DreamReaper_Blood of Kaos Series Book II

by Nesa Miller

  Etain grabbed his arms, swearing that what he saw was a lie. Alatariel tried to stop his frantic wife, speaking words he could not hear. Etain reached for him, framing his face with her hands. Ignoring her pleas, he tossed her across the yard. When she dared to come back to him, he struck her down.

  Dar’s body jerked.

  Despite the words hurled in her face, his beautiful wife came to her feet and wiped away the blood from her lip, watching him turn his back and return to the window.

  Dar shifted, the book slipping from his lap.

  Standing outside the cottage window, he forced himself to look, peering through the glass. Afraid of what he might see, his gaze landed first on his bride’s wedding dress, a white satin puddle on the floor. Hearing a feminine gasp, he held his breath, then looked up. Across the bed was the newlywed couple, bodies intertwined, murmuring words of love. His heart always knew Etain was true. His bride had given herself only to him. The betrayal was that he had not believed her.

  He woke on the cold stone floor. “What have I done?” His left fist slammed down onto the hard surface. My precious lady… No wonder you left. He swung his right fist down. Dar, you bullheaded oaf.

  He battered the stones repeatedly, castigating himself for acting a fool, for believing yet another of Midir’s lies. He beat the floor until he could no longer endure the pain. Spent, he flexed each swollen and bloodied hand with great care. The pain was excruciating and, in his mind, deserving. The Krymerian climbed to his feet and shuffled to the en-suite.

  He inventoried the damage as the cold water washed away the blood. Not only had he broken fingers on both hands, the skin along the outside of each resembled bloodied ground meat.

  “Even with a healing spell, it will take time.”

  Rifling through the cabinets, he located a box of bandages. With patience and determination, he dressed each hand, then turned to the task of cleaning the blood off the floor. Unable to get an effective grip on the cloth, he tossed it onto the spatters of blood and attempted to rub at the spots using his forearms and elbows. The effort left him frustrated and covered in sweat. Sitting back against the chair, he brought his hands up for a closer inspection. Ever so gently, he tested his fingers one at a time, clamping his teeth down on his bottom lip.

  After what I put her through... Will she ever forgive me? Should she?

  Questions left unanswered, he dragged his tired body to the bed and collapsed into an exhausted sleep.

  A knock on the door startled Dar awake. “Who is it?”

  “Elfin,” came a muffled reply. “I’ve come to get you for breakfast before we head off to the gathering.”

  Breakfast? “Let me get dressed,” he called out, wondering where the night had gone. Dar swung his feet over the edge of the bed, noticing he still wore his clothes from the night before. “On second thought, I’ll meet you in the dining hall.”

  “All right. See you downstairs.”

  In the bathroom, Dar looked in the mirror and took inventory of his face. Blood-shot eyes, his hair a tangled mess… Not a good sleep. He stared at the stubble on his chin. No time for a shave. I’d probably cut my throat if I tried.

  Filling the basin with cold water, he gave himself a good dousing. His appearance was not much improved, but the chill brought some color to his cheeks. He pushed the hair from his face and fumbled with a leather strap, tying it back as best he could. Blood had seeped through the bandages on his hands, but there was no time for fresh ones.

  Other business sent the High Lord in search of the palace steward before going to the dining hall. Eventually, he found the man’s office on one of the lower levels of the great tree. After a hearty exchange of “Maith ar maidin”, Dar asked the steward for a pair of gloves made of the softest leather possible and lined with silk. The elf disappeared into his inventory closet for several minutes before emerging with a pair that fit Dar’s description perfectly.

  Dar frowned. “No. These will not do.”

  The steward scowled. “Pardon, High Lord. You’ll find no softer or more durable leather, and the lining is of the finest silk.”

  “Please, look again.”

  He shrugged and left Dar alone with the first pair of gloves. After a fit of noisy rummaging, he called out from the closet. “Ah, found another pair.” Dar sighed in relief. “They must have fallen between the shelves with…” Once in the light, it was blatantly obvious the gloves were too small. “Oh, apologies, High Lord. These are for a child.”

  Dar eyed the first pair. “These are all you have?”

  “I have a shipment due in next week, but this is it right now. Everything I had was taken by those competing today.” The steward regarded the gloves. “These were made by the best in the business, High Lord. They may be a little tight at first, but your body heat will eventually loosen them up.”

  “I’m off to the gathering myself.” Dar scooped up the gloves. “Thank you, Steward. I shall be the belle of the ball.”

  The High Lord sidled down the hallway until he came to a private niche, ducking in to work the gloves over his battered hands. The unquestionable quality and superb fit took him by surprise. “It could be worse,” he mumbled, resigned to the fact that it was the best he could hope for this close to the gathering.

  By the time Dar entered the dining hall, most who had gathered for the meal had finished or were almost done. There was no sign of Wolfe or Elfin, which he considered a stroke of good luck.

  “Dar,” Alatariel called out.

  With a smile on his face, he approached the queen’s table. Gloved fist over his heart, he bowed at the waist slightly. “May the light forever grace your kingdom and you forever rule in peace.”

  “May evil be smitten by your blades and forever contained within their deadly embrace.” She motioned to the seat next to her. “Please, join me.”

  “It appears I have missed breakfast.”

  “Nonsense.” At the clap of her hands, two servers appeared. “Quickly. Breakfast for the High Lord.” They bowed and rushed from the hall. Amused, she leaned back in her chair. “Nice gloves. I know you to be a great connoisseur of leather goods, Dar, and they are a lovely shade of pink, but I believe your complexion could handle a shade darker.” Her lovely eyes sparkled with amusement.

  A server set a plate and silver before the High Lord. “They were not my first choice, especially for a gathering, but…” He flashed his boyish grin. “There are other things of this color that suit me fine.”

  Chastising him with her eyes, she returned to the event of the day. “Elfin told me you agreed to take part. Your new garb will certainly prove a distraction.”

  “All part of the grand plan, milady.” With his breakfast served, he reached for knife and fork, ready to appease his grumbling stomach. First round went to the knife and fork, proving their dexterity in avoiding his fumbled attempt to pick them up.

  “It will be good for you.” Alatariel watched Dar wrestle with the silver.

  “Perhaps.” The hungry man went for round two, acquired the fork, but the irascible knife refused to be roused.

  “Might I make a suggestion, milord?” She covered her mouth to hide her grin.

  “No.” Round three began with the sharp ring of silver against silver as Dar employed the fork to pry his knife from the table. The silverware subdued, he set to enjoying his breakfast. After a few bites, he asked, “Why did she leave, Alatariel?”

  She shifted her chair closer to his, lowering her voice. “I told her to leave.” Her admission cut deep, but he maintained a calm façade. “At the time, our greatest concern was to get you well. Her presence hindered your recovery.”

  He accepted it with a nod. “Did she go to Inferno?”

  “I can’t say, Dar.” She hesitated at his reaction. “I would assume she would go there first.”

  “She had an itinerary?” His voice was as sharp as his expression.

  “It would make sense to go to Inferno’s for provisions...” Dar’s raised brow
prompted her to continue. “To travel to Deudraeth…” She paused, drawing in a steady breath, “to find her brother.”

  Curiosity turned to skepticism. “As Inferno would say, ‘Yer takin’ the mick.’ Her brother is dead.”

  Alatariel pursed her lips. “She thought the same thing, but we’ve recently discovered that he’s alive and living north of Inferno’s.”

  “And the bad news?” he asked, watching her throat bob with a hard swallow.

  “He’s been with Midir all this time,” she said quickly. “Why? We don’t know. How he came to be in Deudraeth, we don’t know that, either. All we do know is that he’s alive.”

  A low growl rumbled from his chest. “You let her go? Alone?”

  “I know what you’re thinking, but he was sixteen at the time. Surely the influence of his parents counts for something.”

  “Have you lost your mind?” His fist crashed down on the table, sending a fresh wave of pain up his arm. Those few diners left in the hall jumped in surprise and quickly finished their meals, leaving the queen and the High Lord to argue in private. “You know as well as I that if Midir had any influence on that boy, he will be as vile and evil as my brother was.”

  Her eyes flashed, matching his glare with her own. “Then I suppose you’re vile and evil, too. Wasn’t Midir a part of you?”

  “Do not pull that with me. He was the part I refused. Not because I had to, but because I wanted to. You know this is completely different. Sixteen does not offer the strength of mind the boy would need to resist Midir’s influence.”

  She came to her feet, her voice rising to meet his in volume. “He is her family. It’s her choice to make. We had no right to stop her.”

  “You had no right to manipulate my memories, either, but it didn’t stop you.” He fought the urge to bang the table again. “That boy is as dangerous as Midir, if not more so.”

  “She’s not alone.” Alatariel sat down with a casual air, smoothing the folds of her gown. “Linq is with her.”

  Dar sighed. “Alatariel, you don’t understand.”

  She gave him a look like a mother to her hard-headed child. “Dar, you’ve had a hand in their training. Etain is quite capable of protecting herself, and Linq is certainly able to keep her in check.”

  “No disrespect to him, but if Etain’s brother has half the power she had before the blooding, Linq won’t have a chance and neither will she.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed, dismissing his fury. “Have a little faith in your wife.”

  Dar flexed his hands and grimaced, ready to hit something. Instead, he leaned into her face. “Know this, Queen Alatariel.” His breath hissed between his teeth. “If any harm comes to my wife, you will answer for it. And not just you.” He waved an arm over the room for emphasis. “The entire kingdom.” He straightened and looked down his nose. “Midir did not take that boy in for his welfare. He didn’t have a kind bone in his body.”

  “So it’s off to rescue the fair maiden from the evil brother?” Once said, she realized her error.

  He shoved the table over as he came to his feet, scattering food and dishes across the floor. A red-eyed glare erased all trace of sarcasm from the queen’s demeanor. “Etain has every right to track him down. I know she can handle herself, but do not for one second think that boy is not evil. It’s there. For the sake of my wife, my friend, and your kingdom, I pray the bond with his sister is stronger than the bond with my brother.” He stalked toward the doors. “I have a gathering to attend.”

  Dar strolled into a central square filled with elves. Amassed for the games were two groups he knew all too well. The first being the Royal Guard, thought to be the greatest weapons masters ever known, each selected for his or her superior skills and willingness to lay down their lives in the protection of the Royal family. The second, known as the Black Blades, second only to the Royal Guard in ability though no less loyal, were a band of ruthless warriors, trained well in the art of war.

  Excited to participate, Dar approached a group of Blades warming up. “Excuse me, friend. I’m in need of a blade or two. I wonder if you’d be kind enough to lend me yours.”

  “Why don’t you run down to the market?” The Blade turned. “I hear-” Face to face with the High Lord, the warrior tucked his swords under his arms, dropped to one knee, and placed a fisted hand over his heart. His fellow Blades followed suit. “Forgive me, High Lord. I-I was not expecting…” He swallowed hard. “My swords are yours.”

  Dar eyed the kneeling Blade. “What’s your name?”

  The young elf kept his head lowered. “Er, Llyr, High Lord.”

  Dar crossed his arms, stroking his chin. “Are you in the tournament?”

  “Aye, High Lord.” Llyr dared to lift his head, looking him in the eye. “My first.”

  He admired Llyr’s boldness and appreciated the significance of what it meant to the boy. His own performance in his first tournament had been less than stellar, but no less intoxicating. “I’ll not take that privilege away from you, Llyr.” Dar looked around him. “Anywhere else I can obtain blades this late in the day?”

  Llyr jumped to his feet and snapped his fingers. Several younger warriors came running. “Two of you, hand your swords to the High Lord. Quickly!” Without hesitation, Dar received an array of black-bladed swords to choose from.

  The High Lord accepted two broadswords with thanks and tested each one with an individual spin. Their feel was awkward due to his injured hands and unfamiliarity with the blades, but he continued working until his delivery felt smooth enough to compete, although he knew his timing and speed were not where they should be.

  “Not quite my scimitars, but they will do nicely. Are you not participants in the gathering?”

  “This is our first year as official Black Blades, High Lord. We’ve not yet earned the right to take part, but we’re hoping to qualify for the next one.”

  “It will be a great honor to see the High Lord in battle using our swords.”

  “I feel privileged to use the weapons of a Black Blade, no matter his status. I shall endeavor to do them proud.” He saluted the young Blades, a fisted hand over his heart. “Perhaps later, you will allow me to show you a few tricks even the old-timers don’t know. They may help you to qualify for next year.”

  Their eyes widened in unabashed worship. “That would be a great honor, High Lord.”

  “The honor is mine. Now, where do we check in?”

  “We’re hoping one of the Black Blades will take the title this time,” one said as they escorted Dar.

  At the edge of the ring, Dar turned to his companions. “I shall do everything within my power to ensure that doesn’t happen.” He bowed.

  The young Blades looked at one another. Dar straightened, flashing a huge grin. “Laugh, boys. It’s a joke.”

  “Oh! Of course, High Lord.” The Blades gave him a nervous laugh, saluted, and scurried back to their mates.

  Dar laughed, watching them hurry away, then turned to an older elf, clipboard in hand, scowl on his face.

  “Name?”

  “Hello, Hueil. Do you not recognize me?”

  “Aye. I know who ye are,” he said, giving him a narrowed eye. “Do ye not recognize protocol? Or have ye been off so long, ye lost all sense of propriety?”

  Dar raised his eyebrows, amused by the situation. “Pardon me, sir. Dar VonNeshta, dual black blades.”

  “Hmph!” Hueil placed a tick next to Dar’s name. “Bloody show-off,” he muttered, walking on.

  Dar spotted Wolfe and Elfin across the ring. Walking toward the two, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed an elf maiden keeping pace with his every step.

  “Looky here. The man’s broke out his besties for this one,” Wolfe said, grinning.

  “Mate, sometimes it takes a woman’s touch to win the day.” Elfin’s grin turned into a giggle.

  “Wolfe, Elfin.” Dar graciously accepted the humor at his expense, the maiden forgotten.

  “I�
�ve always seen you more as ‘love me lavender’ than ‘baby butt pink’.” Wolfe sniggered, his eyes reduced to mere slits from laughing.

  Elfin chimed in. “This pink is far too delicate to be ‘baby butt’. It reminds me of a lass I once knew, tits dipped in pink frosting.”

  “Laugh all you want, boys. I intend to take the prize.”

  “Which prize would you be referring to, Dar?” Elfin nodded toward the dawdling maiden.

  The Krymerian turned his head. “A stray I seemed to have picked up along the way. Do you know her?”

  Elfin winked at the girl and waved. “That’s Zysha. She’s not one who’s easily swayed from what she wants.”

  “Then she’s in for a big disappointment. You know I have no interest in these maidens. Not one compares to my Etain.”

  “Spoken like a loving husband,” Wolfe chortled. “But I don’t think Zysha got the memo.”

  Not long after, the Ringmaster called muster and made known the names of the combatants. Hearing theirs, Wolfe and Elfin left Dar on his own. Zysha pushed her way through the crowd and tugged on his sleeve. “Milord.” She curtsied. “I have a request.” Her tongue seductively slid over her lips as she reached in between her full breasts and pulled out a scarf. “Would you do me…?” Her eyes widened and she giggled. “Oops! I mean, would you honor me by wearing this scarf whilst in battle?”

  “It would not be appropriate, milady,” he said, trying not to notice the ample bosom barely held in by her scanty dress. She moved closer, breasts first, running a suggestive hand down his arm. He pushed it away. “I am happily married.”

  Sensuous lips pouted. “Is she watching us? Point her out to me.”

  Tartarus. “My wife is not here today.”

  Zysha winked, placing the scarf around his neck. “Of course not.”

  A light breeze blew the ends of the scarf into his face. It was a valiant struggle to keep his opinion of the matter to himself as he swatted it away and had to dig even deeper for the semblance of a smile.