Court's Fool (The Aermian Feuds Book 6)

by Frost Kay

She wouldn’t enjoy what was coming, but he would.

  His enemies always got what they deserved.

  Forty

  Dor

  Three days had passed since Dor visited Illya.

  Seventy-two hours since Maeve had exposed the truth of who Dorcus really was.

  It felt like a lifetime had come and gone.

  Tomorrow, the Scythian rebellion marched on the warlord. Maeve wanted Dor to speak to the people of the Pit, to convince them to join them. She didn’t know how to do that. In the three days that had passed, not once had she been able to speak to her mother about what she had learned.

  Her foot scuffed against the smooth marble floor. She wiggled her toes, her feet a stark contrast against the pale stone. After spending years not wearing footwear, she couldn’t bear to wear shoes above the surface. It made her unbalanced.

  Dorcus brushed off the thought and nodded to the two guards stationed outside her family’s room. She pushed the heavy wooden door inward. Another bizarre detail that made her feel even more off kilter. Her entire life consisted of open spaces, damp stone, and curtain entrance coverings. No one was truly shut away from each other. It led to a certain sense of community. Here, everyone shut themselves off from each other. Just another divide between people and other cultures.

  Her mum sat in the corner of the room, rocking in the rocking chair. Her softly sung lullaby loosened the fist that squeezed around Dor’s lungs. At least this was familiar. She gazed at the precious bundle in her mum’s arms, and then to the wealth of shocking red hair that her mum boasted. How different she and her mum were, and yet the same.

  Dor leaned against the wall. “You didn’t tell me.”

  Her mum pulled her attention from the babe in her arms, her fingers running around his black downy hair. Her green eyes met Dor’s, very solemn. She said nothing.

  Her mum had always been an honest woman. Hell, she had raised Dor to be honest, and yet she’d kept one of the biggest secrets one could keep from her daughter. Even now, it was hard for Dorcus to even fathom what Maeve had revealed to her in the dragon’s lair.

  Dragons spoke.

  Dragon Songs could understand them.

  The heir to the Nagali throne still lived.

  And she was both the heir and a Dragon Song.

  “You raised me. My whole life you kept my heritage from me. Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked quietly so as not to wake the babe. Dor already had her suspicions of why, but she needed to hear it from her mum.

  Her mother sighed and shifted in the rocking chair. Dorcus’s little brother murmured softly in his sleep before snuggling back against his mother’s chest.

  “Love, it was better if you didn’t know. The secrecy was to protect you.”

  She nodded slowly. Her mum was right, of course. A rueful smile touched Dor’s mouth. She’d always been a hellion growing up. The knowledge of her bloodline would have made her more reckless. Recklessness in the Pit meant death. While she could understand why her parents had kept the secret, it still hurt. It was as if they’d robbed a part of her. She didn’t know who she was any more.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered and held her hands out. It was too much. Maeve wanted her to help with the remaining dragons and to unite the people of the Pit. Her people demanded freedom, but where would they go? Nagali was just ruins and fables. Then there was the war. Aermia was weakening according to Maeve. If a stand wasn’t made soon, the warlord would sweep through the remaining kingdoms like a plague of locusts, devouring everything in its path. Where would that leave the people of the Pit?

  Still enslaved.

  There was truly only one option.

  To fight.

  “Take it one day at a time, precious,” her mum murmured. “I know you will do well.”

  Dor snorted and ran a hand down her face. “I’m so lost. I don’t have a place. I’m neither Scythian nor Nagali, slave nor master, commoner nor royal. I’m lost somewhere in between.” Her breath stuttered out and she shook her head. “I don’t know who I am.”

  “That is part of life. No person is ever only one thing, love. We’re transient beings. Hold on to your morals and conscience. Let them guide you. You’ve been trained well. Trust in that.” Her mum smiled. “You’ve grown into a strong woman. You have more skills to accomplish on the hard road ahead of you than you know, but you’re not alone.”

  It felt like she was. The room took on a more stifling air, and she turned to pull open the door. “I need to think.” And she wasn’t ready to have the royal conversation with her mum yet. What did it even mean for her?

  Her mum nodded and gave her an encouraging smile. “It is a lot to take in, love. When you’re ready, I’ll be waiting to answer all of your questions. This conversation is well overdue.”

  Dorcus nodded and slipped from the room. Two Scythian guards materialized on either side of her, their steps quiet as the group moved down the silent hallway. The back of her shoulders prickled, and she glanced over her shoulders. It felt like someone was watching her, but it was only the two guards. Spending time with Maeve was clearly getting to her. That woman was suspicious of everyone.

  She focused on the high, arching ceilings and the clean, white, smooth lines. At first, the Scythian palace had inspired awe. Now, it made her uneasy. It was the opposite of everything she’d been raised with. The Pit was dark, wet, porous. Here, it was too bright. Dor felt exposed. Then there was the lack of sound. One would think with all the soaring hallways that echoes would be common, and, yet, there was nothing.

  It was as if everyone was skulking around, and with the way Maeve had been executing dissenters, skulking was a high possibility.

  Dor’s paced picked up, and she arrived at the immense circular entrance that led to the pit. Six warriors—three on each side—guarded it. All formidable. Her lip curled as she caught sight of Darius on the end. The meddlesome warrior. He grated on her nerves more than she could express.

  “I need to pass,” she said sternly.

  “Do you think that’s wise?” Darius asked.

  She glared at him and pointed at the entrance. “Behind this wood is my home. I’ve lived there my whole life and never feared the people. The only thing we had to fear was you.”

  Darius scowled, his lips curling slightly. Even angry, the warrior was attractive. She scowled at the thought.

  “If you wish, but you won’t go in alone.”

  “These men will die if you send them in with me. They stay here.”

  His jaw clenched. “Then I will go in with you.”

  Dor barely kept from rolling her eyes and nodded once. It would be easy to lose him along the interwoven hallways, and Darius knew how to take care of himself. If he got into mischief, she wouldn’t feel the least bit guilty.

  He removed a key from his throat and unlocked the door, the metal groaning as he pulled it open just enough so he could slip through.

  “It’s safe,” his deep voice murmured. He popped his head back in and handed the key to the next warrior before beckoning her forward. She slipped quietly through and crept down the wet tunnel, ignoring the Scythian at her side. The tension in her shoulders loosened as she inhaled the familiar scent of wet stone, crushed plants, and mold. She was home.

  Dorcus ghosted through the maze of hallways by memory, with one destination in mind. Jadim’s home. Her heart squeezed at what he must think of her. She’d gone missing weeks prior and never sent him a word of what she was doing. In honesty, she’d been so wrapped up in the insanity around her, and just trying to survive, that she hadn’t had time to think of her best friend and almost bond-mate. Her steps slowed. What would he say when he saw her? Their circumstances had changed. She wasn’t required to produce a child so there wasn’t any reason for them to marry. Their lives were going in opposite directions now. Her heart squeezed. The thought hurt.

  “Something wrong?” Darius asked softly.

  She jerked at the gently asked question, realizing she�
��d stopped in the hallway. “I need some privacy.”

  The Scythian warrior was already shaking his head. “I cannot allow it.”

  Her temper boiled over. Dor stalked up to him and planted a finger against his chest. “Until three weeks ago, my future consisted of being given to a warrior to be bred and then abandoned. The man who was supposed to be my bond-mate has been trapped in the Pit without any news from me or what our future holds. We need to speak about our changing circumstances.” Her voice cracked. Damn it. “I need to do this alone. I owe it to him, to our friendship.”

  Darius scanned her face, and, to Dor’s surprise, he pulled her hand from his chest and squeezed it once. “I understand. I will make sure you’re safe and then disappear.”

  She snatched back her hand and nodded. It wasn’t exactly what she wanted, but the compromise wasn’t horrible. “His home is just around the corner.”

  Her mind spun as she led him to Jadim’s home. She hesitated at the curtain that covered the entrance to his cave. Darius laid a hand on her shoulder in another surprising display of apparent understanding and entered before her. She followed. The home was similar to her own. A medium-sized room with a table and two chairs to the right and a bed in the far left corner. An arched entryway led to a small section that held another bed.

  Dor stood in the middle of the room as her Scythian protector searched the room before nodding.

  “It’s safe. I will leave you in peace. Just scream if you need me.”

  He moved to leave.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “You’re welcome,” he rumbled and then disappeared outside.

  Idly, she moved around the room, running her fingertips over the trinkets Jadim had collected. Her hand hovered over the cover of a faded book she’d given him when they were children. They’d been friends for as long as she could remember.

  Voices interrupted her revelry and drew closer. Dor darted to the small bedroom and hovered in the dark. The voices grew louder, and the rustle of fabric alerted her to the fact that they’d entered Jadim’s home.

  “The people have spoken,” a gruff male voice said.

  “Our people are divided. They don’t know what they need or want,” a sharp female voice retorted. “They don’t understand the cost of what will happen.”

  Dor’s brows furrowed as she listened.

  “We need to fight,” the male voice growled.

  “We would only die,” the woman cut in. “Do you think we could really win against the Scythian army? Our population consists of weaker people.”

  Something crashed, causing Dor to flinch.

  “We are not weaker or inferior!”

  “That is not the way I meant it, and you know it, you old coot. They have taken everything from us. Do you want to put the women and children in danger?”

  “We are not speaking of war,” Jadim’s calm voice interrupted. Dor flinched at his familiar chastising tone. “We’re speaking of peace and freedom. The princess has guaranteed that—”

  “You think we can trust that monster? She’s worse than the warlord,” boomed a new, deeper male voice. “She’s playing all sides.”

  “There can be no peace with those who use us as slaves. They need to be eradicated from this planet,” the first man rumbled.

  Chills ran up and down Dor’s arms at that sentiment. She hadn’t been invited to be part of the conversation, but she wouldn’t sit by and listen to such ridiculous talk.

  She stepped into the doorway, arms loose at her side. “And that hate is what will ruin us.”

  Five people stood in the room. Two men, two women, and Jadim. She spared him a glace. He watched her with a serious expression, his eyes shuttered. He was angry. He only ever hid how he felt when he was about to lose his temper.

  And rightfully so. You deserve it.

  Dor fully entered the common room when no one interrupted her. “What you speak of is exactly what the Scythians did to the Nagali people all those years ago. Do you truly want to walk in their footsteps? If we choose that path, we will become what we’re seeking freedom from. How would that make us better than them?” Silence followed her question. “Not all Scythians are bad.”

  The shorter woman with dark curly hair snorted and crossed her caramel-colored arms. “The scars on my body prove otherwise and so do the children that they took from me.” The woman’s sharp tone broke. She coughed and quickly wiped the tear that escaped her right eye.

  Compassion filled Dorcus. “I cannot comprehend the pain and suffering you’ve gone through. I’m so sorry.” She remembered well how much her mother agonized over what would happen to each of her children. “I’m not saying as a whole they’re good or without blame, but I will not condemn them all. My father is a good man.”

  “Agreed,” the gruff, older man said. “He’s fighting for us. We need to fight.”

  “He is fighting for us, but he is also working with the warlord’s handmaiden.”

  “We can’t trust her,” the other woman interjected, shaking her head, her thin ginger hair floating around her pixie face. “She’s like a serpent. When you think you’ve got ahold of her, she wiggles from your grasp.”

  “True, but I’ve spent time in her presence since the first revolt. She hates the warlord as much as we do. She is on our side.”

  “For the time-being,” muttered the short, skinny man whose deep voice was almost shocking. He could almost pass for a small boy.

  “Change is upon us.” Dor took in a deep breath and eyed the group.

  The curly-haired woman dipped her chin and cocked her head. “Did they tell you who you are?”

  Her words seemed to hang in the air.

  Dorcus swallowed hard but kept her head held high. “They did, and I’m prepared to do what I must. I’ve been gone long enough. I need to know what is happening. Time is short, and we must decide which path we choose.”

  The woman dipped her chin, her dark, springy curls bouncing with the movement. “Our people have been waiting for this moment for a long time. My family has helped protect your bloodline for over five hundred years.”

  “Thank you,” Dorcus said. The words felt insignificant. She glanced around the group. None of them seemed to be confused. They all knew she was the Nagali heir. Her attention snagged on Jadim. His lips turned downward, but he didn’t avoid eye contact.

  “How long have you known?” she asked.

  “Since the beginning.”

  Dor stiffened. For their entire friendship, he’d know what she was and he’d never said a bloody word. Was he really her friend or had he been planted to keep an eye on her, to guard her? Her jaw clenched as another thought slammed into her.

  The bonding.

  “Did you want to bond with me?” It was an absurd question to ask at the moment, but she needed to know the answer. Had he been another line of protection or had he cared for her?

  “You have always been, and will always be, my best friend,” he said softly.

  It was only half an answer.

  It was as if someone had kicked her in the ribs. Her parents had always been a suspicious and protective pair. Had they orchestrated this? Her stomach clenched. Jadim never had a choice to bond. He was just doing his duty.

  Dor swallowed down the bitter truth and turned her attention back to the rest of the group. Personal feelings would have to be dealt with later. “I need to speak with our people. They deserve a right to voice their opinions on their future.”

  “Our future,” the woman with ginger hair whispered. “It’s surreal to say that.”

  “Maeve’s men are going to move against the warlord tomorrow.” Dor scanned the group. “Before I speak with the people of the Pit, you need to know that I’ve made up my mind and I will be fighting with them. The warlord must be stopped for the good of all.”

  “The good of all,” Jadim repeated. “Will you ask if our people will fight with you?”

  Dorcus nodded.

  “They won’t. There
’s too much bad blood.” Jadim crossed his arms.

  “Maybe,” Dor said. “I know prejudice and hurt won’t fade in the blink of an eye, but I won’t stand by and perpetuate it. It’s time we started fighting our wars together.”

  “As the monarch commands,” the curly-haired woman said, standing tall.

  “Your name?”

  “Terra.”

  Dorcus smiled. “Well, Terra. Are you ready to change the world?”

  Terra smiled, flashing crooked, white teeth. “I was born ready.”

  Forty-One

  Sage

  It was done.

  She had stabbed him.

  Yet, he still lived.

  It should have been impossible. A normal man would have died from the nail alone, let alone the poison ring—yet the warlord now strode next to her side, impossibly tall, his expression hard. If it wasn’t for the dried blood staining his clothing, one would never have known he’d been drowning in a pool of scarlet ten minutes prior. The skin on her arms prickled at the reminder.

  What sort of creature was he? Had he truly come from the pits of hell?

  The snow lessened as they worked their way into the forest where the towering trees acted as a tent above them. Her breathing sounded harsh to her own ears, her steps overly loud. For one second, she thought about taking off into the forest. She’d accomplished her task. The war machines had been destroyed and her monster poisoned. But even as she formulated a plan, reality stared her in the face. The forest crawled with the warlord’s warriors. She’d have to wait to escape.

  Which meant facing her punishment.

  As much as she tried to hide it, fear swirled in her belly. What horror awaited her?

  A familiar lanky, black feline crept through the forest to her left.

  Nege.

  Even though he wasn’t quite her friend, the leren made her feel less alone.

  The trees stopped abruptly, which was anything but natural. The manmade meadow was covered in snow and opposite her, the ground rose up to form the mouth of a cave, a gaping maw of darkness. Her pulse leapt as a memory slammed into her.