Ashes of Chaos (Legacy of the Nine Realms Book 2)

by Amelia Hutchins

  I barely contained the urge to slam her against the wall and mark every inch of her skin with my teeth. The rattle within me was about to explode, and once it did, she’d be fucked.

  We barely made it out of the cave before I pushed her toward Greer and Brander, and I vanished with Killian and Lore on my heels. I almost marked her. I almost just claimed my enemy.

  They didn’t question my sudden need for space either, just fucking zipped into the jetstream, and we disappeared into the passes. Once I was out of the range of Aria’s scent, I stopped and slammed my fist into the side of the rock slab, watching it crack and spider web.

  “What the fuck?” Lore demanded.

  “Shut up, Lore,” Killian warned, seeing the war I was battling against my primal need and urge to claim what wasn’t mine to claim. Not like my creature wanted.

  That couldn’t fucking happen.

  “I need distance before I do something I can’t take back,” I warned, and Killian nodded. “I need to know who the fuck is chasing her. We need to end that shit now.”

  “A runner came when you were bathing with her in the pool. I blocked his entrance into the valley. It seems there’s been an attack on some of the faction. I’m uncertain which, since he refused to give me the message. It was marked for your eyes only with the rebellion’s seal. This sounds like a good distraction. You have also been summoned to the council to hear from the other heads of the Nine Realms. There’s unrest in some places where the witches have attacked while we chased Aria around the realms.”

  “Good, that should give me time away from Aria. I need you with her, Killian. Keep her close and don’t let her out of your sight. That asshole isn’t afraid of us, and he wants her. I probably just made that need of his more primal and more problematic. We’ll get back to camp, and I’ll speak to the others before leaving at dawn.”

  The sound of Greer’s laughter made us all turn. Peering at the cave they were all walking from, turquoise eyes found mine and held them as Aria paused, swallowing hard.

  I could hear her heart thundering, even from the distance in which we stood apart. My nose lifted, inhaling her need, which caused my pulse to echo hers. Her teeth captured and worried her bottom lip, and she started walking again slowly with a blush painting her cheeks pink.

  My stomach clenched with need while my balls tightened, moving into my stomach as Greer said something that caused her to laugh loudly. I narrowed my eyes to slits, watching the way her eyes danced with amusement. Yet the moment they came back to me, it washed away.

  I was so fucked.

  I wanted her unlike anything I had ever wanted before.

  She was my enemy.

  And none of that mattered when she got close to me and washed it all away with those pretty blue eyes that dared me to fight her.

  Aria fucked me harder than life ever could.

  She turned me inside out and sank her talons into my chest, demanding my cold, dead heart beat once more.

  I feared what would happen if it did. I worried if I allowed it to feel just one single thing, I would unleash everything at once. She’d be the target for whatever I felt, and I was sure she wouldn’t survive it, but then neither would I.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Soraya

  I walked to King of Norvalla’s camp, slipping into the large group of people entering it. My eyes search for the king, finding him within the group coming in beside us. The woman in his arms doesn’t seem happy to be there. Yet something in her eyes pissed me off.

  She’s delicate in form, her silver hair flowing to her waist in subtle waves. Bright, beautiful turquoise eyes slide over the witches brought into camp, and she rattled. Her eyes roamed over the group, slowly coming back to rest on me and the young witch I held to me. I hadn’t even realized I’d stopped, not until the guard behind me snarled and pushed me.

  The shove sent me and the witch I’m bound to sailing to the ground. The slight woman dismounted, even as the male snarled. Her head whipped back, and she rattled, causing my eyes to round. The subtle hint of magic exuded from her, causing my skin to break out in goosebumps before she picked us up and righted us back on our feet.

  “Are you okay?” she whispered, her eyes searching mine before moving to the younger witch.

  “Fine, My Lady.”

  “My Lady, my ass,” she snapped, irked at the title.

  “Aria,” the king growled, and she turned. “They’re witches.”

  “So am I,” she snarled back, and I watched his eyes narrowing to slants before he exhaled.

  “Come,” she stated, baring serrated teeth at the guard when he moved to intervene. “Try me, motherfucker,” she warned, and I swallowed the urge to smirk.

  Esme was right. There’s fire in her eyes and blood. But how long before Ilsa turns it to nothing more than smoke and ashes? I silently took her in, noting she wore the king’s cloak. Her shoulders were back, and her head was high. She doesn’t look like much, but Esme was right. She’s powerful. Very powerful. I could feel the power, but it wasn’t right. It wasn’t ours.

  She’s something else, yet the same. A warrior stepped closer, and her eyes turned toward him, filling with a sea-green color. Fiery embers burned in them, and I’m struck stupid with the rarity of what that meant. Only a few within the Nine Realms could change. Only a few of the strongest breeds survived past Hecate’s rage and the war she waged when she entered this realm and laid claim.

  “You aren’t with the other witches. Why?” I asked, watching her eyes slide back to lock with mine.

  “Because the king knows I’d start a rebellion, and he’d get his ass handed to him,” she offered, giving me a smirk before winking.

  “Aria, this way,” another male called, sliding his eyes down my frame before dismissing me.

  “Coming, Lore,” she snorted.

  I watched her vanish with the men, entering the king’s tent before the guards hurried us to the center of the camp. My fingers worked through the flesh of my palm, telling Ilsa that I had eyes on her target. I don’t look down as soldiers gathered around us, or when the skin on my palm burned painfully.

  Once I was among the witches, I peered down at my hand, reading the runes that covered my palm. My heart thundered in my chest, echoing the blood flow through my ears. My attention moved to the largest tent, watching as Aria slipped inside with the king. I frowned, peering around the large camp filled with warriors, camp followers, and witches.

  “Name?” a woman asked, and I frowned. Her gaze lifted, and she paused. “Send this one to the herb tent. We will use her to create potions,” she announced without waiting for me to speak.

  The guard held out his arm, and I followed him, turning to stare at the tent surrounded by guards protecting the king. Ilsa had said to stand down, that Aria was already dead. It didn’t make sense to send me in if she already had another plan in action. Not unless something had changed for Aria, or even for me.

  My gaze turned to a group of rowdy men, taking in the lords with three witches naked on their knees. Swallowing hard, I hurried my steps toward the herb tent, moving inside before releasing the breath I’d held.

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” a woman exclaimed, her cloudy blue eyes searching mine. “So, have you?” she asked, moving closer to examine my face before reaching for my hands, which still burned. I yanked them away, causing her keen eyes to lift and hold mine. “I’ll see your hands, girl.”

  Swallowing bile, I held my hands up with the backs to her, but she grabbed them, turning them over to stare at bare palms. I slowly blew out the air I’d held, sliding my eyes away from hers. Once she was satisfied, she lifted her eyes.

  “You’ve brewed before, yes?” she questioned.

  “Many times,” I admitted.

  “You look like you’ve been through it,” she stated, and I frowned. “The war. It haunts your eyes. You’ve seen too much for your age, girl. They call me Maize. You can call me Maize, or you can call me Old Crone. I care not
which one you prefer. I am both.”

  “Old Crone only means you’re brave and smart. You’re a survivor, too.”

  “That we all are,” she huffed, turning to the cauldrons that were boiling. “If you’re smart, you’ll stay out of the notice of the guards unless you plan to earn your way on your back.”

  “I heard the king has a thing for witches,” I snorted, moving to one of the brewing potions, cupping my hands to bring the smoke to my nose.

  “Not since he brought the Hecate witch to camp, he hasn’t. Heck, even before then, he stopped taking them to his bed.”

  I paused, turning to look at her. “So he’s bewitched by her?”

  She scoffed and grunted. “No, just today she was beaten by the guards. She attacked another witch who was hurting one of the witchlings. I say she did what we all wanted to do to Bekkah for a long time. Goddess bless her. Aria gave her an ass-whopping she won’t soon forget. She might even think twice before beating another witchling within the camp.”

  I turned that over in my head, frowning at the idea of Aria accepting a beating to protect a witchling.

  “Was she fond of the witchling?” I asked snooping.

  “Had never clapped eyes on her until she watched the poor thing hit by Bekkah for not casting, or so they say,” Maize stated, shrugging. “I don’t heed rumors. But she hadn’t been here more than a day before she defended the chit. Couldn’t have known her for long enough to care if she lived or died.”

  “And the king allowed it?” I asked, watching her eyes growing sad.

  “That he did, and we have not seen her since.”

  “I just saw her entering the tent. She couldn’t have been hurt that badly,” I stated, and watched her shaking her head.

  “She had blood pouring from her face and a lame arm that hung in her chains. Bekkah made certain everyone knew how badly they had beaten Aria. If she wasn’t bad off now, it’s because the king took her up to the village with the healing pools.”

  Why would he care if she were hurt? Why take her to the village unless he cared? The king was notorious for bedding witches, uncaring if he harmed them in his playtime.

  Why stay with only her? Better yet, had she felt the power hidden within the caves? If so, was that the loss of power I’d felt? If Aria was strong enough to free those souls, she might just be strong enough to face Ilsa.

  Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered except getting Julia out of the Kingdom of Vãkya and away from Ilsa. I couldn’t trust someone I hadn’t met.

  I wouldn’t play games with my sister’s life. Not even for a Hecate-born witch, especially not one who was dumb enough to sleep with the opposing side’s king. If Ilsa’s message was right, then Aria would be dead soon enough, anyway.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Aria

  I stared off into the early morning skies, recalling Knox’s loathing look as he rode out of the camp. He had left before the sun rose two weeks ago, leaving me with Lore, Killian, and Greer. I’d spent most of the first morning stuck inside my head, trying to ignore the pang of unease and regret that I’d felt.

  Knox wasn’t happy since I’d refused to discuss the other male in the cavern, but I was still pissed at his caveman antics, bringing me to an orgasm as the other Aden had watched. It may have made total sense to Knox to lay claim and put on the alpha display, but that didn’t mean I was happy about it.

  I’d slept that first night, cuddled in the furs that held Knox’s scent, bathed in their warmth as my mind rushed with what had happened in the cavern. How had I ever thought the sliver-haired men were trying to protect me?

  They’d set me up to battle against a female like me, but older. They hadn’t cared if I survived, which meant they were no better than Knox, or anyone else for that matter. No one around me cared about me, which sucked. I’d gotten so used to thinking of myself as a tool to be used that I’d stopped seeing that I was worth anything more.

  On the second week away from Knox, I’d started to wish for his return. It was one thing to be here with him, and another to be among his people watching me with unguarded hatred burning in their stares without him to protect me.

  I also missed him being near to keep the nightmares at bay, which seemed to reoccur nightly without him. The warmth of him against me as I slept was something I’d enjoyed. That also bothered me.

  Then there was Lord Andres, who seemed to watch me, nonstop. It became increasingly uncomfortable in the second week, choosing to hide within the tent more and more to escape the lust-filled stares he sent my way. Killian and the others had noted it and kept the lord occupied and away from me, luckily.

  It was midafternoon on the first day of the third week when Lord Andres found me alone with Greer. He sat beside me, grabbing me from where I had sat, placing me onto his lap as Greer turned toward me, silently sliding his gaze between us.

  “Aren’t you a pretty little thing,” Lord Andres chuckled, running his nose over my shoulder. I rattled, causing his focus to shift to surprise long enough for Greer to grab me from the lord’s lap. “I’d back off, asshole. Do you know who I am?” Lord Andres sneered, and I tilted my head, purring low in warning at the man threatening violence toward Greer.

  Lord Andres’s green eyes narrowed on me, and before I could duck, his fist shot out, slamming against the side of my head.

  I darted forward to attack, only for Killian to slam me back as Lore caught me, rattling low in his throat. Lore pushed me toward Greer before he stepped beside Killian, creating a barrier between Lord Andres and us.

  “She’s not to be harmed. The king himself protects Aria, and I doubt you want Knox returning to find his protection violated. Do you? Because to harm those under his protection is treason against the king himself,” Killian said smoothly.

  Lord Andres sized up Killian and Lore, sneering before his stare settled on me. It sent unease slithering through me with the look of hatred and borderline obsession that banked within them. His mouth twisted into a cruel smile before he reached up, pushing his oily hair away from his forehead.

  “She’s a witch and his whore according to the guards. Tell me, Lord Killian, does the king intend to breed the bitch too? Oh, that’s right. He can’t, considering his queen already provided him with a son which this whore’s bloodline murdered. Yet he fucks her and gives her his protection? Interesting choice of bedmates. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “What the king does with his whore isn’t our business, now is it?” Killian countered, his anger smothering as his power slid through me.

  I tried to step back, but Greer held me in place, noting that Lord Andres’s sharp stare shifted to me the moment I tried to move away. Greer tightened his hold, squeezing my arm as if he were silently trying to ask me to remain in place.

  “I just found it strange that she is kept away from the other witches, and sleeps in his tent even without him present to use her. She’s guarded rather heavily, and it is making my men curious as some wouldn’t mind bedding the whore a few times before we take our leave.”

  “The camp followers are welcoming your men to their beds often. The other witches were given the option as well. Aria isn’t among the ones offered to satisfy your bodily needs, nor is that changing. King Karnavious doesn’t wish her to be used yet. When that changes, some of us are already in line for that position, Lord Andres. This argument and inquiry are finished. Wouldn’t you agree?” Killian’s tone brokered no room for argument. His eyes didn’t blink as he pulled power to him, blanketing us with it as Greer held me tightly, protectively.

  Lord Andres rattled loudly, and Lore and Killian both stepped forward, echoing the noise until my own slid free, low, and deadly, causing all three men to turn and stare at me. It wasn’t a friendly sound by any means, more of a ‘fucking try me’ rattle that had Killian smiling devilishly as if he considered taking me up on the offer.

  Well, shit.

  A rider entered the camp and approached the tense situation unfolding with apprehension. Sti
ll, he moved forward and handed Killian a sealed letter that held a black circular wax seal. He accepted and opened it before turning to Lore.

  “Pack the king’s tent and his witch. We’re leaving to meet him and the king’s guard on the passes. I need to give orders to the men to follow behind us,” Killian announced. “I guess this is where we part ways, Lord Andres.” Killian moved to make his way toward the men when Lore stopped him.

  “Just us?” Lore asked.

  “And a large group of men, but we will meet up with Brander and Knox before the passes. He stated that he’s impatient to tell us what he discovered. Any other questions, Lore?” Killian asked impatiently, his eyes daring him to speak more in front of the lord’s presence. “No? Then pack up as we’re leaving directly.”

  When Killian said we were leaving directly, he meant it. Less than ten minutes later, we watched Lord Andres departing with his men, while we went in the opposite direction.

  No one spoke as we rode the horses at a rapid pace into the dark, narrowing road that would take the army hours to navigate, which was why we were leaving them behind and heading out in front of them.

  The ride through the countryside was silent, or it was until we approached a fork in the road covered in downed trees. Killian slowed the horse he and I rode on, holding me tighter as we stopped in the road.

  “That is a problem,” he grunted, turning to peer down the other direction.

  “It looks like someone placed that tree there,” I stated, and he tightened his hold on my chest painfully.

  “We’re taking the alternate road into the pass,” Killian announced.

  “That will add an hour to the ride,” Lore grumbled.

  “We’ll cut through the forest and slice off the time we added. It’ll be midnight before we reach the woods, and the weeping willows will be asleep, right along with the flame-tailed foxes and miscreants that hide within it. It is, after all, the witching hour.”