When did killing someone become an acceptable way to solve problems?
Even someone like Darkin had a right to live. Dephithus himself might be less deserving. In the time he had known the other boy, he had not witnessed him doing anything all that deplorable. In that same span of time, he had killed Larina, broken Jath’s arm, and committed countless smaller infractions against many of the people of Imperious, including his mother and Myara.
“Have you decided whether or not to try and kill me today?”
He gave the dark youth a sideways glance. “Stay out of my head.”
Darkin merely shrugged and kept pace with him.
Once they were well into the cover of the trees, Dephithus slowed his pace. “What do you want?”
“I was walking by when you pulled your little move in the arena. I thought maybe you could use a better sparring partner to burn off some of that destructive energy.”
Dephithus glanced at him again, a grudging respect creeping to the surface. “You would put yourself in my path after what I just did.”
Darkin shrugged again. He seemed to do that a lot. As far as Dephithus could tell, the other boy did not get his hackles up very easily. Even when he was acting the aggressor, there was a strange calm to him. He envied that calm.
“Life is full of risks,” Darkin offered when Dephithus said nothing else. “I never learned anything from avoiding them.”
Dephithus cracked a grin. “You don’t learn much if you get killed in the process either.”
Darkin grinned back. “I’d rather die young with a life full of experiences than grow old never having tried anything.”
Dephithus shook his head, chuckling softly. “One might argue that some risks aren’t worth taking.”
There was that shrug again. “I’ve always been terrible at telling the difference.”
“All right. Let’s spar, then.” Dephithus was still shaking a bit with the rush from what he had done to Jarth. He needed some kind of outlet and hiding out reading in the archives was not going to help with this.
They went to their usual clearing in the woods and, for a time, it was just the two of them casually trying to kill one another and inflicting the occasional superficial wound. Then Darkin’s crew showed up. As the day passed, they went from sparring, to sharing a sparse meal the others had scavenged. Then they sparred some more, rinsed in the nearby lake, and Dephithus found himself heading into the village to carouse and drink with his unlikely companions. When he staggered back home to the palace, it was well after dark and his head was spinning, the world around him lurching uncomfortably. He was somewhat surprised, as he slunk through the gardens, to find others there. He heard their voices and clumsily staggered to a stop just before rounding the hedge to listen.
“How do you think it got in there?” A man asked.
“Who knows, but they said it was diseased like some of the creatures that have been attacking people in other villages around the area.” This voice was a woman’s.
“In the palace library?”
Another man asked the question and a spike of panic sobered Dephithus slightly. He stepped around the hedge, surprising the three palace servants. They all averted their eyes, refusing to meet his gaze.
“My lord,” the woman greeted.
The other two mumbling similar greetings.
“What was in the palace library?” He heard the demand in his tone and saw how they flinched in response. It did not matter. He needed an answer.
“A cat, my lord,” the woman answered. “It attacked Lord Mythan in the library.”
Prophet.
His chest tightened. “What happened to the cat?”
One of the men recoiled slightly and the woman’s brow furrowed. He should have been asking if Mythan was all right, not worrying over the fate of the cat. It was too late to backtrack now, however, and the dread in his gut demanded an answer.
“They killed it, of course.”
No.
In a less inebriated state he might have tried to cover up his error and ask after Mythan then, but the truth was that if the high lord had been injured in any significant way they would have already said as much. He did not care about his den-father being upset or suffering a few scratches, and he could not bring himself to pretend he did. He stormed away, loss twisting its way through his chest and moistening his eyes. He had lost one of the only companions who demanded nothing of him. He was alone again in this fight against himself.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Dephithus stared at the ceiling of his room, his head resting on the book of daemons he had taken from the archive the night before and hidden under his pillow.
The cat was gone, his head felt like someone was hitting it with a hammer from the inside, and Myara’s birthday was only a week away. Avaline was helping Myara’s mother plan a celebration in the palace since she had grown up so close to his family. He did not want to hurt Myara so close to her Dawning Day, but he had been avoiding her of late. His desire for her was a thing he did not know how to handle. When he thought of her, he thought of touching her, of kissing her, and, in his head, it always went too far. There was force and struggle and the images in his head set his blood on fire with dark hunger. His passion was accompanied always by an inexplicable aggression that was only made worse by the suggestive looks he kept receiving from Suva. Perhaps Darkin had told her about their conversation regarding her, brief as it was. Suva did not seem friendlier toward him, but she did not necessarily have to like him to find him attractive or even desirable. The longer his desire for Myara went unsatisfied, the more he wondered if Suva really would be willing to couple with him.
With everything that had gone wrong of late, there were only two things that disturbed him to any great degree, outside of the death of the cat. The first was the matching looks of distress he saw on Mythan and Avaline every time he was around them. The second was a broad number of things all revolving around Myara. The sexual tension was minor compared to his other concerns. He wondered how she felt about all the talk that was going around. Did she believe he was a curse upon them? Did she think he was becoming corrupt? How he would ever make her happy if things kept on the way they were? How would he get her to couple with him?
Dephithus gave himself a mental kick for that last question. He was running late yet again because he had overslept. His adventure into the village with Darkin and his group the night before left him foggy and miserable, his stomach roiling. They besotted themselves with ale and behaved in a generally loud and obnoxious manner as best he could recall. They had agreed to do the same again in a couple of nights when none of them had guard duty. Right now, he was regretting that decision as the throbbing in his skull intensified with every movement. He managed to get up and dressed despite the headache and the nausea, but he was dreading practice. Today was close combat with daggers. It was probably his weakest area in melee combat skills. He planned to talk to Darkin again about convincing Suva to work with him on dagger fighting, but that would not help today.
His bedroom door opened.
“Dephithus.”
Mythan entered his room without waiting for any acknowledgement and shut the door behind him. Dephithus eyed the door opportunistically as Mythan stepped away from it and his den-father scowled discouragement.
“I see you are going to be late to practice again.”
“I overslept,” Dephithus said, the throbbing in his head growing worse when he spoke.
“I have been out talking with Lance Commander Vicor this morning. I understand there was an incident at the practice arena yesterday.”
“Yes.”
Mythan’s expression darkened, his brow furrowing. “That’s all you have to say? You shattered that boy’s elbow.”
You killed my cat. “Accidents happen.”
“According to others who were watching, it didn’t look like much of an accident. They said it looked like you were trying to injure him.”
Dephithus held hi
s tongue, fighting the urge to point out that his sparring partner had not been a proper match for his ability, as if that excused something.
“As heir to this throne I think it is important for you to realize that your reputation among the people you would lead has gone from polished gold to rusted iron in the last several weeks. There is no excuse for your negligent and dangerous behavior or for your poor attitude. Since you seem to have lost interest in your tower duty, I managed to convince Commander Vicor to move you to gate guard instead of stall duty. You will take mid-afternoon watch six days a week with Kota, starting today.”
Dephithus walked over and picked the serpent dagger up off the table near the bed, drawing Mythan further into the room and away from the door as he tried to get Dephithus to look at him when he was talking.
“Your blood father was traveling, but I have sent a missive out that I hope will reach him soon. I feel that it is only appropriate to keep him informed of the situation. And your cousins are going to come stay with us for a while.”
The pain in his head flared with his temper. Dephithus spun to face him, a sneer curling his lip. “Are you training my replacement?”
Mythan met his gaze levelly. “Not yet.”
With a growl Dephithus hurried past him and threw open the door. He stopped in the doorway and glanced back in Mythan’s direction.
“The archive key is in my top dresser drawer.” With that, he turned and stalked out down the hall.
Mythan made no move to stop or follow him. Dephithus could hardly believe what was happening to him and around him. He had known this was a risk of his recent behavior and yet he could not seem to stop doing things wrong. If Mythan sought to make a king out of one of his sniveling cousins, then the lord of Imperious would get what he deserved. However, where did that leave him? It was wrong to be lazy about his responsibilities as a member of the Legion. It was also wrong to be short-tempered and snappish to all of those people who had once admired him. Since Larina’s death, he had done nothing else so deeply awful, though his stunt with Jath had been pushing it, but he could not bring himself to care about the smaller evils he was committing daily.
As Dephithus threw his shambled thoughts about in his head he slowed his walk, increasingly reluctant to show his face at practice. Anger was building, binding his muscles like springs of rage, waiting to be unleashed. He would lose his temper again and that could only mean more trouble. Though no such announcements had been made, he knew inside that he had lost the throne of Imperious. Worse yet, he had lost the respect of his den-father. Thinking about it made blind rage boil up within him to the point that he might go mad if he did not release it somehow.
He did not make it all the way out of the palace gardens before he was intercepted, though not by anyone he would have expected. Suva, her short blond hair hanging straight and uneven after another inadequate trim from her father, stepped into his path. He stared at her for a minute, wary and curious. Somehow, the less-than-perfect haircut along with her pale blue eyes gave her a look that was both motley and arousing.
Realizing something was missing, he glanced around for her companions. Darkin at least should be nearby.
“I came alone.”
He made no effort to hide his mistrust, shifting into a stance that would allow for quicker defense if necessary. “Why?”
“Darkin told me you needed some help with your dagger fighting.”
Dephithus nodded, though he maintained the cautious distance between them. “That was considerate of him. What does he want?”
Suva blew out a heavy exhale, impatience surfacing in her stormy eyes. “He’s already getting what he wants.”
Dephithus mentally scolded himself for being so paranoid. Easing his stance a fraction, he asked, “Then what do you want?”
She shrugged, feigning innocence, much like a cat pretending disinterest until its prey was close enough to pounce on. “A little thrill perhaps.”
Dephithus deepened his scowl. Suva was more trouble than one person had a right to be. Then again, he did not want to go to practice this morning so maybe she would prove to be a worthy diversion as someone he did not have to worry so much about offending. He gestured toward a garden exit. “Shall we?”
Suva grinned and Dephithus could almost feel teeth closing around his throat.
No. He refused to believe that she was any more dangerous than he could be.
But how dangerous was that?
Slipping into his thoughts, he walked silently off the path, veering toward the woods. Suva was long and lean and, now that he really looked at her, she was not at all unattractive. However, her appeal was more of a feral, sexual attractiveness, where Myara possessed of an inner beauty the equal of that on the surface. Through time spent with the group, he had come to see that Darkin’s words were very true. Suva was with Suva and no one else. She liked who she liked when she wanted to like them and changed her mind often.
They did not go to the same meadow he and Darkin practiced in. Some unspoken accord to find a place of their own brought them to a smaller clearing a little further out. Without speaking, they discarded any loose clothing that might get in the way and faced each other with daggers bared. Real daggers. Neither had said anything about getting practice weapons. For him, that choice was intentional and, given the hungry gleam in her eyes, he suspected it was the same for her.
Suva lunged at him with her arms close to her body then blocked his strike with her one arm and stabbed swiftly with the other. Her attack left a line of blood on the forearm he had used to try and block her. The wound was shallow, but it got his attention.
After that they fought with equal ferocity and neither could get in a good attack, though Suva came closer than he did several times. Since they were wearing none of the usual practice armor the fight had an almost desperate viciousness to it. Dephithus did manage to leave a mark on her shoulder, but he paid for the effort with a deeper cut in his side. He lunged and she dodged his attack then swept her leg around and caught his legs, dropping him on his back in the same manner Kota often had. Before he could roll, she pounced down on him, pinning him with a knee hovering above his groin and her knife at his throat. His knife hand she pulled down and pinned roughly under her other knee.
Was this how he was going to die? He did not doubt that Suva was more than capable of finishing what they had started. She leaned down over him, lowering her face close to his, and licked his lips quickly and teasingly. Pent up desire surged to the surface like a fire gone wild and out of control. Then she kissed him, but when he opened his mouth to her tongue she pulled back just out of reach, her dagger still resting at his throat.
“Kiss or kill? What do you think?”
Dephithus watched the cruel smile spread to her eyes, and the pressure of the dagger lessened a little. Taking advantage of her pause and driven by the desire that was burning him up inside, he brought his free hand up and shoved her sideways. Suva toppled off him and he rolled quickly over on top of her, switching their positions. Her head came up and she met his kiss demandingly, her empty hand coming up to rub at his hardening erection through his trousers. Giving into hunger and the always-present rage he began to roughly pull at the fastenings of her trousers and she did the same to his. They did not bother with upper garments. Her breasts were smallish. He could see that through her clothes. This was not about appreciating one another.
He shoved into her and pain seared through him. Not physical pain. This was emotional. A violent wave of hatred and self-loathing that swept through every fiber of his being. He pounded the torment into her again and again. Hating himself more with each thrust.
She bit his lip. He tasted blood.
He wished she would bite him harder. Wished she had cut him deeper with her blade. Wished she would hit him. Fight to get him off her. He wished she were someone else. Wished she were Myara.
He drove harder into her, wanting to hurt her, but she only opened up to him. Taking him in deeper. Kissing h
im harder.
Then it was over.
He shuddered with release and collapsed on top of her for exactly long enough to finish. Then he forced himself to get to his feet despite the trembling in his legs. She got up as well, smirking as she pulled her trousers up.
“Seems like we both needed that.”
He shook his head, disgusted. He hated that she did not feel his torment. His guilt. “Wouldn’t you rather make love with someone you care about?”
Suva barked a bitter laugh. “I don’t believe in making love. This is the only way I do it.”
“Why?” As he asked the question he suddenly knew how to hurt her. He was not going to suffer alone. “Because this is how your father does it to you?”
Something broke behind her eyes, shattering her shield of indifference. For a split second, she was a scared, vulnerable girl. Then her fist hit his jaw and he was on the ground, staring up at a mocking blue sky. He lunged to his feet, fearing another attack, only to see her disappearing at a run into the woods. His head spun and he sank to his knees. She had quite the fist. At least she had not come after him with a dagger while he was down. He would not have blamed her.
He stayed there for a time, still trembling with his release. He could not remember anything else in his life feeling as amazing as it had felt to come inside her. The memory of that pleasure only served to torment him more. There could be no deeper wrong than what he had just done. He loved Myara. Perhaps he and Suva had used each other, but the fact that it was mutual did not make it right. He could never have that first time again. Never do it the way he had always wanted to, with someone he loved. Never make it something special.
Dark Hope of the Dragons (Elysium's Fall Book 1) Page 20