“Stand, Roimas.”
He obeyed, then urged his mate and son to do the same. Desdemona gestured toward the other homes stretching out in the distance, their doors and windows still closed and shuttered against the cold.
“Go to your neighbors and knock upon their doors,” she commanded. “Spread the word to every corner of Snowbank. Tell your neighbors, friends, and family that the village is yours again. Come out of hiding, reopen your market. Return to living your lives. I now rule as Queen of Mollac; my mother’s reign of terror is now at an end.”
Nodding, Roimas gave her a wide smile, causing wrinkles to form around his dark eyes. They twinkled with warmth and joy.
“Yes, my queen,” he replied. “Right away. And thank you ... thank you for setting us free.”
She simply inclined her head at him in response, giving him another encouraging smile. Reaching out for her right hand, he lifted it and lowered his head, placing a quick kiss upon the red ruby ring she wore. Her mother still wore the crest of the Ravenmoore family, but Desdemona had made due with her own ring, the large ruby good enough to serve in its place.
“Come, Henfas,” he said, reaching out for his son.
Taking the boy’s hand, he led his son away, and the two broke into a run toward the neighboring cottage. Merta rose to her feet and gestured toward the open door of her home.
“If you wish a private place to don your new garments, my home is yours, Your Majesty,” she declared.
“I would like that, thank you,” she replied.
Malachi and Mindirra followed to act as her guards, while Eli rounded up the rest of the royal guard to assist Roimas in spreading their message to the residents of Snowbank.
Once alone in the cottage, Desdemona found a warm fire crackling in the hearth. Casting a quick glance around the small home, she experienced a twinge of pity. They’d been allowed to keep their rough, wooden furniture, which sat facing the fireplace. However, anything else that might have made the home a warm place for a family to live had been taken. She wondered what it had looked like before the invasion of her mother’s minions. Perhaps furs and tapestries had covered the floors and walls. Wooden décor carved by Roimas by hand would have adorned the mantle and tabletops.
The scent of a winter stew should fill the space, but she found the kettle resting beside the hearth empty. The shelves in the small kitchen were astonishingly sparse. The people of Snowbank had been stripped of everything—left to eat nothing but scraps and shiver inside their cold cottages. The firewood resting near the kettle wasn’t nearly enough. They would have run out by week’s end.
The sights made her angry, but Desdemona fought to keep it under control. It would not help matters if she burst into flames and destroyed the home. She had come to make everything that was wrong right again—and that was precisely what she must do, instead of allowing herself to wallow in pity and anger.
She made quick work of getting dressed, donning the warm stockings, shift, and gown Mindirra had brought for her. Thankfully, the gown was warm and well-made, but not overly ornate. The people knew she was a queen; there was no need to flaunt her wealth before them when so many of them had been left to suffer.
Pulling her cloak back over her shoulders, she emerged from the cottage and found that several of the town residents had gathered just outside the door. She paused on the threshold, overwhelmed by the sight of them, stretching on beyond the home and down the lane. Word had traveled fast, and it seemed the entire village had gathered to greet her.
At their forefront stood Roimas and his family, beaming proudly. A hard lump rose in her throat and tears sprang to her eyes as one by one, the villagers began falling to their knees in the snow. The men who wore fur hats removed them, holding them over their hearts. Others—Fox Shifters she knew must be warriors—saluted her with closed fists over their chests.
Somewhere from the back of the crowd, a man’s booming voice thundered through the air. “All hail Queen Desdemona!”
The cry was taken up by several others, and before long the call resounded with the force of hundreds of voices.
“All hail Queen Desdemona!”
The tears slipped down her cheeks, the significance of what was happening causing her a moment of humility. She had taken Semran Hall by force and declared herself the Queen of Mollac by right of birth. But now, the people of Mollac openly accepted her and declared her their queen in a way they never had her mother. For them to welcome her was unexpected, especially since she’d kept them waiting while she wrestled with her own doubts and fears. Then and there, she vowed not to let them down.
Raising her arms, she quieted them, blinking away more tears with a smile. “Thank you, people of Snowbank! The village is yours again, and I know you will restore it to its former greatness. The woods are yours for hunting once more; the market yours for selling and trading your goods. The next time I visit Snowbank, I look forward to seeing it become the thriving town it once was.”
Her speech was met with thunderous applause, and all at once, the people began converging on her. Mindirra, Eli, and Malachi stepped forward as if to block them, but Desdemona urged them to allow the people to come. She would not deny a single one of them an audience if they wished it.
Someone brought her a cushioned chair to sit upon, while her royal guard worked to organize those clamoring for her attention into an orderly line. She greeted each one, listening to their stories and internalizing every one. Listening as they told her about how their lives had been affected by her mother’s tyranny, and how happy they were now that she’d come, Desdemona memorized each tale. She never wanted to forget their plight—needed to remember why it was important for her to serve as their queen.
By the time the last of them had come forth, the sun had set, heralding the appearance of the moon and stars. Hunger and thirst gnawed at her insides, and she was exhausted, but would not have changed her decision to speak to each of them.
Malachi approached and gave her a hand up, offering her a chalice of wine with the other. “The people wish to celebrate your return and their freedom. While you were granting the villagers their audiences with you, a hunting party was organized and sent out into the woods for meat. The people have gathered what food they have and prepared a meal. We urged them to save what they had, but they would hear none of it. They would not take no for an answer, and will not be content until their queen has come to feast with them.”
Glancing past him, she spotted a massive fire at the center of town, around which people had gathered. Their voices rang out in a sound that buoyed Desdemona’s spirits. Laughter. Conversation. Music! A group of men had produced instruments and begun playing, prompting many others to dance.
With a wide smile, Desdemona took a hearty sip of her wine. “I cannot very well disappoint them, can I?”
Offering her his arm, Malachi returned her smile. “No, my queen. You certainly cannot. Shall we?”
Looping her arm through his, she allowed him to lead her toward the gathered villagers. The scent of roasting meat made her stomach quiver and her mouth water. As if sensing her hunger, a woman approached her with a platter of dried fruits and nuts. Malachi accepted the platter and held it out to her.
“Thank you,” she murmured to the woman, who bowed and smiled before backing away and leaving her to enjoy the delicacies.
She and Malachi shared from the platter, and the roiling of her stomach began to calm. Pushing aside some of the offerings, he revealed a honeycomb.
Glancing up at her he grinned. “Look.”
Her face heated at the sight of the comb, glistening with fresh honey. One of the villagers must have just found it from a nearby tree. The honeycomb brought back memories both painful and sweet.
“Remember bringing me that honeycomb?” he murmured. “I do. Your delight over such a simple thing bought me joy during one of the darkest times of my life.”
Desdemona remembered the day clearly. She’d found the honeycomb during a w
alk in the woods, hoping it would help lift his spirits. They’d shared it together, and she could remember it being the first time she’d been seized with the urge to kiss him and almost given in. Her girlish infatuation with him had been inappropriate, and she’d never thought of it before the moment he’d stood in front of her with the sweet amber liquid staining his beautiful lips.
Lifting the comb from the platter, he held it up to her, dropping his gaze to her mouth. Closing her eyes, she sighed as she took a bite of the waxy comb, her mouth flooded with the sticky and sweet honey. Taking her time, she chewed the waxy comb, drawing as much of the liquid as she could from it before swallowing. She opened her eyes and found Malachi following suit, taking the other half of the comb and licking his fingers.
He watched her while he chewed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. Licking his lips clean, he watched her with a look in his eyes that was unmistakable. She couldn’t misconstrue the gleam in his dark gaze for anything other than what it was. He wanted to kiss her.
Nothing stood in their way this time, and Desdemona had never felt more free than she did standing with him beneath the stars. Free to be herself because he would accept her regardless. Free to love him, because he had given himself to her.
Closing the distance between them, she rose up on her tiptoes. He met her lips with his own, lowering his head and wrapping an arm around her waist. Holding her tight, he gave her a thorough kiss, taking his time and making it last. She grew dizzy from the assault, the taste of him mingling with honey flooding her senses. When he pulled away, they both fought to breathe evenly. She was suddenly burning up beneath her furs.
“I know you are obligated to attend your people right now,” he whispered. “But I cannot wait to have you all to myself again.”
Glancing around, she lifted her eyebrows. “How far are we from your cabin?”
A slow smile crept across his face as he understood what she was hinting at. “An hour’s walk on foot. We could arrive faster if you ride on my back.”
“Let’s stay an hour at least,” she suggested. “They did go through so much trouble. But a bit later ...”
Nodding, he kissed her again. “I’ll carry you away.”
The prospect sent a little thrill down her spine. She could hardly wait.
Chapter Ten
ROTHATIN PAUSED ON his path toward the kitchen, whirling around to face the door to the apartment as it swung open to admit Arrian. He’d been pacing for so long, he was surprised he hadn’t worn a hole in the floor. Hands clenched tight behind his back, every muscle rigid and coiled to spring, he felt as if the torrent of emotions roiling through him might just cause him to burst at the seams. He was generally quite rational in every situation, but the prospect of possibly losing one of the royal daughters before the prophecy could be fulfilled had him desperate to act. Part of him wanted nothing more than to whistle for Archimedes, fly away from this place, and search every corner of the city until Phaedra was found—even if he had to tear its every structure down with his bare hands.
Yet, that infuriatingly rational side of him knew better. Arrian had gone after Phaedra and the Dark Fae who’d taken her. It had been hours since the Elf had disappeared, falling into the bay and out of sight. Waiting for him to return with news was agony, but Rothatin wouldn’t risk endangering Phaedra further.
He crossed the room in a few swift strides, but found his way impeded by Selena and Gretchen, who had both leapt from the couch at the sound of the door opening. They rushed Arrian at once, both their voices clamoring as they inquired about Phaedra.
The Elf was soaked from head to toe, his hair hanging limply around his face, which had gone pale from the cold night air.
“Phaedra is alive,” Arrian announced, once the door had been closed behind him. “She’s unharmed ... for now.”
Titus appeared from the kitchen, worry knitting his brow. “Where did they take her?”
“I followed them to an island off the bay,” Arrian replied. “It’s not very large. There’s nothing on it but a few hollowed-out buildings and trees. All the structures seem to be abandoned.”
“I think you’re talking about Hart Island,” Gretchen supplied. “It’s the world’s largest mass grave site.”
Selena wrinkled her nose in distaste. “A mass burial island?”
Shrugging, Gretchen acted as if nothing seemed strange to her about an entire island being dedicated to bulk burials. “They’ve been burying people over there for over a hundred years. Stillborn babies, unclaimed bodies, people whose families couldn’t afford burials ... you name it. The prisoners from Rikers Island conduct the burials, but as far as I know it’s uninhabited otherwise.”
Selena shuddered. “Creepy much?”
“Did you determine Phaedra’s location on the island?” Rothatin asked, trying not to become impatient.
“There’s an abandoned building in the heart of the island,” the Elf replied. “It’s where Eranna has hidden the Eye of Mollac. It is also the place she is gathering the kidnapped girls. I snuck inside and hid in the shadows, hoping to overhear anything that could be helpful to us. It would seem she needs ten girls in all to complete the ritual that will restore her power. She will not begin the rite without all ten.”
“I take it she intends for Phaedra to be one of them,” Rothatin mused aloud.
“So it would seem,” Arrian said. “There were four girls in all, including Phaedra. The girl we rescued was surely intended to be the fifth. I wanted to rush in and steal Phaedra, but it was too risky. There are many Witches and a few Dark Fae keeping guard. I might have gotten us both killed.”
Placing a hand on Arrian’s shoulder, Rothatin nodded. “You did the right thing. Phaedra should go unharmed until Eranna has gathered the remaining six girls.”
“So, what now?” Titus asked. “We can’t just sit around waiting for her to kidnap six more girls. The longer Phaedra remains in her clutches, the closer we come to losing her forever.”
Arrian stiffened, as if the notion physically pained him. Rothatin pitied the man, understanding how he felt. It had not been long since he’d found himself terrified at the prospect of losing Jocylene. He did not know precisely what had occurred between the princess and the Elf, and it was none of his affair. However, it was clear to him that Arrian still loved Phaedra, and would likely do anything to get her back.
“We attack Hart Island,” Arrian declared. “Now. Tonight.”
Glancing out at the rising moon, Rothatin shook his head. “No, it’s too soon.”
“Too soon?” Selena protested. “If we don’t go now, we run the risk of it being too late!”
“There is no ‘we’ in this,” Titus objected, giving his mate a stern look. “You’re supposed to be resting.”
Selena opened her mouth as if to argue with Titus, but Rothatin jumped in, hoping to circumvent an argument.
“The city is overrun by Dark Fae,” he argued. “We do not know where they could be at any given time, or how quickly they can be summoned to Hart Island. I need to gather my Warriors and conduct an overhead sweep of the city. If we’re going to extract Phaedra and the other kidnapped girls, we need to develop a plan of attack. I will not risk any more of our royal daughters by going in blind.”
“Take me with you,” Arrian demanded. “I want to see what we’re dealing with.”
Raising an eyebrow, Rothatin looked the Elf over from head to toe. “Are you certain you’re up for it?”
With a shrug, Arrian brushed past him. “Give me a moment to change into dry clothing, and I’ll be fine.”
Gretchen’s jaw dropped as she only just seemed to realize that Arrian was standing there dripping water all over the carpet. “Dude, you swam all the way to Hart Island and back?”
Arrian smirked. “I told you, my people have a connection to the water.”
“Is that connection a parent who’s secretly part fish?” Gretchen murmured.
Rothatin could have sworn he heard a chu
ckle as Arrian made his way toward the bedroom he had once shared with Phaedra. After the two had ended their relationship, he’d taken to sleeping on the couch; but, his clothing was still stored inside the closet he shared with Phaedra.
Turning to Selena, he found her chewing her bottom lip, arms crossed over her chest as she peered out the window toward the bay. Grasping one of her shoulders, Rothatin gave it a gentle squeeze.
“I know that you are worried,” he murmured. “But Phaedra is strong. She will be just fine.”
Forcing a smile, Selena nodded. “I know that, of course. It’s just ... we’re used to being together when faced with overwhelming odds. I don’t like the idea of her stuck in Eranna’s hold, all by herself.”
“It won’t be long,” he assured her. “Once I’ve got a better idea of what we’re facing, we are going rescue the kidnapped girls and get Phaedra back.”
Before Selena could respond, Titus appeared at her side once more, extending a dinner plate laden with foods Rothatin knew to be some of her favorites. Lately, the smells of food made the princess ill, and her mate was doing everything he could to coax her to eat.
“Sit down, and eat this,” Titus said in a firm but gentle tone.
While she typically bristled at Titus telling her what to do, Selena obeyed, accepting the plate and lowering herself onto the couch. Smiling gratefully at her mate, she lifted her fork and began to eat. Titus’ shoulders lost a bit of their tension as he watched her take several bites without becoming ill.
Turning back to face Rothatin, he wrinkled his brow. “I want to come with you, but I’m afraid Selena will want to tag along.”
He had lowered his voice, but Selena paused between bites as if she’d heard every word. Or, perhaps, the anxiety her mate felt had begun to radiate at her in palpable waves.
“There are kidnaped girls who need rescuing,” Rothatin reminded him. “We’ll need a place to bring them to ensure they are unharmed and that they possess no memory of what they’ve been through before we return them to their homes. Perhaps you and Selena could remain behind together to see to the task. I’ll leave a handful of my warriors here for protection. Any one of them should be able to help you ensure the memories of being taken by Eranna are stricken from the minds of the young women.”
Flight of the Phoenix Page 12