Shadows and Shade Box Set

by Amanda Cashure

  “Let’s get this weight off your chest. Tell us all about your intention with the potion?” Roarke demands.

  “Destroy you,” Logan says. “Put you in the arena and let me cut you to pieces.”

  “I’m not surprised by that, at all,” I mumble.

  “You stole a master’s keys, brewed an illegal potion, and made a disaster of the lab so you could challenge us to tournament?” Roarke asks, no Allure needed.

  “Clearly someone only fights when his opponent is already knocked down,” I say.

  Seth’s hand presses harder against my mouth, worry altering his touch.

  “Oh, crap,” I try to say, but it’s just a muffled mumble. “It feels like this is a bad thing.” I swallow hard a few times. “Just shut up already. And I said that out loud too. And that.”

  “I want my uncle to watch me draw your blood. I challenge you to tournament,” he says.

  I run my fingers over my forehead. The pain has settled into a sting, but it flares back into life as I touch it. Whatever my sigil’s rule is, it involves making everyone’s lives harder, my mouth really didn’t need any encouragement.

  “We challenge Quin’s new triune to join us,” Pax says.

  “Weapons allowed,” Logan adds.

  “Only one team left standing,” Pax counters.

  “I get to choose the time, since I issued the challenge. Tournament the moment my uncle gets here.”

  “Too late, Logan,” Pax says, and he’s freaking smiling. “My senior rank allows me to adjust that time. Match starts on the second bell after noon – whether your uncle is here or not.”

  “The afternoon bell,” Logan agrees, but I get the feeling that he can’t not agree.

  “But he’s still chuckin’ smiling,” I say. “That guy should never be left smiling.”

  Thank the gods Seth’s hand is firmly over my mouth and no one can hear what I’m saying. He doesn’t release me until we’re in the lounge room, and Killian has locked the door behind us.

  “What the hell?” I scream. “For one, that was starting to hurt. Have you any idea how strong your hands are? And what does this even mean?” I mime his clues to my sigil, saying exactly their obvious description at the same time. “Blow a mother's kiss, quack like a duck and what’s this?” I open my mouth really wide, one of the many signs he was giving me. “Feed me? Is this feed me? How was I supposed to understand that? What has this thing done to me?”

  I stand there, pointing at my forehead, and eyeballing all four of them. They look rather shocked. Killian’s rubbing the back of his head, and Seth’s pulling his shirt off.

  Shirt gone, abs out, he starts working on his pants. Really working on them, like they’re stuck or something.

  “What is he doing? Is he dancing and getting naked? He’s waving his sexy ass around.” I throw my hand over my mouth and muffle out a few words to describe my exact opinion of Seth’s ass.

  Roarke starts to laugh, and by the time Seth has danced his pants down to his knees, Roarke’s laughing so hard he has to sit down to stop himself from falling over.

  “Nobody say anything,” he’s trying to say through the laughter.

  Pax has a big smile on his face, the relaxed kind that only comes out when he’s alone with his brothers. Killian’s behind me, so I have no idea what his opinion is.

  “Is someone going to stop him?” I ask. “Not that I mind – I should mind because I’m a good girl.”

  Seth stops, turns, and dives on his brother, wearing nothing but his braies.

  “What’s my sigil?” he shouts, pinning Roarke on the lounge. “What are the commands?”

  Suddenly he’s on his feet. He hooks his fingers in the waist of his braies and starts dancing again, lowering them slowly.

  “Wow, crap, I see crack,” I say, turning around.

  Killian’s right behind me, and I look up at him.

  “Hi, mind if I look at you instead of him?”

  “Anytime,” he says, in his low rumbling voice.

  “Seth, stop,” Roarke says through his laughter. “It’s a strip sigil, but only on a keyword. I was too busy working out mine and hers to properly research yours.”

  “And you were too busy making duck hand gestures to work out your own,” I say, but I don’t turn around.

  I’m not sure it’s safe to turn around yet.

  “My pants are back on,” Seth says.

  And when I turn, they are, just not his shirt.

  “This means ‘speak’,” Seth says, doing the ‘blow a kiss’ sign. “And this means ‘talk’.” He does the duck sign. “And this means ‘can’t stop’.”

  “I also thought that was obvious,” Roarke says.

  I groan.

  “I can’t stop talking?” I ask, sinking into the nearest lounge. “Aolyaire said he’d enjoy this.”

  “He did?” Pax asks.

  “He hinted that –” I wave my hand, indicating all of me – specifically the great big burn on my forehead. “– was trouble. Wait, this isn’t just to make me keep talking,” I say, pointing at my forehead. “This makes me say what I’m thinking?”

  “Yep,” Roarke says.

  “Not again,” Seth says, hips going and pants on their way down.

  “If it helps, you’ve got a nice ass. I didn’t think much of guys’ asses until I saw yours,” I say, followed by a groan.

  “Someone just has to say stop,” Roarke says, and on command, Seth is released from his strip.

  He pulls his pants up sharply, smiling at me.

  “But I’ve got a nice ass,” he says, eyes on me.

  “You all do, but yours is the best,” I say, words escaping before I even realize I’m about to think them. My hands fly up to my face. “Stop thinking about naked bodies. Stop thinking about naked bodies.” I try to tell myself.

  “Tell me all about naked bodies,” Roarke says, his words low and soft, and right beside my ear.

  I part my fingers and look at him with one eye. He’s crouched beside the lounge, long hair loose, silver flecks standing out in the evening light streaming through the window, and dark eyes on me…

  “Mesmerizing,” I say.

  “What’s mesmerizing?” he asks.

  “You –” the words start to tumble out, but Seth’s pants are off again, which changes my train of thought. “Him.”

  “Alright, stop toying with them both, Roarke. Figure out what his command trigger is, will you?”

  “What does it matter?” Roarke asks, not moving a muscle.

  “Because,” Pax says, but the guy’s having trouble keeping a straight face. “He can’t wield a sword while he’s strip-dancing. Are you trying to mate with the couch?”

  “Stop,” I shout. “Or go, it was kind of interesting to watch.”

  “Everyone start saying words and we’ll watch Seth’s reaction,” Roarke suggests.

  Killian chuckles and starts retrieving weapons from his room, then arranging them on the low table before getting more.

  “Feet,” I say, and everyone looks at me like I have completely misunderstood the kind of game we’re playing. Which makes me say more weird shit, “Hoof, roof. Oh, um, dirty cobble stones, broken twigs, upside down bowls. Tacos, no, not tacos, they cause problems, they do. What about something to do with clothes, like legs, or butt – it could be butt – I’ve said butt, ass, and bum a lot in the last half hour.”

  Seth’s just staring at me, mouth slack like it’s seconds from falling open.

  “Don’t you guys think things like this? It’s not my fault I can’t keep any of this inside my head. Oh, head, nope, not head. Neck? Shoulders? Abs, damned fine abs, or braies?”

  “Since when have you ever commented on our muscles, or our undergarments?” Seth asks.

  “In her head, all the time apparently.” Pax pours me a glass of water and practically forces me to drink it. “Drink, then breathe. As fun as this is, none of us need to hear you move onto any other body parts.”

  “Maybe we
do,” Roarke says, still sitting beside me.

  He takes my glass when I’m finished and reaches across to put it on the table.

  “Seriously, now, anyone but Shade think about what it could be,” Seth says.

  As soon as the words are out of his mouth, his eyes go wide with recognition, and he starts dancing again.

  “Stop,” he says, but it doesn’t work.

  “Interesting, you can trigger your command, but not turn it off. Stop,” Roarke says.

  “Seriously,” Seth says, but he doesn’t start moving. He continues through each word from his sentence one at a time. “Now. Anyone. But. Shade. Think. About. What –”

  That’s it, Seth’s dancing again.

  “Stop,” Roarke says. “Our golden word is ‘what’ – stop. Maybe you’d better stay close to one of us in the tournament. If our beloved neutral Sigils Master knows what your trigger is, the odds are pretty high Logan will use it.”

  “I can dance and fight,” Seth declares.

  “What?” Roarke asks.

  Instantly Seth is up and pulling at his shirt, hips gyrating and hands rubbing slowly, seductively, up from his hem. Up over corded abs – eight of them. One at a time with his fingers splayed and his lip pinched between his teeth. It’s impossible not to watch, almost impossible not to let my jaw drop open.

  I slap my hand over my mouth just in time to smother the word, “Yum.”

  “Pretty sure you can’t fight with those moves,” Roarke says, wandering into his room while he’s speaking and coming back out with a rather heavy-looking sword.

  Seeing Killian with his toys out is normal, seeing Roarke more interested in a sword than a book is not so normal.

  “You guys better tell me what is going on. Stop.”

  Seth sighs and sits, mouthing the words ‘thank you’ to me.

  “Tournament in four hours,” Pax says, sitting on the edge of his bed and inspecting the fine details of his spear.

  “What does that mean? One of you better know of a supply closet I can hide in. Stop.” Saying stop at the end of my sentences has just become my new way of speaking. “Wonder how annoying this is going to get. Stop.”

  “Very,” Seth says.

  “We’re going to have to leave her on her own,” Roarke says softly, almost to himself.

  “I could stay with her,” Seth says.

  “No, that would prove she’s valuable and Logan will be in the arena with us. He can’t get to her from there,” Pax reasons.

  “She’ll be fine,” Killian grunts.

  “If there’s a supply closet, or better yet a pantry, I’m kinda hungry. Do people die in tournaments? They do, don’t they?” And then I start freaking out. “You’re all going to die! Crown-Asshole is a DeathSeed, Seeds are hereditary, Logan is his nephew and he has a DeathSeed too. I know you said he can’t open the Veil – but he’ll blink and end your lives or something. You can’t go in there.” Pax abandons his spear and motions for me to follow him, about halfway through my freak out.

  Outside the rooms, and to the great big window at the end of their corridor.

  It’s a long hall, given that they’re the only ones on the left and their rooms aren’t that big. But some builder who never learned to count holds my attention for about thirty seconds before I focus back on the window. The same one that I rested my head against the first day me and my bubble met.

  “That would hurt,” I say.

  “What?” Pax asks.

  “Resting my head on the glass. Sorry, that doesn’t make sense. Just a stray thought.”

  He taps on the glass, and I look down at the scene below. An arena littered with obstacles like boulders and dead trees. It’s been dug into the ground, and the oval walls around it are full of seating.

  “Logan is technically only a forty-nine-year-old DeathSeed with a triune that formed a few phases ago. We don’t typically get the call until we’re fifty. He can’t do anything with the Veil.”

  “What if he does open the Veil? What if today is the day he works it out?” I ask. “He made the walls flicker the first time I met him.”

  “I’m pretty sure mortal souls go in a different direction, but Silvari souls go through the Veil. The first ring is the home of the Veil Queen and where all souls are judged. Those that owe a debt pay for their crimes in the worst imaginable way – but those that do not drop through to the next ring, and so on, until they find the final resting place where their soul belongs. The outer ring is supposed to be ruled by an eternal balance, the Queen is supposed to be neutral and immune to good or evil,” he clips his words off, clearly shifting away from that specific train of thought. “Lucif used his power to take souls and do whatever he wanted with them. Most people think that Lithael isn’t like that, that Lithael is our savior. But he’s far from it. Logan’s a good six or seven hundred years away from mastering the Veil. Down there.” He taps the glass again. “He’s just another Saber, not even an Elite.”

  “Then why is he causing so much trouble?”

  “Not Logan, not really. He’s not smart enough. Lithael’s the real problem. Logan is just a hiccup. How he skipped over his sister and got the call first, Roarke doesn’t know.”

  “I thought the whole calling thing was random?”

  Pax shakes his head. “By divine design. The magic that we use to uphold the border makes the call.”

  “Ximena,” I butt in.

  “Ximena?” he repeats with pure confusion on his face.

  “I named the border Ximena,” I shrug, because doesn’t everyone give inanimate objects names?

  “When a Saber’s magic has matured, and the right combination is ready, a triune will be called. Our real problem is Kyra – Logan’s sister. She came of age this year, and she should have been called first. Her brother is actually a year younger than most. If I get specific, they’re two-hundred-odd years late, but stasis doesn’t count.”

  I ignore that last part, because it makes no sense to me, and instead ask, “Why is she a problem?”

  “Because she’s Lithael’s heir.”

  “So, she’s going to want to eliminate you guys – her competition?”

  “I don’t know what she wants – I’ve never had a conversation with her. They came out of stasis after Lithael took the throne. She has a lot of support amongst the council and the dignitaries. She’s been to every ball and party, danced and wined with all of them. Unlike Logan, she can fight and she can think. The two of them were magically put into a stasis as babies around the same time that my brothers and I were born. The fact that they came out of it is considered a good omen. She doesn’t need to fight us directly to have the upper hand because we’re locked in here.”

  “So, her getting the Saber call would be a good thing? You can keep an eye on her, plot against her or whatever it is you guys want to do – so long as none of you touch her unless you’re planning on killing her.”

  That makes him chuckle and I try to suppress the oversized grin on my lips.

  “I made you laugh,” I say.

  Which he ignores, but he continues to smile back at me. “A phase ago, Kyra getting the call would have been a good thing – yes. Now, with you here, no. If she is serious about getting the crown, then hurting you is the quickest way to hurt us.”

  I swallow and nod, then swallow and nod again.

  “Okay, what about me? I’m just going to get you guys killed.”

  “There are competitor prep-rooms within the stadium. If one of us stays close to our designated room, then you’ll be fine. Just one of us needs to be close.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I try to sound as self-assured as he is. “And I won’t have to fight? Because honestly, I don’t think I’d be any good at it.”

  “You won’t be allowed on the sand. Males only fight males.”

  I’m a little relieved about that idea. The rules are in my favor for once.

  “Good rules.”

  Pax leads the way inside, and the next four hours go by wi
th me talking way too much and Seth getting up and starting to strip then being told to ‘stop’ enough times that I take pity on him and stop deliberately using the word ‘what’. Which was probably cruel in the first place.

  Pax leaves for a good half of that time, and when he returns he nods sharply and the guys all nod back. That’s it, just a nod.

  “What’s that about?” I ask, which has Seth on his feet again. “You know I really like your dance moves,” I say. “Where did you learn those? Stop.”

  “Too many nights in establishments where girls dance for money,” Roarke says.

  “What?”

  “Don’t ask, lass,” Killian says. “He’s lived a long and boring life.”

  “Stop,” Pax says, before Seth gets to his braies again.

  “How come you worked out their sigils and not Seth’s?” I ask Roarke, who’s currently skipping – rope and all – in his room.

  “That’s right, big brother, how come?” Seth teases, swinging his arms around to loosen them up.

  “I didn’t work out Pax and Killian’s,” Roarke says.

  “We’re a few hundred years old, so we’ve been around sigils and Sigils Masters enough to be able to decipher one,” Pax says.

  “Then why didn’t you work yours out?” I ask Seth.

  “I did,” Seth says. “I wasn’t even given a chance.”

  “And he was too busy distracting the new triune. Taking their pens, redistributing their books, that kind of thing,” Roarke says.

  “Very mature,” I mumble. “And here I was thinking you were trying to save me.”

  “I was doing that too.”

  “I was doing that,” Roarke corrects. “You were just the messenger.”

  “Bells,” Killian says, getting up from where he was stretching his long legs out on the floor.

  “We need an assignment,” I moan.

  The bells haven’t gone yet, but Killian always seems to know just a few moments beforehand.

  “We need an assignment,” Pax corrects.

  “I just said that,” I say, and normally I’d stop there, but today I keep going, “And I’m not getting into an argument over exactly how much of me is being affected by the events of today. We are a we. Whether you like it or not.”