Myths and Magic: An Epic Fantasy and Speculative Fiction Boxed Set

by K.N. Lee

  "Tired," I admitted, slumping against his back in the borrowed shirt and breeches I wore. I’d woken up drooling on his shoulder barely an hour ago, and was too exhausted to care. It felt like too much had happened. Everything was moving too fast, and I didn’t know where my future lay.

  I was home.

  It didn’t feel real.

  "Your sisters will be glad to see you."

  And I them.

  My arms tightened around his waist as he drew his horse to a halt. Cas’s breathing stilled, and his eyes hooded. If I looked up, just a touch, I could make out the soft outline of his mouth, and the harsh slant of his nose. How long had we been gone? Six days? Five?

  Everything had changed.

  "Your kingdom will be pleased to see its prince returned to court," I whispered.

  For where Evaron went, so too did his Hound. My gaze caught on the collar around his throat. It wasn’t fair.

  "You could come to court," Cas murmured, offering me his arm to help me dismount. "Evaron owes you a debt, and he dislikes having such things held over his head. He could name you Master—or Mistress—of the Hunt."

  And what about him? "Cas—"

  "He would pay well. You could feed your father and sisters. Keep a roof over their heads."

  "I can’t." A shiver ran through me, translating through my arms. He felt it. Galina had warned of the price to pay for her gift. I hadn’t understood it then. "Even now I can feel the forest calling to me," I whispered. "I don’t think I can stay here, even in Densby. It itches too much. And I can’t— The Darkness—"

  "I understand." His hand slid over mine, pressing lightly, and yet there were a thousand things left unspoken in that single touch. Then he offered me his arm again, to help me down from the back of his horse. "Your sisters have seen you."

  What? I looked up, hearing my name echoing through the village green. Averill’s tight halo of spiraled curls came into view, along with their summer-kissed faces.

  Averill and Eloya shoved their way through the crowd of villagers, skirts flapping around their legs. Ellie slammed into me as I hit the ground, nearly driving me off my feet, and then Avie was there... I was surrounded by a crush of warm bodies that smelled like home.

  "Thank Vashta," Avie whispered. "I was so worried you weren’t going to return. There was so much smoke in the sky and we feared the worst."

  Ellie drew back and punched me in the arm. "Father was so mad when he woke! You’re going to be in so much trouble."

  Averill looked away from me.

  "What?" I demanded. "What is it?"

  "He was worried," she admitted. "He’s spent the past few days fretting, and his health took a turn for the worst."

  I pushed away from the pair of them, turning for home and expecting the worst.

  "Neva, wait!" Evaron called. "We’re to have a feast for our return. You’re to be the guest of honor!"

  But I shoved the door to my home open, and rushed to find my father.

  "Here, father," I whispered, helping him to sit up, and tipping the flask of water to his lips. I'd filled it at the Well of Tears, and the water was almost luminescent as I tipped it from my steel water flask.

  "What... is it?"

  "It will make you well again." I knew my father. There was no man more pure of spirit than he. All he lived for was the hunt, and for his daughters.

  The water from the Well of Tears gleamed on his lips as he swallowed, and then he gave a startled cough, spraying some of it across the room. His chest heaved, and for a second I thought I'd killed him.

  Then his spine arched and he bowed off the bed, his eyes wide and staring.

  "Neva!" Averill exclaimed, her face pale.

  "What have you done?" Ellie asked.

  "Wait for it…"

  The same silver lines appeared beneath his skin, but at least this time I knew to expect them. Father hacked and coughed, until finally he collapsed back on the bed, gasping for breath. The ominous rattle in his chest was gone. So too his pallid color. Blood rushed through his cheeks, revealing the gaunt hollows of his face.

  Averill sucked in a sharp gasp as he reached for my hand.

  "What… what did you do to me?" he whispered.

  I helped him to sit up, flinging my arms around him. "I only did what you told me to do, papa. I followed the Old Ways. All of them. You’re healed now."

  "Healed?" Ellie whispered, sinking onto the bed and wrapping her arms around them both. "How? What did you do? Is this medicine? Is it—"

  "It’s a secret," I said fiercely, meeting her gaze and then looking past her to Averill. "One the king would kill to get his hands upon."

  Averill gave a short, sharp nod, and I knew despite her cool expression she was simply overwhelmed right now. I held a hand out to her, and she came and sank onto the floor at my feet, squeezing my hand.

  "We won’t say a word," Ellie whispered.

  "Is it magic?" Averill finally asked.

  I nodded.

  "There is always a price to pay for magic," she pointed out.

  "And I will pay it," I whispered, earning a start from my father. "No. It’s not a bad price, father. It just means… My life will change. I have a new home now. The forest needs me, and I will be nearby."

  I could see they didn’t understand. With a sigh, I rested my chin on my father’s head and told them everything.

  13

  The following morning dawned bright. Noise echoed through the village as I moved from house to house, trying to find the prince and his men. They were leaving as soon as they’d saddled up, I’d heard, despite a late night spent remembering their friends with some of Master Haskell’s best brandy.

  I saw the two guards who were all that remained of Hussar’s men. The prince’s golden head gleamed in the foggy morning, his breath steaming in the air as he laughed at something the mayor said.

  But there was no sign of a stubborn, dark-haired man with wild yellow eyes.

  I found him in the inn's stables, if it could be called that. Cas preferred the company of animals to that of men, and the horses seemed to be used to his scent. He stroked a hand against one glossy bay shoulder, cinching the saddle tight for the ride.

  And all the words that rushed to my mouth refused to leave it…

  What could I say? Stay, please. He couldn’t stay. He was wolvren, and bound to the prince’s will. A slave when all was said and done.

  They’d never find us in the forest if we ran, whispered a little voice inside me.

  But they’d find my sisters and my father. And we’d never be able to stop running.

  He’d asked me if I could go to court, but there… there was no answer there either.

  All that came out was: "You have no feather. And you have no firebird. What are you going to tell the king?"

  "Are you certain we have no firebird?" He stroked his straw braid along the horse's spine, and his yellow gaze flickered up, to meet mine.

  He knows. I steeled myself, trying not to reveal my surprise upon my face. "I'm fairly certain Hussar stabbed her through the chest with a spear and she burned to ashes. There was no sign of a new firebird in the flames when they finally died down."

  "I saw the sparks settle on your skin." He strode around the horse, casting aside his makeshift brush. "Neva, I saw your eyes. Something happened in that forest. Something beyond my understanding. Your scent changed. You look different. You even sound different. I saw one of the sparks from her pyre hit your skin, and everything about you changed."

  "What do you want me to say?" I whispered.

  "The truth."

  "You know the truth. Or you've guessed it." I closed my eyes, the words spilling from my lips as I told him everything. Galina's offer. The tests. My choice.

  And the sacred duty I'd accepted when I'd drank from the Well of Tears.

  "The woods are my home now," I said, glancing up from beneath my lashes. Some part of me might have dreamed of a different outcome, one where I rode away from Densby w
ith a handsome prince, and the taciturn wolvren at his side. One where I might have made a life for myself at his side.

  "And I'm needed at court."

  The distance seemed vast between us, despite the inches between our bodies.

  "What are you going to tell the prince?" My back hit the wall of the stable, as he took that final step toward me. This man could ruin me.

  "Neva." Casimir's hand reached out, his thumb stroking lightly over my mouth. "What can I tell him? Nothing. Any explanation would see your heart cut from your chest if we weren't careful. Evaron wouldn't speak a word of it—not by choice. But there are ways to make a man reveal what he knows, and I'd prefer to keep this between the two of us. Just in case."

  That same heart was thundering inside me. "You're not going to tell him? Evaron will be punished for the failure."

  The words were a whisper on my lips.

  And Evaron was his only friend.

  "We'll figure something out."

  "What is Evaron going to do?"

  "I don't know yet," he admitted. "The common people love him, and there are several lords at court who seem wary of Rygil. Not everyone believes in the Way of the Light, but their power base is large enough to make things difficult for him—and Rygil is ambitious."

  "It all depends on the king then, and whether he disinherits Evaron."

  "If he does, then I'll have to stay at the prince's side," Cas murmured, his hand covering my cheek, and his thumb rasping gently down to my mouth. "The line of succession will be insecure enough with him still alive, if the king banishes him from court. I don't think Rygil would take steps to remove the problem, but there are those close enough to Rygil who might seek to remove any obstacles. Neva—"

  "His life is in danger."

  And yours.

  But I didn't say it.

  He was leaving. This was goodbye. His touch shivered through me, and I didn't dare let him speak, for I knew he felt the same way.

  I didn't say, "Will I ever see you again?"

  And I didn't say, "Stay, please."

  We both had our causes, and neither was any less important than the other. The prince had to discover how to keep his throne.

  But if this was goodbye, then I didn't want it to pass us by unremarked either.

  "I will miss you." Sliding my hands up his chest, I saw the heat flare in his eyes, just before I kissed him.

  The kiss gave him the permission he needed. Cas pushed me against the wall, and crushed his mouth against mine. My response was just as frantic. Leather creaked as my hands found the hard carapace of his hunting leathers, exploring the expanse of his chest. Cas's sheer size overwhelmed me, and I realized how particular and careful he was—and always had been. He was heat and solid muscle. Pure strength.

  I was alone, and then I found you. I poured myself into the kiss, trying to tell him what words could not, my tongue darting against his.

  Hard calluses stirred against my shirt, as if he did not quite dare touch me. Grabbing his wrists, I dragged his palms flat against my body, feeling them mold to my hips. It wasn't enough. It would never be enough. My nails skated up his forearms, digging into the flex of his biceps, mouth opening on a gasp. In another world, maybe, we could have been together.

  It was as if my hunger transferred itself to him. Hands slid up my sides, learning the curve of my waist. Soft and gentle at first, the pressure slowly increasing, until one warm palm settled in the small of my back. Every inch of hard muscle was pressed against me.

  Heat swarmed through my veins, as if Casimir's kiss stoked the flames of the firebird within me. His hand paused, thumbs brushing lightly against the undersides of my breasts, and then he drew back, both of us inhaling sharply. He hovered there, turning his face into the hollow of my throat, as if to catch his breath.

  And perhaps his equilibrium.

  Another second, and we both might have been lost.

  Thick lashes shielded his eyes as he pushed away from me. Our eyes met, his filled with regret. All of the emotion slid off his face as he locked himself down. The smooth planes of his cheeks were granite once more. My hand fell from his chest, my fingers curling sharply into my palms, as my throat constricted.

  I'd never wanted to beg a man to stay the way I did now.

  Yet those cursed words wouldn't pass my tightly constricted lips.

  "Goodbye, Neva."

  And then he gathered the reins of his horse, and led the gelding from the stable, and suddenly I was cold again, one hand pressed gently to my stinging lips and the other still clenched in a tight fist.

  The last time I saw him, the dawn’s soft light obliterated the shadows from his shoulders and dark cloak and then… then he was simply gone

  All that was left for me now was Gravenwold.

  Epilogue

  Four months later…

  Bells tolled, ringing through the city of Caskill.

  "The king is dead! Long live the king!"

  All across the city, the red and gold standard of Cymberlon fluttered in the air as the people turned out to mourn their king—or most likely, to be seen mourning a king they were secretly glad to see dead. Casimir leaned on the battlements, sucking in a sharp breath of air. The past few months had been lived on a knife's edge as he and Prince Evaron tried to outmaneuver the games at court.

  Along the return journey from Gravenwold, Evaron had become a different person, as if having Hussar attack him at the king's orders had finally torn the last vestiges of childhood from his eyes. They'd taken their time, visiting the northern lords on their way as Evaron tested allegiances. Caskill might be under the firm sway of the Way of the Light, and hence Prince Rygil, but the country barons eyed the Fire Priests with distrust.

  By the time they'd finally arrived in Caskill, Evaron held the pledge of fealty of over twenty barons, and even the Duke of Marietta. When he'd knelt at his father's bedside and admitted his failure, the king had sworn to see him struck from the line of inheritance, only to have his son stand firm.

  If King Euric tried to disinherit him, then Evaron would take to the field with the men of the north—and most likely a good deal of the west, as well.

  Cas would never forget the look on the king's face.

  "I can't believe this day has come. My father’s finally been interred in the catacombs," Evaron said, and it felt as though he were testing the words to see if he could comprehend the truth behind them.

  "And you're king now." Cas rested both palms flat on the battlements, and bowed his head. "Rygil actually bent the knee to you in the throne room. I thought he was going to revolt at the last moment."

  "I doubt he's entirely done yet. He wants the Duchy of Veron, but that's a dangerous position to give him. The south of Cymberlon is flush full of Fire Priests, so they're already in his pockets. He can't have the east as well."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "Give him Lucevyr." Evaron grinned sharply. "Right between two of my most powerful vassals. If he makes a move, he'll have Marmont and DeLucy at his back."

  Cas looked at his friend. "You're playing a smart game."

  "I had to grow up sometime." Evaron stared coolly over the city. "As a certain somebody reminded me, I don't have the luxury of letting others make the moves anymore."

  "I didn't say that."

  "The gist of it was the same."

  Cas scrubbed at his mouth. He didn't look north, though it called to him still. Some part of him had never left Gravenwold behind.

  "And what of you?" Evaron asked softly. "What future do you see in mind?"

  A shrug. Dreams were for those who had the chance to grab them by the throat. His collar chafed. "Point me where you need me."

  "You're useless at court."

  "Thanks," he growled. "As if I need the reminder."

  "And you upset my barons—"

  "Not on purpose," he exclaimed. "I can't help my eyes."

  "It's not the eyes that are the problem," Evaron replied dryly. "You have the ea
r of a king now. We're no longer princeling and Hound. You're the second most powerful man in Cymberlon, and everybody knows it."

  Cas stared stiffly at nothing. Games were for courtiers. Not him. It was the sort of thing that would see him dead. He had not the patience for it.

  "I thought you might be of a mind to rendezvous with a certain firebird...."

  "She died."

  "And then another was reborn."

  Cas stopped breathing. "You knew?"

  The prince—no, the king now—stared out over the city. "My memories began to return on the ride out of Gravenwold, and… I began to question them. I saw the flames within Neva's eyes, and the way the fire stirred to her will when she defeated Hussar. The Old Ways were right. When a firebird dies, another is reborn."

  A chill ran down his spine. "You never said a word."

  "Neither did you."

  Evaron's cool gaze met his, and Cas looked away. He'd never lied to this man. Nor had he kept secrets before. "I couldn't say—"

  "I understand."

  "No, but—"

  "I understand." A hand came to rest on his shoulder. "I am a little miffed you thought you couldn't trust me with her life." King Evaron sounded like the old Evaron now. "I would never see a young woman's heart cut from her chest. Never. But perhaps... perhaps I was not worthy of your trust either."

  "You earned my trust years ago," he protested.

  Evaron toyed with the king’s ring, no longer playing the grieving young prince. He’d been doing that ever since they put it on his finger that morning. "I could never trust my half-brother. I knew that the day he was born and his mother smiled at me, as if to say, ‘Watch your back.’ I wish it could have been different, but you were always more my brother than Rygil ever was."

  "And you mine," he replied, not understanding where this train of thought was leading.

  "She had the right of it, you know?"

  "Who?"

  "Neva."

  The word went through him like a knife. Casimir looked away, taking in the expanse of the city, trying to put himself back together before his friend saw it. "In what way?"