“Beth, let him go.”
She ignored Jovan, tightening her grip around Bernard’s throat. He had ruined her life. A century of hiding, of living, was all gone now because of his greed.
Erem placed his hand on her shoulder. “Bethany, you’re hurting him.”
She shrugged him off. All she cared about was the boiling rage inside her. Bernard’s face turned red and his eyes bulged from panic. He failed to pry her hands away. “Am I hurting you, Bernard?”
He tried to speak, but only gasped out unintelligible words. She loosened her grip just enough to understand him. “A man…bag of coins…”
“To print this?” She held up the page in her other hand.
He nodded. “Please…”
Except for Bernard’s grunting, the room was silent. No one moved. She looked into Bernard’s panic-ridden eyes and remembered that he had children. She had killed fathers before. Children, too. He had collaborated with an enemy to destroy her.
But he was not the enemy.
Bethany released her grip and Bernard slumped forward. Her body trembled from releasing the rage that surged through her.
“Thank you,” Bernard choked out, his voice raspy. “Thank you.”
“This machine,” she said, pointing at the press, “is not for printing nonsense. You are printing dangerous words.”
Bernard massaged his throat. “He paid me a fortune.”
She knew enough about the press to know that it had put Bernard into serious debt. Rumor had it he relied on card games and dice to help raise some of the funds. “How much?”
“Twenty-three gold.”
“I’ll pay you one hundred gold to stop printing.” He twitched his faced like he was about to disagree. “Or I’ll burn this place to the ground.”
Frantically, Bernard nodded in agreement. She spoke loud enough that the soldiers behind her could hear, never taking her eyes off Bernard’s already bruising face. “Find this man with the bag of coins. I want him alive.”
So I can kill him myself.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Many will claim to be the Elf King but only one will blessed by the Creator Gods.
—The Prophecy of the Diamond, Second Tablet
“I think we should move,” Sarissa said, looking up from the bulky text spread across her lap. It had only been a day since Amber’s revelation of the truth about Magic and already Sarissa had made progress with her Magic texts. “Move away from Taftlin, I mean.”
The gripping madness had left. She looked back on herself, even two days before, and did not recognize the woman in her memories. Today, she was new. Fresh. Just like before.
“Robert?”
Her husband groaned when she pulled the covers from over his head. He squinted against the morning light that pierced the room through the cracks around the door. He turned away from her candles, too. “Huh?”
“I said we should move.” She closed the cork cover of the book and plunked it on the straw floor next to their hay bed. Shimmying down to lie against him, she said, “Living in the middle of the mountains won’t get us what we want. We need to go south. It’s warmer there. I’ll complain less.”
“You want to talk about this now?” He rubbed his eyes. “I’ve just woken up. Whatever happened to you hating mornings?”
She ran her fingers through his dark hair and he grew very, very still, giving her a weary look. She shot him a wide, toothy smile. “I have energy to spare this morning. It’s like I had been surrounded by thick fog and now I’ve I stepped out into the light.”
Robert scratched at his face with a dirty fingernail. She needed to remind him to bathe more, now that her senses had returned. “Are you feeling all right?”
She stretched her legs as far as she could and curled her toes, like a cat just waking from a long slumber. “It has been a long time since I’ve felt this all right.”
Sarissa rolled over and slipped her feet into her fur-lined shoes. Covering her nakedness with a robe, she slinked over to the firepit and stirred the fire. She added another log, listening to the soothing crackle of the birch sap being boiled and burnt by the heat.
Spring had finally arrived. There was no better time for her true self to step out of the shadows. Oh, how tricky Magic was. It had nearly convinced her that her mind was slipping away. But the pure knowledge of that fact cleared the years-long haze and her new clarity allowed the revelation of The Secrets of the Gods.
“What do you think?” she asked, picking up a knife and a carrot. She was in the mood for boiled carrots and raisins for breakfast. The traders had brought the woody roots from last year’s season with them, but it was better than the sorry excuse for soup she had been eating the last week.
“Huh?”
“My plan! What do you think?”
Robert slowly sat up when he noticed she had a knife in her hands. “Um, what plan?”
She rolled her eyes. No wonder he had never learned Magic. “My plan to move. We can’t spend our lives living here, freezing to death. Let’s move south and cause some real trouble.”
“Killing King Garran wasn’t enough excitement?” Robert let out an exaggerated sigh, but still eyed her knife as it slid through the carrots with ease. “Will you let me go back to sleep afterwards?”
“Anything you want, my love.” Sarissa smiled. Since the mist had cleared from her mind, she had seen Robert in a new light, the way she used to see him. He did not practice Magic and had never understood her need for it. But even as she descended into lunacy, he had stood by her. He had done all that she ever asked and wanted, without question. She realized that she still loved him, crazy, filthy beast that he was.
She dumped the chopped carrots into the cast iron cauldron that hung over the tiny fire pit from a hook. “Do you remember where I put the raisins?” She dug through the boxes of supplies that littered her sunken hut. “There they are.” She grabbed a handful of raisins and dumped them into her pot, then poured water over them. Deciding she wanted something strong, she started chopping the onions. Those added a nice flavor.
Robert knew how much she liked to have soup for breakfast and always fetched water before they went to sleep. That way, it was waiting for her in the morning. It seemed wrong to not let him know how she felt. Too long had passed without her telling him how much he meant to her.
“Robert, I haven’t told you lately how much I have appreciated you all these years.”
Though still visibly groggy, his eyes opened wider. “Why are you telling me this?”
She fingered the long knife and looked at Robert. “I realize now how poorly I used to treat you. I’m sorry for that. It makes me feel bad.”
“Used to?” That snapped him upright and alert. “If you are planning to kill me, you better let me get dressed first. I’m not dying in bed stark naked without a weapon in my hand. I knew you’d do this to me. Fucking bitch. Women. Elves, Elorians, Rygents, Goddesses. I hate the lot of you. I wish to the gods I was born sly.”
Not taking his eyes off her, Robert scrambled out of bed and grabbed his trousers off the floor. She smirked as his flaccidness flapped against his body. There were plenty of ways that she had neglected him. Sarissa promised herself to make it right.
She let out a laugh and dropped the knife on the floor. “Oh relax. I’m not going to kill you. I have bigger plans. Like destroying the Temple of Tranquil Mercies.”
Standing on one leg, trousers half on, he stared at her, dumb-founded. “Why?”
She picked up her text and threw it on the bed, the pages flapping open. Robert pulled his trousers on and held his sword tight. With his free hand, he flipped through the pages. His face lit up. “You’ve unlocked the entire book.”
“Oh, much more than that. I’ve discovered how to steal Apexia’s Power. All I need are the texts that are hiding at the temple. With those books, we could invade the Rygent Islands. Steal their books. And then, I could become a full goddess. Ah, Sarissa, Goddess of All.” She smiled. “It ha
s a certain…sweetness to it, doesn’t it?”
Robert’s jaw dropped. Shirtless and sword in hand, Robert was undeniably handsome in his rugged peasant way. Sarissa ached for him to slip inside her. It had been too long since she had those urges.
“Breakfast can wait,” she declared, leaving the partially chopped onions on the table, the pungent scent filling the room. When she approached Robert, he backed up, eyeing her wearily. His grip tightened on his sword. She dropped her robe to the floor. “By all means, bring the sword to bed.”
It only took a moment for Robert to believe her. He dropped the sword and struggled out of his trousers as fast as he had put them on. She stretched out on the bed and waited. As Robert lowered himself on top of her, she whispered, “Afterwards, let’s send Bethany a letter to tell her the good news.”
I’m cured.
* * * * *
Arrago successfully dodged Bethany’s fist but it cost him a painful kick in the shins. He struggled to stay upright and grabbed at her clothing in hopes of dragging her to the floor. She was a lot faster than him and her fingers jabbed into his throat before he could use brute strength to overpower her. He winced from the pain. Only a dozen minutes into their session and she’d already bruised and battered him.
And it was still better than sitting in his windowless closet of a room to cry over the news from home. Anything was better than that grief.
He caught sight of his discarded weapon on the ground and dove for it. She didn’t move. Arrago hesitated. A hot burn across the back of his hand. She had thrown a dagger and cut him. He swallowed back a curse.
“A point for the lady,” he said, grimacing through the sting of pain. If she knew how helpless he felt, Arrago feared his ass being plonked on a donkey cart and sent back home.
She took three long strides and reached down to grab his hand. His stomach clenched as she inspected it. “Sorry. If we were using battle-ready swords, you’d be missing part of your hand.”
Though she apologized, her tone lacked her usual warmth and playfulness. This Bethany was the Lady Champion, not his new friend. And, though he was afraid of Lady Champion, he would not let her smell his fear.
“You seem distracted. If you need to be elsewhere, we can stop.”
“Oh, shut up and just fight.” Her glare could scare barbarian hordes. “Get up.”
He wondered what her problem was this time. In the last four days, Bethany had been constantly moody and on edge and his patience was at an end. The most important living person in his life had just died, but he was here, training and learning. He didn’t bring his feelings into the mix. Why couldn’t she do the same thing? Bloody women.
But he obeyed, his teacher grabbing the sword in his bloody hand. Being human meant that he only had one dominate hand—his right. Bethany possessed the enviable ambidextrous quality of her elven heritage. And reflexes like the wind.
At least he was prepared against Bethany’s signature, if ungallant, maneuver as he stood. She swung her swords at him, but he was already in position to avoid them. He kicked her knee hard enough that she stumbled backwards. Sword in hand, he steadied himself and smiled at the frustrated redhead.
In the split second it took her to regain her balance, Arrago fought off another attack. This time, the dark recesses of his mind taunting him with unchaste thoughts. He thanked Apexia that Elorians were not mind readers; Bethany would have beaten him to a bloody pulp if she knew he daydreamed about her naked body snaked around…
“Pay attention!” she growled.
Arrago’s head snapped backwards and he stumbled as she bashed him with the hilt of a sword. Blood from his split lip seeped into his mouth. Between his daydreaming and her foul mood, it was going to be a long, bloody night.
“Are you going to fight or just stand around with your mouth gapping open?” She huffed and tossed her blunted swords on the table against the wall. It sent shivers down Arrago’s spine when it scraped against the stone. “Stop wasting my time.”
She didn’t give enough time to respond and turned her back. Anger fuelled by grief bubbled inside him. He wanted to slap her.
As she drank out of the tall, glass water pitcher, he knew well enough that he couldn’t win against her today; whatever bothered her ate away the little patience she naturally possessed. Something happened in Orchard Park, when she had disappeared for hours. She had not been the same since.
Bethany scratched her back, where her chest bindings ended and her flesh began. Arrago clenched his jaw. The beige bindings covered only part of her torso and he found himself constantly distracted by her body. With her back turned to him, his eyes dropped to the jagged scar that descended from beneath the bindings to well past her trouser ties. It was the width of a finger and he wondered how anyone could have survived a wound that deep.
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or should I just start guessing?” he finally asked. While he wasn’t sure if she considered him a friend, they got along well enough and that counted for something.
She didn’t face him and instead poured herself another drink. “Nothing is wrong.”
He stepped behind her and tugged her arm enough to make her face him. Not letting go, he said, “There is. I’d prefer that you just tell me so that you don’t take it out on my face for the next two hours.”
She gave a slight tug against his grip but he held tight.
“Arrago. Let go.”
“You want to pout, do it on your own time.” He tapped his chest with his free hand. “This is my time.”
* * * * *
Shock paralyzed Bethany, which only added to her frustration. She knew her jaw was hanging open but she found it impossible to snap her mouth shut. Bleeding lip and all, Arrago was growing a spine. A small part of her wanted to smile but most of her just wanted to punch him. Then, she realized what he had said. “I most certainly am not pouting.”
“You are and I’m not having it. Either train me or dismiss me. Pounding my face into mushy peas is not helping me learn.” Still gripping her arm, he leaned in closer, his voice lowered. “I can guarantee my day has been worse than yours.”
She sneered. “I doubt that.” She’d nearly choked an innocent man to death. Her entire world crumbled around her. People were reading the prophecies and it was only a matter of days or weeks before the questions and rumors would point to her. And she could not find the energy to force Arrago to let go of her arm. No, her day was definitely worse.
Arrago cocked his head. “Do you know who Father Arragous is?”
“Oldest living elf. He became a priest after his wife died. Why?”
His grip tightened. “I just got word that he joined her on the wind two weeks ago. I was named after him. He raised me after my parents died of the fever. He sponsored me to come to the temple. What about your day tops losing what’s left of one’s own family?”
“Oh.” His day really had been as rotten as hers. “I’m sorry, Arrago. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“You were too busy hurting me.”
His words stung more than a slap across the face. She deserved that.
He leaned closer to her, licking his lips. His breath was hot against her cheek as his body inched closer to hers. She reached out a hand to clutch the table behind her. A shiver shook her spine as she recognized the lust in his brown eyes, but she was startled to have it directed at her for a change. Fire Tits didn’t exactly inspire lustful thoughts.
Bethany wanted to say something, anything, but found herself floating in a trance of unfamiliar ground. She’d been propositioned by enough human males to dismiss the attempts as general human horniness, but this was different. Arrago had lived with elves; he knew that their chastity vows were serious. Sure, Jovan had long forgotten his but he was the exception to a very firm rule.
Her problems were bigger than his individual pain, yet they did not seem it at the moment. Her troubles were too abstract to even wrap her mind around them. But Arrago’s pain was intimate
and personal, and that intimacy made it seem more real. He needed comfort, and lusting after her was a natural extension of his grief. Not unexpected in a young human male.
“Arrago…” she said, in a throaty whisper, “you’re hurting my arm.” She knew it was a pathetic thing to say, but nothing else came to mind.
He looked down and removed his calloused hand from her arm. “I didn’t mean for it to hurt.” From his tone, it was clear that they both knew he had not really hurt her.
Bethany found herself drifting closer. Or, perhaps it was his face inching closer. He smelled of fresh olives and sweet wine, mixed with the earthiness of sweat that had not yet turned foul. His hand skimmed the bare flesh of her torso, running along the deep scar on her side.
Her blood ran with fire until the desire to taste Arrago’s lips threatened to overwhelm her. Her stomach ached with lust and she leaned forward imperceptibly, until the teachings of her youth roared to life.
This can never be.
Without thinking, her hands jutted out and pushed against his chest. Even without using her full force, he stumbled backwards. Bethany gasped. Until that moment, she had not realized she had been holding her breath.
“Arrago,” she said, lifting her hand in the air as if to further ward him away. “Please.”
Arrago visibly struggled to control his breathing, his chest rising with each panting breath. “I don’t know what came over me. With the news coming today…”
“Arrago,” Bethany said, stepping closer to him. “I was raised by elves. I’ve adopted their ways. I am flattered that you…” She couldn’t bring herself to say it. “But I cannot be anything more than a friend.”
He nodded his head. “Your friendship is all I need. I’m glad I have it. Will you forgive me?”
“I won’t forgive the pouting comment.”
Arrago moved away from her, just enough to have their personal zones once more. “Something’s bothering you. Tell me. It’ll help me move past this…awkward feeling I have.”
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