“Wouldn’t he know after Killian faced off with all those triunes to defend your mother?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know what he saw, but he believes our mother’s soul eliminated them.”
A lump forms in my throat, pieces of the story lining up in a way that makes me nauseous.
“And then?”
Pax shakes his head, short and sharp. No words leaving his mouth.
I fill in the gap, his mother’s soul went into a glass pendant.
“Keeping your powers a secret sounds like it was a smart move. Revealing that secret to purchase some clothes sounds like a stupid move.”
He shakes his head, a smile on the corner of his lips.
“We won the right to remove your soot-status. The first pentad,” Pax says so very softly.
My insides literally freeze – stuck – not even the flicker of an electrical impulse that might pass as brain activity.
“You four were already the first tetrad. Why would you mess with that by making me officially your biggest weakness?” As usual, my mouth doesn’t need a functioning brain to blurt stuff out.
“We aren’t the first tetrad. We’re just the only one in existence at the moment. We can’t predict when we’re going to get an opportunity to leave and we’re not very good at sitting around and waiting.”
“So you decided to mess with things instead?” I demand, not because I’m not awed by their decision – or because belonging isn’t in my top ten wish-list. But because number one in that list is staying safe. Being their servant was safer than being considered a Saber for all political purposes.
I can’t fight!
His expression hardens in response to my reaction. His jaw tensing a little, a frown pulling at his lips, a stillness pressing between him and me.
“I didn’t expect they would agree, and it wasn’t particularly about you. Lithael is going to have to react in one of two ways. He’s been holding an iron fist on the Sabers since he came into power but he can’t fight us openly. He can’t bring a physical fight to the White Castle, we have a deal, but the rest is a game to him. His political control on this realm revolves around mind-games with the dignitaries that hold power and fear amongst the Silvari. The Silvari need to think he controls everything, and the dignitaries need to believe that every move our Crown makes is for the better of the realm – that there is something worse deteriorating our world, and that the Crown is part of the solution.”
I swallow every bit of joy that was bouncing around inside me – because of course, they didn’t actually risk their lives just because they like me – and break down the cold hard facts.
“By breaking…” he keeps talking, not even noticing me. “…the Saber mold, we’ve undermined everyone. Taken some of Lithael’s persona and walked it through the mud. Forcing Litheal to either uphold their rule – which will make every Saber question him. Or he upturns the dignitaries’ decision – which will make every dignitary in every institution across the Kingdom question their Crown.”
“Or he could just kill me.” It’s the obvious choice, and it’s exactly what I expect him to do.
“We won’t let that happen,” he says, his tone soft again, his expression full of emotion.
The door cracks open, and voices waft in.
“If the guy says no, he probably means no,” Roarke is saying.
“I thought that meant ‘I want to see you try’,” Seth counters.
Seth comes in first, carrying half a wooden box. The other half has been burned or blown to pieces. Glass bottles chink softly inside. Roarke next, already with a bottle opened in his hands – a clear bottle with a blue liquid inside. Killian last, also sipping on something blue.
“We weren’t your decoy,” Killian says.
“We’re always his decoy,” Roarke counters.
Seth puts the box on the edge of the hearth, the edge away from the heat and the flames. When he straightens, he’s right beside Pax and I. He reaches for the top item on the pile of clothes still in Pax’s hands, but I smack him away.
“No arm-pit shirts,” I say.
He actually smiles. “Good, I was hoping Roarke wasn’t the only one you were going to curl up with.”
“I thought you didn’t get jealous?” I don’t want to point out that Roarke has a certain ability that’s very appealing for a girl in pain.
Seth has a massive ego, but surely there’s a point where it bruises, and I’m not in the mood to find out.
He takes the clothes off Pax and presses them into my chest, saying, “You can use my room.”
“Please use a room,” Pax says in his low, warning tone.
I snatch up the clothes, and they move out of my way.
“If there’s a chance something in me is Silvari, does that mean you can all stop freaking out about –”
“No,” Pax says sharply.
“You’re mortal,” Killian adds.
I turn around. “Then what was the point of risking your lives in the arena?”
“You’re our mortal,” Killian says, walking into his room and closing the door behind him.
“That doesn’t make sense! You’re stuck with me, for now, and there’s a whole ton of mysterious crap that we are going to have long and deep conversations about as soon as we’re out of this castle, but all of that could have been done while I was a soot-servant.”
“You want to be a servant?” Seth asks, his head cocked.
“No,” I snap back. “Yes. No.” I have to take a deep breath before I can get my words in order. “I like knowing where I stand. I like knowing my role in things. My role with you guys is to not get crushed by a bubble until the bubble is gone, then –” I almost say ‘then I’m out of here’ but three sets of about to be pissed off eyes bore into me.
I give up on that argument, because it’s bloody crazy anyway, and head for Seth’s room.
His room is unexplainably clean. Like immaculate. Bed made and all, with a little blue throw rug across the bottom and matching blue cushions on the black covers. His room is on the outside of the suite and has a window pretty much facing the same direction as the one in the lounge room. Castle outbuildings below, then dark forest stretching out toward where vibrant red cliffs let of a slight glow, reflecting the moonlight on the dark horizon.
I pull off my destroyed servants’ clothing and slip into the new stuff. Perfectly fitted – too perfectly fitted. Either one of them is really good at guessing or measurements were taken while I was out cold.
Starting with a tight fitting black singlet. I throw a decidedly female gray shirt over the top of it. The way it crosses at the front shows more cleavage than I would have been bold enough to flash on the estate. And lastly, a pair of black cotton pants that are so soft to the touch that for a long moment I just stand here and rub my hand up and down my own leg.
When I emerge, three sets of eyes spend far too long appraising me – for guys who have actually seen me naked.
Pax bloody frowning. Roarke scanning every inch, and Seth with one eyebrow tweaked in mischief.
Killian is the only one who doesn’t turn from his seat, so I beeline to his side, sliding in between him and the window.
“New clothes,” he gruffs.
He wraps an arm around me, picks me up, and deposits me in his lap.
“Wow, okay. New level of personal space invasion.”
“Eat.”
“Drink,” Seth adds, passing a bottle of blue stuff across to me.
“What is it?”
“The daer flower, slow fermented over five hundred years,” Seth says, looking rather proud of himself for bringing it into my life.
“Try it,” Roarke prompts.
Pax lets out a grumble, like he might be about to object, but all three of the guys eye him and whatever he was going to say he lets slide. It was probably something to do with the ‘no more wine’ rule. But I think I’ve earned a drink.
I pop the cork from the bottle, letting out a spicy-sweet s
mell. The liquid is warm on the tongue, heavy on the throat, and leaves a slight burning sensation in the stomach. I’m about to say that the stuff’s foul when the burn subsides, and my tongue is left wanting more. I gulp down a few follow up mouthfuls.
“Easy,” Killian says, grabbing the base of the bottle and guiding it down to the table. “It’s stronger than Silvari wine.”
He takes the bottle and replaces it with a small twisted piece of pastry.
I bite, then ask, “Why’s the box still smoking?” Pointing to the box of bottles that Seth brought in.
“The bottler has a wicked arm,” Seth says.
“He punched it?” I ask, but that sounds ridiculous.
“He threw a lantern at it,” Roarke corrects.
Killian picks me up and passes me to Roarke, who pulls me into his chest without putting his roll down or breaking the conversation with Seth.
“Not your pet,” I say, wriggling myself free.
They all look at me with slightly pained expressions.
“Is this going to happen every time my clothes get washed? And for that matter when do I get to shove your clothes in my armpit?”
“Only new clothes,” Pax says. “You can’t wash all the scent out.”
“Only new clothes,” I repeat, so my alternative here is to take these luxurious clothes off, put my filthy servants gear back on, and let them sit on my new outfit, and I just know my shirt’s going to end up in Seth’s armpit.
Roarke’s gone back to eating, like whether or not I let him hug me again is of no interest to him. I get up and turn toward Roarke’s room.
“I’m going to bed – that will work, won’t it? Your bed would smell like you, and the rest of you can respect my space,” as I talk, I walk toward Roarke’s room, then suddenly I make a sharp turn, changing my mind.
They watch me leave without any arguments, just a low rumble from Pax. Instead of going into Roarke’s room, I head for Seth’s. For one thing, Roarke just had thirty seconds of man-handling me time, so my clothes already smell just a little like him, plus Seth has a window, and I’d like to watch the view. And Seth’s bed looks terribly comfortable. I shut the door behind me. None of the guys have moved and only Pax was still watching me.
Seth’s room is calm and inviting.
There’s a stash of paper and pens on a shelf, but no pictures on the walls. Almost makes me want to ask the guy why the supplies but no art – but not right now.
His bed cocoons around me, and I take a second to push some of the pillows off and pull a cushion across to support my arm, before gazing out at the lights in the tops of the very distant trees. Why are there lights in the trees?
It takes all of three seconds for my eyelids to grow heavy, but I resist, just enjoying the silence, the calm, the darkness and the view. Nothing like an apple cellar on the estate.
The door clicks open, flooding the room with the soft chatter of the boys. That’s when I realize my eyes are closed. With the gentle sound of wood settling against wood, the door closes again.
“I can’t do it,” Pax says, his lips already beside my ear, behind me, on the bed, so either he did his super speed thing, or I dozed off. “I’ve been sitting out there trying, but I can feel you in here, muffled by the scent of seamstresses and servants.”
“They’re just clothes,” I groan.
He slips under the covers.
“Then you won’t mind me wrapping myself around them.”
“They’re on me.”
“Then you won’t mind me wrapping myself around you,” he says, but even though he’s under the covers, right behind me, he doesn’t come any closer. “The clothes will stay on.” His deep voice has just a hint of desire laced through it.
“Fine,” I say, trying not to purr with the contentment flooding through me as he wraps his arm around my waist and molds himself to me. “But I’m not Roarke’s kitten, Seth’s puppet or your property.”
“But you are mine.”
“No, Pax, I’m mine,” I mumble out.
“I need you to be mine,” he whispers; I think.
I don’t know – I’ve sunken too far into sleep to be sure.
The door bangs open, exploding light into the room. I sit up, hair falling over my face and my arm throbbing with pain – not intense-might-cry pain, but enough to make me gingerly settle it in my lap.
“What is it?” Pax asks, slipping from the covers next to me.
He was still here?
He straightens the long-sleeved black shirt he’s wearing and runs a hand through his short hair – which barely looks messy after sleeping.
Roarke, who wasn’t sleeping, is now standing in the doorway with his hair pulled back in his ready-for-anything style. His gaze fixes on me, on my messy hair actually.
“Boots on,” he says.
There’s someone else in the lounge room, a tall slender woman with the kind of straight dead-white hair that gets my heart racing. I scramble out of the bed, trying to pull my fingers through my hair and force some control into the stuff, but failing.
The lounge room has been restored to some order, a pile of pillows left in the corner by the hearth, like a mini version of the nest that was there, and the lounges shifted slightly so they all have a view of the fire.
Killian’s still staring at the woman, she’s looking at me, and Pax is staring at a piece of paper. Seth is nowhere to be seen.
Roarke tosses something at me, which I completely miss and have to fetch off the ground. A hair tie.
I stretch the elastic out on my fingers – but I don’t even try to use it, I know I don’t possess any one armed hair-tying skills. He walks the long way around, taking the tie back off me and taming my blond mess with practiced proficiency.
“She’s just a child,” the woman says, stepping forward.
Not a hint of something menacing in her movements. Her eyes are delicately almond shaped and peach-colored, and her lips are raspberry red. She’s smiling at me too, a little curious smile.
Without even looking up, Pax holds his arm out in the gap between her and I.
“This is for an unknown threat along the northern border and it’s for a week. That’s not long enough,” Pax says, it’s almost a question.
“Means we can go straight to Eydis,” Roarke says. “And we can push a week by a few days even before the seal dissolves. Longer after that if Seth doesn’t expand a stupid amount of energy again.”
Raspberry-Lips hasn’t tried to push past Pax’s barrier, but she’s still scrutinizing everything about me. Taking two glances at my face. Then tilting her head at my waist, and a few long moments inspecting my bare feet.
What’s wrong with my feet?
“Boots,” Roarke orders.
My boots are beside the door, next to Pax’s. Everyone else is already wearing theirs.
“When Councilor Muinthel mentioned a woman, I hadn’t thought –”
“Jada, leave it,” Pax says, though the gentleness to his tone says that these two have history, and he respects her.
“Muinthel, I heard she succumbed to black-lung disease?” Roarke cuts in.
I take the opportunity to move to the far corner of the room, which happens to be the front entrance, and the location of my boots.
Putting boots on with a broken arm is an equally difficult task, but I struggle in silence; drawing more attention to myself right now is on the bottom of my to-do list.
“She might look and act the same age as you, but she’s a few hundred years behind, and she’ll be dead in thirty more.”
I am planning on living past that – long-term goal.
Short-term goals come first. Survive the bubble. Survive the White Castle. Find a Potions Master with a bubble-dissolving potion, and then figure out the rest.
I don’t want to play pity party and start running through theories on what these four guys need from me, exactly, and whether I’m going to want in on whatever their plans are. But this woman is right – born in Silva o
r not, something just slightly unusual about me or not, the logic is that my prospects include conflict, pain, and these guys being glad when this bubble comes down, and I can stop encroaching on their space, their pain-relieving abilities, and their sense of smell.
Not a pity party – just the facts.
“You boys are going to break her,” Jada, Raspberry-Lips, says.
Fact.
“Whichever one of you loses your restraint first,” she says, her full attention on Roarke.
Maybe not a fact.
“Mortals aren’t playthings, boys.”
“That’s what I keep telling them,” I mutter, which of course they all hear.
“There’s more to it than that,” Pax says, still scrutinizing whatever is on the paper.
He holds it up for Roarke’s opinion.
“That’s what Muinthel said, along with the message to get out of the castle by midnight. It might have something to do with Lithael being on his way here now,” Jada says.
“Why is Lithael on his way here – exactly?” Pax asks.
I get the impression he has a few options on his mind.
“A mixed sex pentad with your… pet… might have something to do with it,” Jada says.
Killian growls, but turns away and keeps himself busy. An odd sense that he respects the woman and is deliberately not getting upset over the pet comment.
“This is signed by Muinthel, Saralyn, and Rami,” Roarke says. The woman nods very slowly, and Roarke continues, “This order was issued thirty years ago.”
“Twenty minutes,” Killian cuts in, obviously that’s enough talking for him.
Two seconds in his room, and he’s emerged with a packed bag and his sword. Given the guys had already pulled on their boots, and it was clear the minute Roarke woke me up that we’d be going somewhere. I’m surprised Killian isn’t already wearing his arsenal.
He straps his big curved blade to the front of his belt, then starts working on fitting a travelling cloak around his shoulders.
“Where’s Seth?” Pax asks, as if just realizing the room is short one brother.
“Coming,” Killian says. “Maybe.”
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