by M. J. Scott
“Are you planning on dying?” I tried to keep my tone light. It wasn’t a duel to the death, but I didn’t trust Salvia one inch.
“No.”
“Then a smart man would stop talking before he gave me time to think this through and change my mind.” My gaze strayed down his body to where he was hard against the fabric of the leather breeches he wore.
His expression eased into a grin. “In that case, shall we pursue the subject?”
He slid off the seat, dropped to his knees on the floor before me, set his hands on the sides of my thighs.
The smile he directed at me spoke of all the things I wanted him to do to me. I settled back on the seat. All the things I wasn’t going to stop him from doing now. While we still had a chance. “What did you have in mind?”
His hands moved onto my thighs, rubbing gently as though memorizing the feel of the silk of my dress. Despite the dress and several layers of petticoats, the sensation was as though he’d laid them on bare skin.
He pulled me forward so that my hips were on the edge of the seat. The carriage bounced a little and I braced myself with one hand against the frame of the window.
“Damn you,” I repeated, and Ash laughed then.
“Not for long,” he promised. “Open your legs for me, Bryony.” He pushed my skirts upward, and I lifted my hips so that he could bunch them out of the way. And if my legs fell open at the same time, well, that was just coincidence, wasn’t it?
Ash ran a hand up my calf. “I like it when you do as I say.”
“Don’t get used to it,” I shot back, but the words came out breathless as he pressed a kiss to the inside of my left knee, his tongue wetting the spot before his lips found it with the softness of a butterfly settling on my skin, sun-warmed and weightless. The delight of it shivered up my legs and pooled in my stomach.
“I’ll never get used to it,” he said softly; then his lips moved higher.
It must be the magic, I told myself, a last desperate lie. Magic that made me rouse beneath his touch as I did for no other man and magic that made me want to hold him and help him and have him even though I knew—knew in the darkest walled-up places of my heart—that it couldn’t end well. That he would leave me torn and broken again.
Leave me alone. Leave me without any of it.
And yet still I couldn’t stop.
Because it was magic. Magic that shivered through me and around, magic that brought pleasure in a rush and delight like Fae wine as his lips and tongue touched and kissed and tormented.
Magic as his fingers slid to join in the game and drove me further still until I broke against him, calling his name and magic that meant that, even after that, I still needed more and pulled him down to the carriage floor to finish what we’d started. To ride the wild magic, frenzied and hungry and dangerous, that drew us together so fiercely.
Magic that might just be the death of me. Or of him.
And as we finally climbed back onto the seats, the rising height of the Gate visible in the distance, I knew that it was something far more dangerous than magic. Something that I wasn’t yet ready to name or face.
• • •
The Seneschal must have been expecting us. We’d barely reached the Gate when the door opened and she stepped outside.
She bowed toward Asharic, then to me in turn, and I hoped that the glamours I’d cast after our interlude in the carriage had restored my appearance to respectability.
Ash returned the gesture and moved past before I had time to think about anything like asking him to change his mind. To come back to the City with me and pretend he’d never been challenged. Foreboding made my pulse hammer in my ears as I walked after him.
Ash was waiting by the far door. No hesitation on his part, then. I smoothed a hand down my skirt, took a deep breath, and joined him.
“Let’s get this over with,” he said. He smiled as though he didn’t have a care in the world. The offhand beauty of the expression made my heart beat harder still. He was just going to walk on through as if nothing even slightly dangerous waited for him beyond the threshold.
I grabbed his arm as he stepped toward the door. “Wait.”
“What?”
I looked back at the Seneschal, who stood a few polite feet away from us, her face wearing its usual serene expression. “I need to speak to Asharic alone.”
“I cannot leave this room until all travelers have passed through the door,” she said.
“But—”
“It is the law.”
And apparently there would be no arguing with the law. Even though, technically, with no ruler on the throne, there was no one who could actually enforce it. But then again, the Seneschal was tasked with protecting the main entrance to our realm. Not a duty you entrusted to someone who played fast and loose with the rules.
“As you wish. Then you’ll have to excuse me for a moment.”
I made a quick gesture and threw up an aural ward. The Seneschal’s mouth made a small O of surprise, but she didn’t make a move to stop me, nor did I feel anything testing the ward, so I assumed she was going to let it be for now.
Ash looked impatient. “What is it? We don’t have time to waste.”
“My father, when we were here before. He said that people felt you when you stepped into the Veiled World. Said you needed to shield. Do you know how to do that?”
“Of course.” He looked somewhat exasperated.
“Then do it.”
“I don’t see why it’s necessary.”
I resisted the urge to knock some sense into his head, summoning a patient tone with considerable effort. As much as yelling at him would relieve my nerves, I couldn’t help him once we were inside if he was ignoring or avoiding me because he was angry. “Someone tried to kill you here once before. And someone tried to kill you in the City yesterday. I’d rather not be taken out when they try again, so why don’t you try not advertising your exact location?”
“You could always stay here.” He looked at the door and then back to me, the movement impatient.
“We’ve already discussed this. Besides, you said Fen saw me with you. Do you want to risk your luck by going against what he saw?”
“He didn’t say whether he thought that was a good thing or a bad thing,” Ash objected.
I was starting to wonder if he was more nervous than he was admitting to, to be standing here arguing with me. “Let’s assume it’s good. It’s less confusing that way. He’s very powerful. Even the queen recognized that much.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
“Then we’ll both probably be dead and we won’t have to worry about it. Now, please. Shield yourself.”
He touched the sword at his hip. “It seems wrong to go into a confrontation pretending to be weaker than I am. The Fae respect power.”
“We want you to survive to get to the confrontation. I want to survive to get to the confrontation. You can be as all-powerful as you want once you get there and we’ll deal with the consequences. But first we have to make it to the court.”
I had assumed that my father would send some of his guards to escort us to the court, but even that gave no guarantee of safety. Not least because I had no way to be sure that my father wasn’t one of the ones who wanted Ash dead. I was, however, fairly certain that he didn’t want me dead, so if he had sent guards, they should be of some help if we were attacked. If I stuck close to Ash they would have to protect him to protect me.
Once we were in the court, there was more protocol to protect us, but protocol could be a trap as well. And Lady only knew what happened if Ash won the challenge. I wasn’t ready to think about that possibility just yet. What I wanted was for my father to be wrong about his strength, for him to lose without being hurt, and for us to return to the City, no longer having to worry about every Fae with ambitions seeing him as a threat.
Then we’d just have Ignatius to defeat and everything would be fine.
Simple.
Ash st
ill looked indecisive, so I decided to cheat a little. I put my hand on his chest, feeling the hard bump of his Family ring where it hung against his chest. Leaning in, I kissed him quickly. “Do it for me?” I asked. I hid a smile when I felt him obey.
I dropped the ward and the Seneschal looked as though she wanted to say something, but before she could, Ash took my hand and tugged me after him through the door.
Chapter Nineteen
ASH
Stepping onto the marble that marked the boundary of the Veiled Court was something that I had done hundreds of times. But rarely had it felt so much like stepping onto a battlefield.
The Veiled Court was never the safest of places to be—not once a Fae becomes an adult at least—and I had been schooled from birth to be wary of that danger and keep my wits about me when I was there, but this felt different.
The last duel I’d fought, the one that was the reason that I was here yet again today, had been fought outside the court. Salvia had engineered it and she had made sure that it had taken place somewhere where the queen wouldn’t interfere to stop us. Where she wouldn’t find out what we were doing until it was too late. Which was exactly what had happened. It had been too late and the queen had no choice but to exile me.
I had wondered sometimes if Salvia had foreseen that. If she had thought about the fact that if Stellan had succeeded in killing me instead of the reverse, the queen would have been forced to exile him. If she had, would she have still risked her precious son to indulge her dislike of me and get rid of whatever threat she thought I represented?
But today, there was no queen to intervene; there was only the mercy of the court—should anyone powerful enough to intervene decide to do so. I had little way of knowing who supported Salvia and the sa’Oriels and who might support me.
Despite Bryony’s presence by my side, I had no idea if Lord sa’Eleniel would help me either. Yes, if Bryony was in danger, but otherwise . . .
Well. I’m sure he wouldn’t mourn if I were removed from his daughter’s life again. I had no intention of putting Bryony in any danger, so I wasn’t counting on requiring his assistance.
I also hadn’t counted on my father being there to meet me as I descended from the carriage earlier.
The sight of him nearly stopped me in my tracks, but gravity being what it is, it is somewhat difficult to stop in the middle of descending a step, and I managed to keep moving and not show my surprise.
Once I was safely on the ground, I nodded a greeting to him but turned to help Bryony down from the carriage, needing a moment to gather my wits.
I had seen him twice now since my return. But both times had been brief. And not in circumstances facilitating a father-son discussion. Too many others present, for a start. Now he was here alone and obviously waiting to speak to me. Which I assumed meant he had come to some sort of decision about how he would deal with my return.
I wasn’t ready for that conversation.
Wasn’t ready for the way my hand felt suddenly naked, the weight of the Family ring hanging around my neck heavy beyond belief.
I hadn’t felt that way since the earliest days of my exile when the pain of grief and homesickness and recrimination was at its worst as I’d ridden farther and farther away from the City, headed Veil knew where. At the time my destination hadn’t mattered. I just needed to get beyond the borders of the queen’s territory.
“My father is here,” I murmured to Bryony.
Her fingers tightened around mine. “Did you expect him to be somewhere else?” she said gently.
“Quite frankly, yes,” I said.
She rolled her eyes at me and let go of my hand, stepping away to give her father room to exit the carriage as well. “Perhaps your father is less of an idiot than his son.”
I nodded. “That would have him joining a long list of people, according to you.”
That earned me a smile.
“True. And that list will keep growing if you don’t do something sensible like go and talk to him.” She made a little shooing gesture with her hands. “You owe him that much.”
That was true, at least. There was no point to delaying any longer. I had to face my father and hear what he had to say. It would be well within his rights for him to disown me, to refuse to recognize me as his son now that I was back. I’d brought disgrace to the Family by killing Stellan. They didn’t have to welcome me home or acknowledge me. True, he’d brought me news of the challenge, but that was a matter of protocol. I’d tried not to read more into it than that. If I allowed myself to hope for reconciliation, it would only make rejection worse. Though I’d brought all of this on myself. However Maxim chose to greet me, I probably deserved it.
I straightened my shoulders and walked over to him.
“Father,” I said cautiously.
“Asharic,” he answered gravely as he studied my face. I held my breath a moment and then he smiled. “It is good to see you.” The smile faded a fraction. “Though your mother and I would have preferred that more favorable circumstances returned you to Summerdale.”
“I didn’t start this,” I said.
“No. Let us hope that today might bring an end to Salvia’s nonsense.” His mouth went flat and I wondered whether Salvia was coming close to pushing my famously good-natured father to a point of no return. Which was a point that, in my small experience of it, was not a good place to be.
“We shall see,” I said. I hadn’t made up my mind what outcome of the challenge was the best for me. Losing was problematic and—if the sa’Oriels decided to cheat—potentially fatal. But winning . . . winning might start a whole other chain of problems. But I wasn’t about to discuss that with my father. He wouldn’t understand why I would want to do anything other than win. “Did Mother accompany you to court?” Change of subject—that was safest. Plus, I had to admit, now that I was here, speaking to my father, the desire to see my mother as well was hard to ignore.
He shook his head. “We decided it was best to keep things simple for now. Head of the line only.” He cocked his head at me. “Did you lose your ring in your . . . time away from us?” His hand gestured toward my naked one, his own ring—twice as intricate as mine—blazing like a rebuke.
I had known this moment was coming. I shook my head. “No. But I did not know if you would still care for me to wear it.”
He winced. “If that had been the case, I would have taken it from you when you left. But no. The queen exiled you from Summerdale. But she could not force me to disown you. Nor did we want to.” He stepped forward and laid a hand on my shoulder. “You are my son. Nothing can change that.”
My chest tightened at his words, something long knotted inside me coiling up, then releasing with a bittersweet ache.
For the first time in a very long time I reached for the chain around my neck, pulled it over my head, and undid the clasp. The ring slithered free of the silver links as I held it. It felt heavier in my hand than around my neck, unfamiliar somehow. I stared down at it, watching the colors spark in the sunlight, turning the silver metal around the gems to gold and brown and red. Then I slid it onto my finger.
I didn’t know if it would help in the challenge to come, but if not, at least I would lose knowing I still had a family. Bryony came up beside me as I flexed my fingers, feeling the metal warm against my skin.
“It looks good there,” she said as she dipped her head toward my father in greeting.
“Yes, it does.” And with that, we walked into court.
• • •
A lot of protocol surrounds the calling of a challenge in the Veiled World. It seemed that, even without the queen there to enforce the law, we were going to do things the formal way. I knew the forms by heart, so I let them wash over me, replying automatically when required as I studied the assembled court.
Invar stood opposite me, his face impassive as he too listened to Lord sa’Eleniel speaking. He didn’t have the fiery red hair of his dead cousin, but he was taller and more broadly b
uilt than Stellan had been. And he had the same deep brown eyes as Stellan, the same shape and set to them, which was somewhat unnerving, my mind for a moment imposing Stellan’s face over Invar’s. As though the dead had returned to judge me.
I shook my head to clear the image. Stellan was long gone. It was Invar I had to worry about now. Like me, he had forsaken full Court robes. Apparently he shared my view that freedom of movement was more important than wearing the correct attire. Even if, unlike me, he actually possessed the correct attire in the first place.
Across from him stood Salvia and Isak with various members of other Families arrayed behind them, giving me a fair idea of whose allegiance lay where. There were far fewer Fae standing with me and my father and Bryony, but there were some at least. And, even better, the largest faction of all lined the fourth side of the square along both sides of the empty throne, proclaiming their neutrality in the matter.
I could take neutral. I figured most of those standing there were making a statement against Salvia rather than favoring me—me being both a known troublemaker and somewhat of a wild card, given my long absence—but anything that wasn’t out-and-out support of the sa’Oriels and sa’Namiels was good for me.
If I was more familiar with the court, I could have read the exact relationships in the positions everyone had taken. No doubt my father and Bryony could do just that, but there was no way for them to give me an interpretation while Lord sa’Eleniel was speaking. And once he finished, there would be no time for talking either. As soon as the challenge was called, we would start our fight. Until one of us yielded.
Having gleaned what I could for now, I turned my attention from the Fae to my surroundings. I was still shielding my power, but despite that, I could feel the song of the court and the Veiled World itself. Feel the slow, ancient pulse of the magic that ran beneath it. All that lazy power there to be used, ready to leap to my call.
It stood the hairs on the back of my neck on end and I was very glad that this was the second time I’d been to Summerdale rather than the first since my exile. This time, it wasn’t quite so seductive and I didn’t feel quite so drunk with it.