“A mage and a witch,” Cailan remarked dryly.
Witches were those who had communed with nature, oftentimes looking more like birdmen and women than humans, but Lena let it slide. Cailan’s days were numbered, so she’d let him have this one.
“And a whore,” he added with a deadly certain menace.
The word was meant to hurt, a barb, like a thrown dagger, but she wouldn’t be insulted. No, if anything, Lena sat straighter as she said, “Think of me whatever you like, but know I would never call you a whore simply for kissing another woman—and I bet you have. You’re King now, you can have whomever you like, can you not?” As she waited for his reply, she started gathering a bit of food on her plate, eating in small bites so as to not be caught with a huge mouthful if he were to say something utterly outrageous and outlandish.
“You were to be my wife,” Cailan said. “I would’ve been faithful.”
“How can you know it for certain? You’re a handsome enough man, and there are many cute servant girls fluttering around this castle.” Lena shrugged. “Whatever you think of me, it’s fine. I know I cannot change the past, but you should know it was merely a kiss, and I pushed him away the moment after. I regretted it instantly.” Even as she spoke it, she knew it was a lie.
Lena did not regret the kiss. It had been a strange kind of wonderful, creeping up on her without her knowing. Zyssept was…so very different than she’d thought he’d be.
“So because it was merely a kiss, I should forgive the slight?” He was aghast. “If there is one thing you should know about me, Lena, it is that I do not forgive.”
“If there’s one thing you should know about me, Cailan, it is that I do not want your forgiveness.”
He smirked at that. “I am willing to give you once more chance. One. And if you should fail, I will have your head put on a pike outside the castle’s walls, for any and all to see, for the citizens of Rivaini to laugh at, to mock, to throw stones at whenever they please. Once we arrive at the King’s Gardens, you will have three days to track the white wyvern.”
Three days? Good.
She only needed one, tonight notwithstanding, for tonight she would plan with Zyssept.
Lena smiled as she swallowed a bite of the bread roll. “All respect, but I think I’ll only need one.”
“You have confidence in your abilities? What could you possibly have that’s so special about you that you can find the wyvern when all the others couldn’t?”
“My King—” Gods, she could not wait until she no longer had to say those words. “—you have no idea how special I really am, do you?” Lena normally wasn’t one to toot her own horn, so to speak, but whenever she was basking in his oh so glorious presence, she always felt keen to remind him.
She was not to be trifled with.
“You have no power, no specialness with that thing on,” Cailan reminded her, mentioning her anti-magical collar.
All Lena did was smile.
She did not need the collar off to kill him. She would not need magic to finish it for good. The assassination, the killing of royalty was an age-old thing, and most assassins weren’t mages. Lena would be able to do it just fine.
Zys had gotten the others out of the castle earlier in the day; they wandered the markets, waiting to see the royal carts pass. He’d gotten the others normal clothes, so they did not stick out as much. They couldn’t wear the royal armor while wandering city streets.
They currently stood at a market stall whose wears were carved wooden animals. A few of them, Zys noticed, were wyverns. He…wanted to buy one, as peculiar as it was. The ancient god of death and disease, longing to buy a child’s toy.
Hmm…perhaps after Cailan was dealt with, he’d return to the stall and purchase one.
Tamlen was beside him, muttering, “She’s really going to do it?” He did not voice what it was, but they all knew. Vale stood beside him, frowning. Bastian hung back, hiding his face, for he feared he would be recognized, even though Zys had glamoured everyone in the area to see strangers they would not recognize and would promptly forget.
“She wants to, yes,” Zys said, still staring hard at the wooden carvings. The merchant was busy with another customer, thankfully leaving them alone. If the man offered Zys a deal on the figure, he was uncertain if he’d be able to say no. He’d have to glamor him, for he had no coin with him.
“She should have us do it, not her,” Tamlen said, his scowl deepening.
“She will do just fine.”
It was Vale who spoke, leaning around Tamlen to say, “And if she gets caught? What then? This whole thing came about because he heard you in her room, did it not?” He spoke the truth, and Zys was slow to nod.
“It did, and it was partially my fault for not masking the room.” Though, truly, Zys was unsure if he had, if Cailan would’ve been fooled or not. With the spirit inside him, he was able to see past things other mortals couldn’t.
With a sigh, Tamlen said, “I still think one of us should do it. Maybe Bastian. It’d be fitting.”
Zys’s brows creased. “Why would it be fitting?”
Bastian whispered behind him, “It was not the…father who suggested I be put in the ground with the rest, but the son.” The way he spoke it, as if he were ashamed of his death. Most men were, in the end, angry at their deaths, their spirits red and furious, but Bastian was only anxious about it. Zys was surprised he’d kept that tidbit to himself for so long.
Zys stared at the Sumerian hard, his silver eyes studying the man. “You never told her,” he said, knowing it somehow, deep down. Being an old god, there were some perks, like knowing things he should not, but sometimes the perks were more like curses, he’d found. At least while he wore this mortal shell.
“Why?” An honest, curious question, for he truly could not fathom why Bastian hadn’t told her. It would’ve made her decision to end Cailan’s life easier, he thought, for she had a weak spot for the man.
She was weak for them all, truly. Zys hoped the weakness would soon extend to him—and it was, if the kiss, if her softening expression had anything to reveal.
The other man shrugged. “I didn’t want to burden her,” Bastian said. “I thought it would only complicate things. I had hoped that, perhaps, the son had grown up, matured, but now I see it was a foolish hope.”
Zys moved, bringing both his hands to Bastian’s shoulders. “You will be avenged soon, Bastian.”
He closed his eyes. “I…thank you, but still, I do not think it should be Lena who finishes it. I agree with Tamlen—it should be one of us…” Before Bastian had the chance to say more, neighing horses, hooves hitting the stone below, guards shouting for the people to part, and various other noises entered the scene.
The royal carts, immaculately carved wood, decorated with the royal seal, drove by. One was a passenger cart, with windows and curtains; as Zys and Bastian moved aside, he knew Lena was inside, and she was with Cailan. The second cart held chests he guessed were a variety of things: weapons, food, other items a nobleman like Cailan couldn’t do without.
And, judging from the guards marching aside the carts, at least twenty men following.
Not a small number, but not large by any means. They could do this. They would, for they had to. Zys would not let Lena down, not again. He would follow through, be the stepping stone she needed to do what she had to. And then, just maybe, she’d realize he wasn’t going anywhere. He was here to stay.
Maybe then she’d give in to him.
“Come,” Zys said once the carts rolled away. They had to follow them at a distance. The others said not a word as they gathered and walked, simply a group of men, taking a stroll. Nobody paid them much attention, for everyone was busy in their own lives.
The moment they exited the city of Rivaini, they kept to the dirt path. As soon as the farmlands grew sparser and sparer, more abandoned, they darted off the road, lest the royal entourage a few hundred feet in front of them notice they were being followed. Zys had glamoured the
guards instantly, but should Cailan peek out of the window, they would be spotted unless they blended into the woods.
After hiking for a short while, Zys spoke as he hurled himself over a fallen tree, “I may have to make the final blow.” The air outside the city was cleaner, crisper. When he breathed in, he did not feel a stifling filthiness; all he felt was nature itself.
“And why would it be you?” Vale asked, vaulting over the same log.
“Cailan is not alone in his body. He shares it with a spirit you and Lena know.”
Vale darkened. “Hunger.”
“Yes.”
“So that’s why he has been acting so erratically—”
“I know mages are aware they can be possessed by a demon across the Veil, but do you know all demons begin their lives as spirits?” Zys’s words earned him sharp glances from the others. Ah, so it was something they did not know, then. Pity. So much knowledge had been lost over time. “A demon can go into a mage and only a mage, take control should the mage’s mind be weak, but a spirit can go into any living creature, mage or not.”
Tamlen asked, “And how does a spirit become a demon?”
“Their drive to fill whatever urge they have consumes them. Eventually they are not content with sitting inside a vessel and watching. Their taint becomes their whole,” Zys explained. “I don’t know if it’s ever happened before, but I would assume it is quite possible for a non-mage with a spirit inside them to become possessed, should the spirit change while it is locked inside.”
“You’re saying Cailan’s possessed?” Vale stumbled over his words, as if it was a foreign concept.
“No, not yet. But it could happen soon. The spirit and Cailan are hardly discernible from each other now, which is why—”
Bastian finished for him, “Why the bastard has to die, spirit and all.” His hazel stare moved to Zys. “But how do you kill a spirit?”
Zys smiled. A gesture that had grown easier. “The same way you kill a demon. You need a god’s touch, of course.” It had been the same for Lena when she was across the Veil; she’d killed a demon without knowing the extent of her powers.
Demons and spirits were not invincible; they could be killed just like anything else.
The carriage ride was beyond awkward, but at least it made the journey go by a tad faster. Lena spent most of the time studying her lap, refusing to look up at Cailan across from her. She still wore heeled shoes, as ridiculously impractical as they were, the damned collar around her throat, and the only dress she hadn’t torn up—only because it was the one she wore to the execution. She knew Cailan stared at her, and she did her best to ignore him.
Though she found she could not when he said, “Your hair looks nice. I’m glad the enchanter was able to counteract the potion your friend made for you.” He sounded bored, as if his heart was not in the conversation.
Lena didn’t think he knew the right definition of counteract—for if Nilsan’s potion had counteracted Ingrid’s, then her hair would be its normal yellow and her eyes a normal shade of blue—but she let it slide, considering she sat across from a madman who could strangle her at any moment.
Instead, she asked quietly, “Why do you like blue so much?”
Cailan leaned back, stretching his arms atop the cushion that lined the carriage’s seat, crossing his legs. “Other than the sky, there is not much in nature that is blue. A few flowers, I think, but nowhere near as many as there are pink and yellow and red. It’s a rare color. Only those with wealth can have their tailors make them blue clothing, for the dye is expensive.” There was a pause before he whispered, “It was my mother’s favorite color.”
At that, she looked at him. His eyes were cast down, lost in thought, and he looked…almost normal. Not like a madman wearing a golden crown. Though it was a small gesture, a seemingly meaningless sentence, it was still a reminder he was a person, as much as she would like to forget. He might have a spirit inside of him, but he was a person with memories, with fears and hopes, and this whole trip was to snuff him out.
Truly, it was nearly enough to make her rethink it, but her decision was made when he’d swung his hand and had the executioner behead Anne.
Though it was probably a bad idea, Lena said, “Tell me about your mother. I never heard much about her while in the College.”
Cailan smiled—and this smile was genuine, real, and it tugged at her heartstrings. “She was the kindest person you’d ever meet. She loved me, protected me from…from my father. She took the brunt of his anger.” He blinked, averting his gaze to the curtain hanging on the window. “I think she miscarried so much because of him. If I would’ve…I should’ve done something sooner. If I could’ve saved her—”
Before she knew what she was doing, she leaned across the carriage and set a hand on his knee, saying, “I’m sure you did everything you could. You were only a child—”
He was measured in drawing his gaze to her hand, which she quickly took off him. “Yes, but we both know children are capable of just as much destruction as adults.” Cailan referred to her own parents’ murder, which was fair enough. And just like that, whatever sympathy she might’ve felt for him vanished.
The rest of the carriage ride was spent in silence, and as soon as they arrived in the King’s Gardens, a guard propped open the door and helped Cailan out. No one offered any helping hands to Lena, and she was the one in the fancy shoes. She practically tumbled out of the carriage, catching herself before she fell to her knees on the grass, dusting herself off as she straightened.
Tall evergreen trees towered around them, a gentle breeze blowing through the group of guards who were in the process of unloading the second cart. So much greenery it almost hurt her eyes; she’d gotten so used to the cold stone walls of the castle, to not being outside at all.
Cailan was busy ordering everyone around, “Set up camp. You—” He pointed to the guard nearest her. “—I want you to guard her. She is never to be left alone, even when she needs to take a piss. Never turn your back on her.”
Lena was about to argue, but then she thought better of it. Didn’t want to anger him any further, even though it seemed as if they’d bonded during the ride. It would take a lot of work to get him alone…
What would Ingrid do in this situation?
As Lena wandered the camp, watched the guards set up a campfire, her mind roamed. Ingrid was good at a few spells, none of which she could currently even try to do, so camouflaging was out. Lena supposed she could always give potions a try, even though she’d never taken the actual College class yet, but she didn’t exactly have the mortar and pestle she would need. Her eyes spotted a rather large pot she guessed would contain some kind of stew while they were outside of the castle on the hunt.
Hmm. Maybe she didn’t need anything more than that.
But she was not so well-versed in plants, assuming she could she even slip something in the stew, something that would make the guards either leave their stations due to a tumultuous stomach, or cause them to be too drowsy to be much good in defending Cailan. She’d have to ask Zyssept what he thought—
Her mind nearly exploded from the thought which had so easily slipped into her head. Did she care about Zyssept’s opinions? Did she want him to help her?
She was slow to realize she did.
Gods, what a fool she’d been in this, from start to finish.
Tents were set up. Cailan’s was a large, regal tent with flaps and the works, probably full of pillows and blankets and whatever else would make him feel more at home in the wilderness. Her tent, however, was nothing but a thin fabric to keep out the bugs, set up over a batch of rocks, it felt like. How lovely.
As night fell, she retired to her tent early, wondering how she’d be able to talk to Zyssept. She saw the shadow of the guard who stood near her tent’s flap, illuminated by the campfire, and sighed to herself. She missed her men. She missed normalcy. All of this plotting and scheming—it was something she was no good at.
; Gods. What she wouldn’t give for a normal life.
Sometime during the night, Lena must’ve fallen asleep, for when she opened her eyes, it was dawn and…she was no longer in the tent. She was on a bed, in a room that was different, yet so familiar.
She slid to her feet, meandering about. A long mirror stood in the corner of the room, and she moved to look at her reflection. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a dress a common girl would wear, not a mage, and not a would-be queen.
She reached her hand out, laying her palm flat against the surface. It was then she remembered everything.
This was her parents’ farmhouse, and she hadn’t set foot inside it for a very long time. Why was she here now? Wasn’t she past this point? Lena wondered that and more as she ventured to the hall. Her feet were bare, toes digging into the rug that lined the hall. She drew herself hesitantly toward the living area, where she heard a cacophony of voices.
“This is…strange. I’m not sure if I like it,” a melodic, singsong voice spoke, rolling his Rs. Bastian.
“I admit, I find it odd as well—” That one was Vale. “—but for now it’s the only way we can see her.”
A third man spoke, this one Tamlen, “I still think it should be one of us. We could storm the camp and…” His bold plan trailed off the moment she emerged from the hall, blinking at them as if she weren’t sure they were real.
They had to be. They spoke and acted like themselves, but wasn’t this a dream?
Before she could ask them, before she could say anything, the men rushed her, taking turns hugging her and embracing her, whispering sweet nothings about how much they’d missed her. The immediate and intense affection made her cheeks hot, but she still wanted to know what was going on here.
“How are you here?” Lena asked. Her parents’ farmhouse was not in ashes and cinders, and her parents were nowhere to be found. It was only her men, and a house that seemed to have been rebuilt in the original’s honor, though nothing honorable had gone on in the first home. “Isn’t this…a dream?”
“It is, but a shared one,” Bastian answered, tucking a lock of her yellow hair behind her ear. “I’ve missed your golden hair, Celena.”
Gods and Trickery: A Reverse Harem Fantasy (Unfortunate Magic Book 3) Page 16