regular wounds. There's something wrong. Poison, Varis thinks to himself. He bloody poisoned me.
Panicking, Varis races from the castle and ignores the angry beating of his own heart and the rushed questions from those he passes. He has one goal: get back to the people that can help him before it's too late. It's obviously a slow-acting poison, but how slow? It's already been days since his duel with Naslan. Varis has to give the fallen Sentinel a little bit of respect — Naslan knows better than anyone which poisons the King made him build up an immunity to, and obviously found one that wasn't on that list. But whether Naslan did it on purpose or not, he's not sure, since Varis didn't think he had notice of their duel.
Suddenly, his overreaction to a couple of days without sustenance makes sense, and all he can do is hope that either Reeve has a potion that'll work as an antidote or that Aine’s healing powers extend to this. But what do the Fair Folk know of Stone Realm poisons? Anything? Everything? Nothing?
The moment he clears the castle gates, he spots very familiar wings in the trees. Relief surges through him as he sprints toward his half-hidden peryton and jumps onto his back the instant he's within reach. “Trys, I swear to every known and unknown god that I’ll spoil you for the rest of your life. How do you always know when I need you?”
“We have a preternatural ability to sense danger, particularly when that danger pertains to someone we care for. You've been poisoned,” he says bluntly, taking off from the ground. “How?”
“Naslan. How did you know?”
“Your blood reeks of it. Calm your heart, Varis. The faster your blood pumps, the faster the poison will spread.”
Saying it is easier than doing it, but Varis understands now that that's why he's had days. Sitting down in that cell, he felt as though his heart was barely beating at all until Batkin threw the water on him. He buries his face in Trystrel's neck and slows his breathing to a crawl, focusing on nothing but the breeze around them and the softness of his feathers until he feels normal again.
By the time that happens, they’re landing in front of Reeve’s house and Trys screeches to signal their arrival. One by one, Reeve, Aine, and Laix rush onto the porch to help him off of Trystrel’s back. Before any of them get a word out, Varis holds up a hand. “I need an antidote or healing. I'll explain what happened later.”
“Antidote to what?” Reeve snaps, but Aine swats his hand out of the way and grips Varis’ face with her own.
He can feel her powers seep into his system and start to unravel the damage that had been done. It feels so good he nearly slumps, but sheer will keeps him on his feet until she's through. “Better?” she asks quickly.
Varis nods, but defers to Trys. “I feel stronger. Can you still smell it?”
The peryton sniffs him all over and snorts, shaking his mighty head. “No, but you do need another bath. The first one didn't seem to do the trick.”
“Oh,” Varis says with a startled, relieved laugh. “Apologies, Trys. I thought you liked the way I smell.”
Reeve yanks him into a hug, pulling his attention away. “We were just preparing to come get you. Thanks for saving us the trouble,” he quips.
“He let me go. Apparently, the Lunar Court chose their replacement, and he's hellsbent on coming after us all.” Varis turns to Aine and reaches out to take her hands. “I'm afraid we’re going to be facing war on all fronts. The fabric of peace has always been fragile, but now... it's unraveled entirely.”
When Aine opens her mouth to speak, Vaenor appears in Reeve’s doorway. “Seems our aid isn’t needed.”
“No, it still is. We’re at war, all of us. And if the Sun Court can find a way to work with Ostusen, we shouldn’t have any problem winning... right?” She returns her gaze to Varis and kisses his knuckle.
He inclines his head. “That's the hope, anyway. All I know for sure is that we have no chance if we don't work together. The question is... can we set aside our differences in favor of fighting for our Queen?”
Vaenor balks, but Varis can tell the moment he gives in. “I will fight for her, and fight for the Fair Folk. You'll forgive me if I don't place my trust in you.”
Aine releases Varis’ hands and faces Vaenor again. “As l
ong as you place your trust in me. Do you still have a friend in Queen Braya’s guard? If we could convince the Star Court to join our side...”
“They won’t, My Queen. They claim peace.”
“And how can they claim peace when war is at our gates? If we lose, it will be at their gates as well.”
Varis watches the indecision on Vaenor’s face. “Then I guess we'd better not lose,” he says quietly. “Balian might be hard, but he got to where he is by force. He knows what he's doing.”
Aine glances at the other guards and sighs. “We need all the help we can get. We may have to tell the rest of our guard. Vaenor, what are the odds we can get more in our corner?”
“They will do as they’re bid, Your Grace.”
“Var, I have to give my people something more to fight for. They will stand in my corner, but they will resent me if I drag them into a war for the sake of humans. Would King Balian be willing to come to some sort of peace treaty?”
He knows the answer. But letting her down isn't something Varis is looking forward to, either. “My people see war as a gateway to glory. Open battle is seen as a way to show off. They don't care for me because I do my killing in secret, but don't mistake that for Balian’s willingness to make peace with anyone at all. Particularly if he feels threatened. With that said, he's not an idiot. He can be made to see reason — the fact that I'm standing here at all is proof of that. So... yes, it's worth a try.”
“My people at least need to have some peace of mind that they won’t be gutted in their sleep by the mighty Fae Hammer. Do you give your word, Varis Kester? If Balian can agree to release you of your duties, that will be enough.”
His heart sinks. “He will never release me. But my oath to him has already been thoroughly broken. If it helps, I will sw—”
“I don’t think this is the time to swear anything, Varis,” Reeve interjects. “I’m sorry, Aine. But we have to make it out of this mess before oaths can be upheld. You know who he is. Trust him, Your Grace.”
Aine looks at her men and then back at Varis. She stares straight into his eyes and seems to decide something then and there. “Reeve is right. I trust you, Var. With all of me.”