Or, worst of all, in a threat against my mother.
I still try to step aside, nearly burying myself in a cascade of flowers along the wall. Their perfume engulfs me, and a bee drones near my ear.
“Are you sure we should be seen spending much time together before the wedding?” I ask. “Wouldn’t that be unseemly?”
I have no idea if it would be. Royals seem to do whatever they want with whomever they want—I try not to think of Lydea and bring a blush to my face—but they also have endless rules of etiquette. Maybe this is one of them. I hope.
“On the contrary. According to some, we have seen far too little of each other. Besides, you should want nothing more than to spend time with me.” There’s warning in Kineas’s cold, silvery eyes. Of course. This is the language he speaks best: insinuations and threats.
Before I can recoil he seizes my wrist down low where no one else can see, hard enough to hurt. He dips his head toward my ear, where no one else can hear. The bright, romantic flowers curling all around us and the happily humming bee seem to mock me. “That wasn’t a request. Try not to embarrass yourself this time.”
Embarrass him, he means.
I smile winningly at him for appearances’ sake and murmur, “Take your hand off me before I burn it off.”
“Come now, we know your guardian would never allow that.” His voice remains low, almost sultry. For all anyone can tell, we might be flirting with each other.
My guardian might not allow me to use blood magic. But another path springs into my mind. I suddenly know how to use my body.
With a twist of my wrist, I break Kineas’s grip. I have his own wrist pinched at a brutal angle before he can blink. He staggers to escape me, and then catches himself in an attempt to hide it, lurching awkwardly and in a very unprincelike manner. He massages the joint before he thinks better of that, too. His hands drop, and he glares daggers at me. I’m surprised he doesn’t actually draw a blade on me.
But I know precisely how to dodge him. I’m already bouncing on my toes, anticipatory.
Where on earth has this knowledge come from?
I’m suddenly aware of Ivrilos standing at my side, a dark shadow framed in a profusion of blossoms. Normally I would appreciate the contrast—why does he always have to look so starkly beautiful?—but I spare him only a glance or two. He’s busy staring in amazement. He never expected me to be able to do what I did, either, and yet there’s a glint of recognition in his eyes. He’s so focused on me that the bee flies right through his forehead without him seeming to notice.
And then I realize: I learned it from him. Or rather, I drank down some of his martial knowledge with the shadowy power and memories he gave me in his forbidden kiss.
“Perfect.” Kineas masks his fury with a laugh that sounds razor sharp. “I was just headed to my sparring session. I wanted you to watch, but now perhaps I can practice on you. You seem to have some training yourself. Only blades allowed, of course. None of that blood magic of yours.”
Shit, I think, as his attendants titter—some of them nervously, some in approval. I don’t know how much knowledge I’ve absorbed from Ivrilos. I doubt it extends to full-bore dueling. But that won’t stop Kineas.
He wants to hurt me. I can see it in his eyes. This is the man who will be my husband, and there’s no one here to gainsay him.
Ivrilos finally blinks as if coming back to himself. “Convince him this is a bad idea.”
“Be my guest,” I mutter.
“You know he can’t hear me,” my guardian bites out.
“After you,” Kineas says with a murderous smile, once again assuming my words are for him.
He assumes everything is for him.
He gestures the way forward, down the hall. I have no choice but to accompany him.
“Shit,” my guardian breathes.
“And I thought you were supposed to be my protector,” I say, picking my words carefully so Kineas won’t know they’re not for him.
“Rovan—” Ivrilos begins, almost desperately.
“We’re not married yet,” the crown prince interrupts without realizing. “What’s a little blood between friends? Although”—he leans for my ear again as we walk—“I hear there’s supposed to be blood on the wedding night, too.”
I laugh, but I still keep my voice down. “You think you’ll be my first? Besides, you must not have much experience yourself if you think all women bleed the first time.”
I hope that will fluster him, but he only smiles unsettlingly. “In my experience, it’s not difficult to make them bleed. Granted, with you, I might have to get creative.” His voice drops. “You wouldn’t be the first woman I’ve cut.”
I remember Japha telling me about the accusations of abuse from some of his lovers, and worse, the rumors of missing lowborn girls … all swiftly silenced.
“For the love of the goddess,” Ivrilos practically hisses in my other ear, “would you stop provoking him?”
I could, but then I might lose whatever pride I have left. I wish I could extend my arms, or even just a sigil-weighted thought, and pitch both men into the walls on opposites sides of me. And then maybe strangle them with flowers. But I can’t hurt Ivrilos, and he would never let me hurt the crown prince.
“Rovan, you can pretend you don’t feel well,” Ivrilos says. “I can make you feel unwell…”
“Don’t even try it,” I growl through gritted teeth. “Or else I’ll tell the truth about you.”
“And why would anyone care to listen?” Kineas asks lightly, carrying on our conversation. He adds, just as light, “I can’t wait to hear you change your tune. Someday, I’ll even make you beg for it. It will be music to my ears. Not this insufferable squawking.”
I don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction, even though I want to shudder. My skin is crawling from being so near him.
Twin or not, how could Lydea ever think she was anything like him?
The crown prince and his gaggle of attendants walk the rest of the way in anticipatory silence to a sunny, wide dirt courtyard, columns open on one gracefully curving side of the palace to the city sprawled below. Between the columns, light streams in from stacked arches that rise three stories overhead to a pale, curving ceiling punctured by oculi and draped in flowers. Weapon racks line the other walls.
Kineas dismisses several men already waiting there to spar with him and spreads his arms wide to encompass our arena. “Choose your weapons, my dearest.”
“Your Highness,” says an older attendant, standing deferentially apart. “Shouldn’t you both be limited to wooden practice weapons, or—”
“Of course not,” Kineas snaps. “My bride-to-be surely knows how to handle herself. You dare insult her, and you’re insulting me. We fight until first blood.”
Clever, I think. Sick, but clever.
I march right over to where the real weapons hang and draw a pair of half-moon blades off the rack. They give me a good feeling—a sense of comfortable familiarity, despite my never having held anything like them before.
I have, however, seen them both strapped to the waist and gripped in the hands of my guardian.
Said guardian appears in front of me, speaking rapidly. “Ideally you’d use something with better reach, but I don’t think you have the arm strength for a two-handed sword. My advice?”
I meet his eyes.
“Lose as quickly as possible.”
My expression must be response enough, because he says, “I didn’t imagine you would listen. So I’ll try to give you tips, but Kineas has trained as a warrior nearly since birth.”
He sounds less than hopeful. I turn away from him and walk toward the center of the arena, grateful I’m wearing a shorter chiton for my dancing lesson, so as not to tangle up my legs. I face Kineas, who draws the sword on his hip.
“Let’s see how experienced you truly are,” he murmurs, a smile on his face for anyone who’s watching. “I’m betting you’ll bleed after all.”
I charge first. Kineas is probably hoping I will—hoping to goad me into making an immediate mistake. And then he’ll poke and prod and make a fool of me, if he isn’t planning on truly hurting me. But I have something other than fury fueling my limbs. I can feel it alongside my bloodline, swimming in the dark spaces between it. Maybe Kineas has trained as a warrior since birth, but Ivrilos has, too, since both the beginning of his life and his death—four hundred years ago. And he’s given me a breath I have yet to expel.
I’m happy to expel it now.
My barrage hits the crown prince like a storm, and he ends up retreating almost before the spectators can let out a collective gasp.
“Feint left!” Ivrilos barks.
I don’t know what the hell that means. I only have the dark instinct curled like smoke inside to guide me. And Kineas is indeed skilled. He only allows himself a single look of wide-eyed shock before he’s back on the offensive. Twisting, he swings at me viciously, seeking an opening. The force of his strike, deflected by my half-moon blades, vibrates up my arms hard enough to rattle my teeth. Suddenly, it’s all I can do to keep up with him.
“You’ve fought, now let him win!” Ivrilos says, practically at my ear. If I could spare the hand, I would bat him away like a fly. “He can’t wonder at how well you can fight. No one can discover…”
He chokes off, but I know what he was going to say: Discovery is too risky. And yet, I’m supposed to let Kineas cut me to hide the truth?
As another rush of blows makes my elbows creak, I know what else Ivrilos would say. It’s what he argued that night: A little pain, a little misery, is worth it, for the sake of his plan. At least to him.
And yet he’s hovering so close, reluctant to let Kineas hurt me. My guardian doesn’t want to be the one to allow it. He wants me to allow it, so he doesn’t feel responsible.
Fuck that.
I pummel Kineas back once again, gaining more ground and making someone in the crowd actually squeal. But I can already feel the weight of my blades. Already I’m flagging.
Kineas must sense this, because he swings so hard I have to catch his sword on both blades, crossed above me—exactly how Ivrilos caught a sword of fire when my father attacked King Tyros. It was effective for Ivrilos, but the distraction of the memory costs me. The crown prince’s blade grinds down along both of mine, driving close to my shoulder, bared by my sleeveless chiton. His edge strains to reach my flesh. If it does, it probably won’t stop at first blood. It might even bite into bone, such is the force behind the blow.
I let out a ragged gasp that’s nearly a sob, my grip slipping even more. Kineas’s grin is a feral snarl.
This is it. He’ll win. And, oh, will I bleed.
But then, pale hands close over each of mine. I can’t feel them or the phantom arms overlaying my own, even though they look as solid as I am, wrapping around my shoulders from behind. I sense the ghost of a cheek next to my ear. My eyes dart back and find Ivrilos’s as he glances at me through his fall of dark hair. Then he looks ahead to Kineas, his gaze determined and … furious. And he pushes.
I can feel his hard chest lining my spine, his thigh planted alongside mine, the strength in his fingers nearly crushing my delicate bones against the hilts. I thrust my blades forward at the same time, and together Ivrilos and I send the crown prince staggering back so abruptly he trips and falls on his ass in the dirt.
I spin to stare at my guardian in shock. He’s backed away slightly, though he’s still nearly stitched to my side. Not that anyone else can see. He didn’t appear long enough, or perhaps with enough of himself, for the spectators to notice. I only felt him at a few key points of contact—places on my body that are still tingling, both with the force of him and something else. Some heightened awareness.
I expect to topple over, to fall harder than Kineas. However little my guardian materialized, he used a lot of strength. Which means my strength, in the end.
But it’s Ivrilos who looks winded, leaning forward, black-gauntleted arm braced on his thigh, hair curtaining his face.
He hasn’t stolen from me at all, I realize. Affecting the physical world takes a lot from the dead, and it all came from him.
He straightens and practically hisses when he finds my gaze on him. “Eyes forward, blades up. End this now. You could conceivably have hidden martial talent and get lucky, but you can’t prove to be thoroughly stronger and more adept than him.”
And then Kineas is on me again, swinging in a flurry of blows. But he’s angry, his cheeks flushed. I’ve embarrassed him. And that makes him sloppy.
I know where to strike: a low thrust to the left, which Kineas is able to block, barely. What he can’t do is parry my higher strike on the right, which is once again propelled by Ivrilos’s palm against the back of my hand—just a whisper of it, there and gone—lending me speed.
The red gash appears practically like magic across Kineas’s bicep.
The crowd is silent as the blood wells up and then drips down the crown prince’s arm. He stares at it in disbelief. I almost laugh as I let my half-moon blades fall to the dirt, never mind that I feel like dropping to the ground with them.
“I guess it’s you who bleeds,” I manage to say.
Kineas’s face twists in fury. He raises his sword. I’m too stunned, too exhausted, to try to block him with sigils, let alone fast enough to pick up my blades.
Another blade flashes in front of my face to meet Kineas’s—keeping it from cleaving my head from my shoulders. I turn, half hoping, half dreading that I’ll see Ivrilos standing there, dark in the sunlight, revealing himself for all to see as my true guardian. Enemy of the crown.
But no. It’s Alldan. He tosses Kineas’s blade wide in a shining arc of ringing steel.
“I heard tell of your skills, my lord, and came to see for myself. And yet this is beneath even the lowliest of fighters.” His voice has an odd, lilting accent, but otherwise betrays nothing. “The lady put down her weapons.”
Kineas is panting. I don’t doubt the crown prince could—and would—bully anyone in his own court. But the uncertainty in his sharp gaze tells me that he doesn’t know how to approach a prince of Skyllea. It isn’t just because of his title. The man is a striking sight to behold: deep green hair crowned in gold antlers, copper-flecked skin, and a russet tunic so patterned in bronze-edged leaves that it appears to be made of them, layer upon layer, all of him glittering in the bright courtyard. Even his sword is a wavy piece of rose-gold steel as odd and elegant as the rest of him. If he reminded me of a summer forest at the betrothal ball, today he looks like an autumn wood incarnate.
Kineas seems to shake himself, his empty hand spasming into a fist at his side. “It was all in jest. My beloved and I were just sparring.”
“Of course. Your beloved.” Alldan’s smile dies well before it reaches his violet eyes. “And she won. So weapons aren’t necessary anymore?”
“Of course,” Kineas echoes, dragging his gaze away from Alldan. He skips over me as if he’s already forgotten me.
But I know he’ll remember this. Everyone probably will. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t challenge Kineas to a duel, that he brought this on himself. The next time he tries to hurt me—and there will undoubtedly be a next time—it will be much worse for me.
So much for falling in line and making myself the perfect bride-to-be. If I could see Ivrilos’s expression right now, I doubt he would be pleased. But he’s vanished. I have a hunch that he’s too drained to easily appear in the living world, even if only to me.
Kineas walks away, lurching across the courtyard somewhat stiffly, I’m pleased to note, hand clutched to his arm to stop the blood. His nervous flock of attendants scurry out of his way as he departs between the columns. But then they follow at a safe distance, which leaves me blessedly alone for the moment.
Except for Alldan, prince of Skyllea and Lydea’s betrothed, who is still standing next to me.
21
The Skyllean prince turns to me
in the sunlight of the sparring yard, brow arched, golden crown flashing against his hair like a flicker of deer antlers in a dark forest. “Is this one of the stages of courtship in Thanopolis? Should I challenge Lydea to a duel?”
“Not unless you hate her,” I say before I can think better of it. “Or unless you have a death wish.”
Alldan’s lips quirk. “So then … Prince Kineas hates you?”
I try to equivocate to make up for my slip. “No more than Lydea hates you, I’m sure.”
His mouth flattens into a grim line. “And why would she have cause to do that?”
There’s a slight challenge in his words, and I’m not sure why. Does he know, somehow, that Lydea and I are involved? Does he think I’m turning her against him in some other way? Or does he mean something else entirely?
“I didn’t say she did.” So as not to be entirely ungrateful, I nod at his strange sword. “Thank you for that. Kineas can get carried away, with his games.”
“I’m pleased to help. I’ve been wishing to speak with you. Pardon my forwardness, but you’re difficult to get alone.” If I didn’t know any better, the comment would sound flirtatious. In a flicker of bronze embroidery and rose-gold steel, Alldan sheathes his sword and gestures down at my own blades in the dirt. “That was a remarkable fight. I didn’t know the royal women of Thanopolis trained as warriors, aside from the Princess Penelope and her daughter.”
“Well, I’m not royal,” I say, not bothering to put my weapons away as I trudge toward a marble bench between the shady columns of the courtyard. “And I’m only partly of Thanopolis.”
Alldan follows me, hands folded crisply behind his back. “Yes, your father was Skyllean.” A pause. “At one time.”
Is he rubbing in the fact they disavowed him? Or is the Skyllean trying to unearth my father’s loyalties and my own?
Before I do anything else, I need to sit down. I sink gratefully onto the cool marble. “My father was always a Skyllean,” I say as Alldan takes a seat next to me on the bench, looking the very picture of a poised prince. “He made no secret of it here.”
In the Ravenous Dark Page 20