by Genia Avers
His normally strong libido rose half-heartedly to arousal. The server possessed some appeal, but there was a lot of her and her ample body jiggled more than the foam on his ale. He chugged the rest of his drink and her pale plainness looked a bit more luscious. When the maid put her arm around him and pulled his face against her bosom, he didn’t resist.
“Have your last fling, laddie,” Remington taunted. “I’ll not be letting you feel up the barmaids after you’re married. Be advised though, you’ll ride to Mydrias tomorrow, even if I have to tie you and your hangover to the saddle.”
“As if that would be necessary.” Kamber lifted his head from her ample bust and pushed the maid away. “Damn you, Remmy. You’ve spoiled my evening.”
“Right, boy. It’s my disposition that’s spoiling all the fun.”
* * * *
An onlooker shifted further into the shadows and pulled his hat low over his brow. He gazed at the spectacle two tables away. After a time, he quietly rose and retrieved the prince’s ring. He sat back down but his lips never touched his tankard and his eyes never left the drunken pair.
Chapter Three
Unfamiliar voices pounded against Subena’s eardrums and drew her to full alertness. She saw nothing but rock. Where am I?
Breathing deeply to invoke calm, she inhaled the sea air. Her mother’s accusations came roaring into her consciousness. She’d come to the sea.
Alone.
More pounding. Who had followed?
As clarity increased, panic threatened. For once, she didn’t curse her hypersensitive hearing. She tugged on her earlobe. Unintelligible words.
Gads. What now? Didn’t her country have enough issues with the crystal shortage? Were her people now at the mercy of invaders?
Hide. She needed to hide. Needed to spy on the intruders and uncover their purpose. How badly had the Mydrian shore been compromised?
She scurried to the top of the cliff, climbing with an expertise lacking among people who’d lived without toil and who’d wallowed in luxury for too long. The sight that greeted her when she looked seaward made her blanch. “Bockle.”
Her vision had come true. The invasion was real. Ships bearing Lord Creshin’s emblem on their sails hovered on the horizon, marring the water’s crystalline beauty.
Being native to Lanatus, the warlord had always resented the presence of the álfar. In the past, Creshin hadn’t been powerful enough to act upon his hatred. Had he somehow learned of their predicament and decided to attack?
“What are you planning?” she whispered.
Several crest-boats dropped from the big ship and sliced through the water toward the shore. Subena peeked through a crevice in the jagged rock, knowing the Lanatus Sun-Star above her would blind anyone looking in her direction. She watched, desperate to know what the warriors planned.
The first boat stopped midway between the master ship and the land. Had the rowers seen her?
Subena started to back away, but the spectacle of a cloaked figure rendered her immobile. The hooded creature stood upright in the boat. The body rose into the air and a skirt fluttered in the wind. The lady began to float toward the shore.
Mother of Bockle. She’s flying.
Subena dropped her chin to her chest, rubbing her temples with her fingers. Surely she hallucinated. Even the Gatslians couldn’t fly. Bockle, even the ancients couldn’t fly.
When she dared look again, the lady stood with her feet planted on the beach. Her hands signaled to the boat. The warriors didn’t move.
Don’t let them come ashore. Subena’s countrymen had grown soft and could offer little resistance if a battle was to ensue.
The strange female scanned the horizon. She seemed to be searching for something—or someone. The lady spoke, but only noise carried to Subena’s hidden nook.
The wraith walked closer to the trees at the edge of the beach. She tugged at the hood of her cape, pulling it low over her brow. Subena couldn’t see her face, only the imperial bearing of her posture.
The lady uttered a strange sound and held out her arms. A male emerged from the woods. The female opened her arms to embrace him, looking anything but ladylike. Subena ducked behind a jutting stone, trying to steady her racing heart. Nothing made sense. She peered between the rocks again, needing assurance that her eyes hadn’t deceived her. They hadn’t.
She covered her mouth to keep from screaming. The deep blue color of the cloak identified the garment. That hue could only be produced by a dye created from ansur, a mineral found only on the Mydrian shoreline. The male was a traitor.
A stolen garment? She stared at his silhouette. Maybe not. The cloak suited him like a second skin. He wore the mantle with the assurance of a rightful owner.
A cold shiver raced through her body. Mydrians were loyal but hunger for life made loyal people do awful things. She had to warn the Council.
Subena chanced one more look. Should she tarry in hopes of identifying the Mydrian traitor or rush to alert her people of an impending attack? The Mydrian and the flying lady were no longer visible. Two soldiers had rowed to the shore and paced on the beach. One glanced in her direction.
She jumped back, trying to press her body into the rock. The identity of the traitor would have to remain unknown. How could she warn anyone if she were a captive? Or worse.
She could stay no longer, but she couldn’t leave the same way she’d come. The only escape route lay over the second rock face at her back. She’d have to climb higher before she could descend. And risk being spotted.
Crawling with the stealth of a night creature, she reached the top of the summit and peered over the edge. A quick glance assured her no one followed. She scooted over the flat parapet until she reached the opposite summit. She descended the mountainside without making a sound.
When she reached the bottom, her eyes darted in all directions to make sure no one had skirted around the rock wall. She doubted any of the ship’s warriors had time to cover the distance by ground, but she’d no experience with people who could fly.
Seeing no one, she lifted her skirts and bolted. Her feet didn’t slow, but she couldn’t resist a backward glance every few meters. If the invaders spotted her, she’d need every skill she possessed to escape the long-legged male, not to mention a female who could fly.
One last look broke her rhythm. She faltered. Her foot caught on a stone. She fell to the ground, twisting her ankle. Pain shot through her body. She pushed it from her mind. After a silent grimace, she willed her feet to trot again. Lord Creshin had sailed into forbidden waters with war ships. The interloper’s boldness could only mean he was prepared to attack.
* * * *
“What do you mean there were no ships?”
Sitting behind his large driftwood desk, her brother stared at her. His face masked by an expression Subena couldn’t decipher. “The search party saw nothing.”
“Jal, I saw the ships.”
“You’re sure it wasn’t…a vision? I mean, you were pretty upset when you ran off—”
“I know the difference between a vision and reality. There were ships.”
“And a female who flew?” Jalakin stood, the abrupt motion knocking parchments off his desk.
He walked toward her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Bena, I don’t doubt you, but others will question your version of reality. Our search team found no trace of the landing party. Even if we could confirm the sighting, we…what do you suggest we do?” Jalakin released her hands and banged his fist against the desk. “We’re powerless.”
“We must sound the alarm. We can’t just let the traitor go…go about his business.”
“Suppose we find this faceless male? What then? It’ll be your word against his as to whether there were actually any ships.” Jalakin leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “Let’s keep this quiet. We’ve a greater chance of identifying this spy if he doesn’t know you’ve seen him. Unaware, he might wear the cloak in public. Alert him,
and he’ll just burn it.”
Subena bit at her lip, her own frustration surpassing Jalakin’s. “You’re right, of course. Whether we find the traitor or not, our best hope is to bind the alliance with Gatsle. As soon as possible.”
“Funny you should say that. We received a courier from Gatsle this morning. Rothart insists the wedding ceremony take place next week. I’d expected him to stall and I haven’t even gotten the Council to ratify the treaty yet.”
“Next week?”
Jalakin nodded, his expression dour. “I must admit, little sister, I do not like his demand for haste. Rothart’s motives worry me. Not only has the Drow king demanded the union occur ahead of schedule, he’s declined all our offers of technology and culture.”
“They’re not Drow.” Despite her protest, she felt like the room had begun to spin. “But I don’t understand. If he doesn’t want our technology, why would he sign the treaty? There’s nothing in it for Gatsle.”
“Exactly.”
The full weight of her sacrifice felt heavy upon Subena’s shoulders. Without being able to offer new wonders to the Gatslians, her mate’s people would ostracize her. She’d be more of a freak in Gatsle than she was in Mydrias. And Taslin would snort steam.
Bockle. She hadn’t told Taslin about the marriage.
“Bena, did you hear me?”
“Sorry, what?”
“I said, you don’t have to do this.”
“I do. We both know it.”
Jalakin puffed out a breath. “If you go through with this marriage, you’ll have to remain in Gatsle for at least a year. Those are Rothart’s terms.”
“A year?” She felt strength return to her limbs. Anything could be endured for a year. After that, she could return to Mydrias as a heroine.
“I’m so sorry.” Jalakin shook his head. “I tried to negotiate less time, but Rothart refused. Please don’t mention the threat from Lord Creshin. We’ll look desperate, and we’ve so little bargaining power.”
“You mean don’t talk about the flying ladies or things that go bump on the sand. In other words, don’t let Rothart think I’m demented and give him an excuse to tear the treaty to shreds.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“No, but that’s what you meant.”
Subena turned to leave, but one of the papers scattered on the floor caught her eye. She bent over and picked up an image of the most beautiful female she’d ever seen. Glimmering ebony hair framed a dark, angelic face, but it was the eyes that demanded attention. Although the image was mere paper, she felt the hypnotic power in the female’s golden glance.
“Who’s this?”
Jalakin opened his mouth and then closed it again.
“Don’t start keeping things from me now, Jal. Who is she?”
Her brother wouldn’t meet her gaze. He spoke in a steady voice. “His mistress. The female is Kamber’s mistress.”
Chapter Four
Subena nodded politely when she really wanted to stand up and scream. The Mydrian Council had discussed the treaty for three hours, but had yet to take a preliminary vote.
Bockle. It’s not like it’s important or anything.
Each of the four regional councilors debated every line of the treaty as if there was an alternative. Given their precarious situation, ratification should’ve taken less than five minutes but if the Council was true to form, it would take them another three hours.
She chanced a look at Erwin, the economics minister and her former academics mentor. He stared straight ahead, but the tiny motion in his jaw telegraphed his frustration. At least he’d vote for the treaty.
As Minister of Technology, Subena also cast one vote, and Jalakin’s role as head of security ensured another “yes” for the treaty. They still needed one more councilor to vote “yea.” As the council chair, the empress didn’t have voting power, but if her mother said “no,” all four regional members would follow suit.
Bejet, the eastern representative, asked for the floor. Again.
“We’ve had no interaction with Gatsle in over two hundred years. How do we know we can trust these backwoods animals? How do we know they won’t kill Subena? And eat her.”
“Bockle help us,” Erwin snapped. “How many times must we go over this?”
Subena wanted to hug him.
“Erwin,” Annika said, with the same amount of emotion she used when asking for mint in her tea, “it will take as long as it takes. Our government’s based on open democracy.”
The economics minister frowned, but made no comment. Bejet started to drone and Subena wanted to doze. To distract her mind, she looked beyond the floor-to-ceiling circular windows to the crowd outside, searching for a particular deep blue cloak. All council meetings were community forums with the audio piped into the courtyard. Judging by the crowd, almost everyone in the city had turned out for today’s session. The traitor might be among them.
Seeing no hint of the cloak in the milling audience, Subena again contemplated Gatsle’s motivation. Why had King Rothart insisted on the marriage in exchange for the quartz? Gatsle held Mydrias by Bockle’s balls, but the monarch had flat out refused payment of any sort. His only demand—a daughter-in-law?
What sort of game did the king play? Mydrias and Gatsle might share a common ancestry, but the two countries were miles apart in ideology. Aside from pointed ears, rumors of secret hordes of rodents and Gatslian blood feasts abounded. Mydrians had chosen a nobler means of existence and abhorred even the idea of blood sucking.
Maybe the rumors were true. Maybe the Gatslians didn’t use crystals.
A familiar high-pitched voice shattered her contemplation. “He wants our little Bena to do what?” Annika grabbed her chest and Subena’s attention.
Little Bena? What did she have to do to be taken seriously?
“Hold on,” the eastern councilman bellowed. “According to this document, Gatsle law dictates that the prince marry a virgin.” He looked up from the document he held. “How archaic. I don’t think we even have a Mydrian female who meets this qualification.”
Bockle.
There were murmurs as the council agreed. Intense sexuality was one of the few traits that linked Mydrians with their ancient kindred.
“Then there can be no treaty,” Bejet said. He stood and started to stack his papers.
Subena? Jalakin’s alarm flashed with his mind message.
Her head twisted in his direction, her neck cracking from the force of her movement. Why hadn’t she thought to warn Jalakin so he could sidestep the issue?
Of course she hadn’t warned him. One did not discuss one’s virginity with one’s brother—even in Mydrias.
Subena? Jalakin repeated. His mental response reverberated as loudly as if he’d yelled. We have to address this. It may be grounds for nullifying the treaty.
It isn’t an issue. Subena puffed out her cheeks as she flashed the message.
No jest? Jalakin’s gaze sought hers. His royal purple eyes widened in question. They grew even wider when she gave him a slight nod.
The empress interrupted, “Who expects a female of marrying age to be a virgin?” Annika scoffed. “Subena’s too good for that barbarian anyway. I say we forget about the treaty.”
The spectators began to nod and murmur. “Bejet’s correct. We’ll have to forget about the treaty if they want a virgin,” Kaarl, the northern councilman barked. “Death is better anyway.”
Subena knew what she had to do but still she stalled, wanting to delay ridicule as long as possible. No matter how many crises she averted, no matter how much of her time and skills she devoted to being the Mydrian science minister, her efforts earned her nothing but mockery in a country that loved to play. She doubted today would be any different.
There was no other option. She had to expose herself. For the first time, she cursed the open forum that would make her humiliation public.
“I am a virgin.”
The announcement silenced the noisy room. Ever
y set of eyes riveted on her.
“It seems we don’t need to worry about the clause.” Jalakin addressed the council, his voice as smooth as a ping on the clearest crystal. “The clause won’t be a…eh…a barrier.” A few snickers followed his comment.
Sometimes, she could almost hate Jalakin. He and the whole damn council could eat rats for all she cared. She flashed her brother a hostile message: Forget about my virginity and just get the blasted approval.
“She lies,” Lynette, councilor of the South, stated. “She’d say anything to get the treaty approved.”
Another unnatural silence filled the room. Not one person could likely comprehend not sharing pleasure. Subena didn’t really understand it herself.
The empress closed her gaping mouth and whined, “Bena. That cannot be right.”
She ignored her mother and addressed the Council. “First, I do not lie.” She glared at Lynette. The southern councilor shrank further into her seat.
Feeling somewhat mollified, Subena let her gaze scan across the rest of the Council. “Second, Mydrias can comply with the stipulations in the treaty. That said, I will entertain no further discussions about my sex life.” She hoped her no-nonsense tone would refocus the group. “Marriage to Prince Kamber will not only give us the crystals that keep us alive, Gatsle’s army will keep Creshin and his warriors from killing us. Unless one of you has a better plan, I suggest you hurry up and ratify this treaty.”
“But we’ll be indebted to those barbarians,” someone called from the upper chamber.
Jalakin interrupted the grumbling that followed. “Councilors, listen. We had another death just yesterday. How many of your children will you allow to die?”
A collective gasp echoed through the large hall.
“Worse,” Jalakin continued, “Lord Creshin and his organized warlords have already declared war on Mydrias. The alliance little Bena has proposed will join our armies with those of Gatsle and ensure that we’ve enough troops to keep the peace. Without an ally…”