Gods and Trickery: A Reverse Harem Fantasy (Unfortunate Magic Book 3)

by Candace Wondrak

  Tamlen acted as though he were unsure. “I’ve never before seen it, but it’s not bad—”

  Vale elbowed him, causing him to wince, and corrected, “She looks beautiful, I think you meant, you ass.” The antics of her men made her laugh, but her laugh died in her throat when Vale added, “He’s waiting for you.”

  Lena didn’t need to ask who; she knew. In her heart of hearts, she knew it would come to this. If it did not happen now, it would happen sooner or later. She had to face the music, so to speak, get it done. “If I…go to him, if I choose him, will you think less of me?”

  “He is not what any of us anticipated,” Tamlen said, surprising her with his heartfelt answer. “As long as you’re happy with your choice, I’ll be happy.” The others agreed with him, nodding their heads. “Oh, and as long as you don’t toss me to the wind the moment you make love to the god—I assume his stamina is—”

  She held up a hand, stopping him, “There will be none of that, I assure you.” At least, she didn’t think so. She hoped not. She wasn’t ready for that kind of thing. First thing was first: she had to deal with Cailan, then she could debate on sleeping with Zyssept.

  Because of course, before Tamlen’s words, Lena honestly hadn’t thought of it, even if she might’ve kissed him. And enjoyed it. But the embrace was neither here nor there.

  Though she wanted to stay with her men, she also had to see Zyssept. Lena pulled away, giving them all a smile. “I’m so glad I found you. Well, rose you, I suppose. Even luckier I found love with you.” Tears pricked her eyes—not tears of sadness, but of happiness. How in the world had she gotten so lucky? “I seriously love you all with every part of me.”

  Vale answered first, “And I speak for the group when I say we seriously love you, too.” He chuckled a little as he spoke the word seriously, which made Lena’s smile wider. They were ridiculous.

  As she moved to the door, she said, “Wish me luck, then.” Lena waited for their goodbyes before pushing out, into the warm light of day that was no more than a dream, stepping her bare feet onto the soft grass below.

  If this was how her dreams had gone from the beginning, she would not have resisted Zyssept so. If he hadn’t haunted her, frightened her, maybe she wouldn’t be in the current mess she was. But…could she blame him? She did not know how his mind worked, for it must work differently, because he was different. He was not human, not a mortal.

  And if she accepted him, she would not be, either.

  She walked past the tree that had her initials carved into its trunk, past the fields her parents sowed. Lena’s feet drew her to the pond sitting between her property and the next farmer’s. She’d spent a lot of time here as a child, catching frogs and fish and mocking her reflection in the crystal-clear pool.

  Zyssept stood with his back to her, his thin shoulders wearing a snug black suit. His white hair bristled in the wind, and he was slow to turn to face her, giving her a smile—a real smile, one that reached his silver eyes, one that made her stomach lurch.

  But not in a bad way.

  “I think,” she spoke slowly, moving towards him, “it’s time I start calling you Zys.” Lena grinned at herself, amazed at how stupid she could sound, even after everything.

  His eyes, such a peculiar, beautiful silver, fell to her feet, sluggishly traveling up her body, lingering on her mouth as he said, “Have you chosen?” If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he sounded happy.

  Could the god of death truly be happy?

  “I have,” Lena whispered, extending her hand. He took it in his own, his skin smooth and soft. A shiver ran down her spine when he moved his thumb over her knuckles.

  “And?” Zys prodded her, inching closer until there was nothing separating them besides their clasped hands.

  She stared up at him, amazed at how tall he was, how straight he stood, how intense every single expression he wore was, as if it would be his last. Still, she had to be sure the crazed King was dealt with before running off with the god of death. “Help me with Cailan, and I’ll tell you.”

  “You certainly know how to drive a man crazy.”

  Lena thought about remarking that Zys was no man, or how she had plenty of experience with it because of Cailan, but she found her words failed her as she gazed into his reflective, metallic eyes. Though difficult to stare at for long, those eyes were beautiful.

  Finally, she was able to say, “I’ve come up with something, but I’m not sure how to pull it off.” Lena did notice she did not pull her hand out of his; their hands remained together as they spoke, his thumb trailing over her knuckles over and over in a calming gesture.

  “Tell me,” he said.

  “They brought a large pot for meals. If I could put something in it that would cause the guards to temporarily abandon their stations…”

  “It would be the perfect time for you to approach Cailan.”

  She nodded. “But I’m not familiar with plants like Ingrid. I don’t know what’s in the area we could use—” Lena froze when Zys raised her hand, kissing it gently.

  His lips grazed her fingers as he said, “You forget who is at your disposal. I not only reign over death, but also the void and disease. I can make it so whatever is cooked in the pot spreads a sickness none of them will be able to keep from.” He lowered her hand, and as he released it, it fell to her side.

  “But not a sickness that could kill them, right? The guards are just following orders. I don’t want any of them to die trying to protect Cailan.”

  “As you wish. It will be a little something that will cause them to seek some privacy, nothing more.”

  Lena exhaled. “Good. Tomorrow during the day, I’ll lead them all on a wild goose chase.” With any luck, the white wyvern was far out of the area, and after all the noise the royal carts made, she didn’t doubt it.

  “Very well, though once the time comes, I can help you end it, if you wish. After all, it will take more than a dagger to the throat if you wish to destroy both Cailan and the spirit dwelling inside him.” Zys grinned. “I believe you asked about my claws?”

  Something grew warm within her. Actually, every part of her grew hot. She had asked about his claws, and if the truth was told, Lena was dying to see them. She was a weird girl, wasn’t she?

  Regardless, she felt herself smiling like an idiot, teeth showing and all, her cheeks practically hurting from the fierceness of it. “I can’t wait to see them,” Lena whispered. “I cannot wait.” Her eyes closed when he brought a hand to her cheek, cupping it, touching her in much the same way as he had in her room in the castle, the night Cailan had overheard. This time, though, she did not pull away; this time she was unabashedly plain in how she felt.

  She liked his touch. Liked the way he looked at her.

  “Lena,” Zys spoke, “know everything I’ve ever done was for you. And I am aware I’ve said it before, but I will say it again, because I do not think you quite understood me.” His torso leaned down, his forehead resting against hers. “I took nothing away from you. You are still my blackblood. Your blood is my own. Blackfire will always come at your call. You have everything you need to escape the metal on your neck.”

  Gods, she’d forgotten she was free of it in this dream.

  But, wait…was he telling her that her blood could free her? That blackfire could?

  It…changed everything.

  She was going to clarify what he meant, but his lips tentatively met hers, and before she knew it, she was drowning in his kiss, losing herself so fully in it she didn’t even feel the dream around her fade until she woke up, alone in her tent.

  The sun was rising, and as she sat and tossed her flimsy blanket off her, Lena smiled to herself, remembering Zys’s kiss.

  Today would be the day everything changed.

  Chapter Ten

  The day was longer than Lena expected, mostly because it was hard to act like she knew what she was doing for hours on end. Traipsing around the King’s Gardens, covering a lot more d
istance than she and Ingrid had when they first came here, was harder than it looked.

  Pretending to track a wyvern that probably hadn’t been in the area since the hunt itself? Impossible, but she did her best, in spite of the circumstances and the unfortunate shoes she wore. Her heels chafed with an annoying fire.

  Though, she wasn’t sure how good her best actually was.

  Not that good, since she constantly heard mumblings from the guards following them, not to mention plenty of barbs from Cailan himself. As the day wore on, she’d like to say her will hardened, that she grew more certain about her decision to kill him, but it would be a lie. She was as uncertain as ever, because she liked to think the best of herself. She wasn’t a killer, even if she had killed her parents.

  She liked to think she’d changed a bit since then.

  Lena made a humming noise, as if she were deep in her own thoughts, following the trail of the wyvern across the wilderness that was the King’s Gardens. Cailan was right behind her, a crossbow slung across his back and a sword on his hip. How he thought he’d take down a wyvern with such weapons was beyond her.

  She thought she was tracking a deer, maybe, but it was hard to tell. The ground started to look the same after a while, though when she heard various grunts and a few chuckles, she looked up at a familiar scene. The tents. The campfire. The bowl of stew already cooking for dinner—the bowl that, with any luck, Zys had tainted with whatever stomach bug he said he would while they were gone.

  Behind her, Cailan growled, “You led us back to camp!” His expression was grim, grave, one that said, I’ll kill you. “Do you even know how to track, or has this been a colossal waste of time?” He seemed to think of something, and he glared at her in a new, smug way. “Did you even see the wyvern? If not, I will have the heads of every mage in the College who had a hand in that letter—”

  “I did,” Lena said rapidly. “But—” She wasn’t sure what she was about to say; she couldn’t just tell him the wyvern had appeared to her, that she hadn’t been searching for it at all, could she? What if it caused him to unsheathe his crossbow right here and now and shoot her point-blank?

  No, she would not tell him.

  “But nothing. You’ve wasted one day already. If I were you, I would not be as lighthearted as you are now. This venture could very well save your life, and perhaps even your place beside me.” With a heavy sigh, Cailan shot a glare at the guards that had trailed them all day. “Dismissed. We’re done for now.” He rolled his shoulders, beneath two clean and shiny pads of armor—armor he probably hadn’t ever worn before. He never had the need.

  Lena followed him, and as they walked past the pot, where one of the men who’d stayed behind stirred the grey, lumpy contents—yuck—she said, “There’s still a few more hours of daylight left. Perhaps I can—”

  He whirled on her, and though he was not a tall fellow, the look he gave her made her feel small. “No. I said I am done for the day. You hunt on my schedule, not your own. It is with my good graces you’re out of the castle.”

  So she should worship the ground he walked on? As if.

  She glared at him. “You are…” Thinking better of it, she stopped and said, “I’m retiring to my tent.” With a twirl, Lena marched to her tent and crawled in, her faithful guard standing watch just outside.

  Lena would have to be patient, have faith in Zys.

  Soon.

  The more Cailan thought about it, the angrier he became. Was this some kind of trick? Had the College not sent the letter? Truly, he should’ve vetted the boy, asked more questions, done more investigating before hightailing it from the castle and marching into the woods with a lying mage at his side.

  He should’ve known better, but he was new at being king. There was a lot he still had to learn, because he hadn’t done much while his father was still alive. He’d done nothing, actually, except try to avoid his punishments.

  He fumed until supper was ready, and he knew he would continue to fume after, especially after glancing down into the bowl and seeing the soup’s contents swaying around. Whatever was in it smelled like shit, and it would probably taste like shit, too. The wilderness was no place for a king.

  Cailan was so angry he did not eat right away, so mad he could do nothing but think of ways he wanted to kill Lena. Even if she managed to find the white wyvern, would he let her go? The more rage that built within him, the less he thought so. His pride would not let her go unscathed; perhaps he could mar that pretty face of hers. When her smile was ugly and she hated looking at her reflection, she’d regret her choices.

  Cailan glanced toward her tent. She hadn’t even come out for supper, not that he wanted to go to her and offer her some. She could starve and he wouldn’t give a single shit.

  Right?

  Right.

  He didn’t care about her. So what if she was just like him? Cailan had thought of her perfect for him, the missing piece who would make him feel whole, finally, after all these years, but he’d been wrong. So very wrong, and it drove him mad to know it.

  Standing, he held a frown on his face as he wandered from the camp. Two guards went to follow him, but he waved them off. He needed to be alone, and he would not go far. Once he stepped beyond the boundaries of the camp, he threw the bowl of stew as hard as he could, smashing the clay piece against the nearest tree. It shattered into a dozen pieces, each falling separately to the ground, the stew sliding down against the tree trunk.

  Gods, he could barely keep it together, and he hadn’t even been king for a week. How was he supposed to do this for his entire life? What kind of life would he have if he could not get his impulses under control?

  Cailan ran his hands through his hair, biting back a groan. He hated this, truly. If he’d known what it would be like, how far he could fall so quickly, maybe he would’ve had doubts about stabbing his father in the neck with a letter opener.

  Or maybe not.

  He felt his rage sweep through him, an anger so righteous, so powerful he could not deny it. Cailan could not feel Hunger inside of him anymore. Instead, he felt alone. Baring his teeth, he rammed his fist into the same tree he’d thrown his bowl at. His knuckles cracked, the skin over them giving way instantly, bleeding.

  All he could see was red. All he could feel was rage. This was not normal, but he could not stop it. He felt something growing inside of him, something strong, and he could do nothing other than let it grow, let it fester and shift. Evolve and morph.

  When Cailan exhaled a breath, he saw it came out with a puff of blackness. It was when he knew—Hunger hadn’t left him. He’d taken over Hunger. He was not Hunger…he was something so much more.

  His footsteps were heavy as he returned to the camp. As he walked, he passed quite a few guards that were bent over, retching and moaning, holding their heads and their stomachs as if their guts would seep out of their armor otherwise. Once he was inside the camp, he saw every single guard who hadn’t made a run for it was passed out wherever they’d been, bowls of stew tipped over, sloshing down their armor.

  So this was how it was, huh? She’d somehow found a way to best them while wearing the collar. Really, Cailan should not have been so surprised. His eyes darted to her tent when he saw movement, and he watched as Lena crawled out, standing with perfect posture as she surveyed the area.

  When her eyes landed on him, he growled.

  She would die on this day.

  Lena had waited until she’d heard the mumblings. “What was in that stew?” one guard asked as another immediately vomited. “Did you cook it long enough? I feel…” And it was all the guard could say before he had to run off with the rest.

  Others grumbled, exclaiming they could hardly walk. She heard the sounds of collapsing metal and figured the guards were falling unconscious.

  She felt a little bad, for it was not their fault they followed a madman. They didn’t quite deserve to feel so sick, to projectile vomit and have other liquids escaping their bodies from lower regio
ns simultaneously, but they would’ve also killed her had Cailan given the word. So the guilt she felt passed quickly.

  When she could no longer hear the sounds of people getting sick, she was slow to crawl out of her tent. She scanned the camp and found most of the guards had run off to get privacy before they got sick; others weren’t so lucky. Some were passed out in their own vomit.

  Zys had done it.

  She should not have doubted him.

  It was at that moment she saw she was not alone; Cailan stood across the camp, having just re-entered from the forest around them. He wore nothing but his regal clothes, having shed his armor before dinner. His eyes were…completely black. No irises, no whites to speak of. Just black in their entirety. Demonic in every way. When he breathed, black wisps escaped his mouth, tendrils of power.

  Lena had never before seen a non-mage—or even a mage, for that matter—possessed, but she knew this was what it looked like. Or what it started out like, she amended as she took a step toward him. Fifty feet separating them, and she could see the veins starting to turn black beneath his skin.

  “So,” he spoke, his voice low, menacing. Cailan sounded not like himself, but like a demon, like the one who had tempted her across the Veil. Like ten different voices were trying to speak at once. It was a jarring sound. “This is it.”

  She nodded, glancing to the large black pot, where the leftover tainted stew sat. Or, more precisely, at the cutting knife laying on the grass beside the campfire. “This is it,” Lena said, once more meeting Cailan’s black eyes. They were nothing like Zys’s, not loving like Bastian’s or warm like Tamlen’s, or even gentle like Vale’s. His stare was a cruel void.

  Too bad. Because she was about to become very acquainted with the void himself.

  When he took a step towards her, she dove for the knife, holding it out between them. Though he was far away still, he broke out into a laugh. His gums had turned black, his teeth greying and no longer a pearly white. “You think to best me with that pathetic excuse for a weapon?”