Court of Shadows

by Miranda Honfleur

  She’d kissed him.

  Great Divine, she’d kissed him, and he hadn’t said a thing about it.

  Biting her lip, she lowered her gaze. She’d been his father’s lover—that made kissing Jon all manner of wrong, and then there was her friendship with Rielle, who’d loved him, and perhaps still did. Olivia sighed.

  She was a friend to him, the Archmage, an adviser, and he’d never looked at her with that hunger in his sea-blue eyes.

  Hunger. She rubbed her face, finding the cat mask still in place. These were not the thoughts to have about her king, her lord, her friend, her best friend’s former love… Forbidden.

  “Jon,” she said, and he met her eyes, making her squirm, “about that kiss—”

  He took a deep breath. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about that, about us—”

  “It was just to distract you,” she blurted. Great Divine, he’d been about to let her down gently, hadn’t he? She didn’t need to hear it, didn’t want to hear it.

  “To distract me,” he repeated cautiously.

  She nodded. “There were more important matters, and I just needed something to bring you back to what we’d come to do.”

  “Something.” His eyebrows drew together, his face hard, contemplative. That strong jaw clenched, flexed, and the planes of his face were unforgiving. She’d give anything to know what thoughts simmered behind that bulwark.

  “It worked, didn’t it?” She straightened a bit, crossing her legs.

  “It did,” he said, lowering his gaze, “but Olivia…”

  She peeked out the window into the night, watching the shabby storefronts and shacks of Il Serpente go by, until a black stone arch marked a dark corridor.

  “Stop,” she ordered the coachman, who did as bidden. Whatever Jon wanted to tell her, he could say when they weren’t trapped in a carriage together.

  He grabbed the seat and raised an eyebrow, planting his boots firmly on the carriage floor. “Where are we?”

  Lively fiddle music played outside, accompanied by clapping.

  She handed him his black dragon mask. “Put it on. You’ll need it where we’re going.”

  He sighed, holding the mask, and a corner of his mouth turned up in a dimpled half-smile. “Is this where you kill me?” He nodded toward the street. “And then long reign Queen Olivia?”

  “There’s a thought,” she joked back. “But no. Now hurry up and put it on.”

  He fastened the mask’s leather ties and then spread out his arms, sprawled on the seat across from her. “And now?”

  Her heart beat a little faster, and she became very aware of the tight carriage, the shadows and slivers of firelight, and the way that black brocade overcoat showcased his powerful figure to perfection. She wanted to run her finger up the curve of his bicep, glide her palm over his strong shoulders and across that sculpted chest, and down over the—

  He said something, and although she watched his lips move, the words eluded her.

  “Hm?” she asked, trying very hard to listen.

  He laughed under his breath. “I said that’s quite a grip.” He nodded to her lap, where she clenched the Queen’s Blade white-knuckled.

  Something like a titter escaped her lips as she set the blade aside. Divine, could he tell where her thoughts had gone? “We’re going to an underground market.”

  He rested his ankle on his opposite knee and leaned back. “Olivia, if there’s something you want, just ask,” he said. “I’ll have it bought for you.”

  When he spoke like that, it only made her want to kiss him again, bridge this short distance between them in the carriage, and—

  She cleared her throat. “I… It’s… There are things here that cannot be found elsewhere, and I thought it would be fun.”

  He sighed. “Or… you thought I can’t leave your sight and had no choice but to bring me along.”

  There was that, too. She hesitated, then reached for his hand. “Come on. Are you afraid you’ll enjoy yourself?”

  “After tonight, I’m in no danger of that,” he said, sobering.

  She squeezed his hand.

  A moment passed, then he heaved a breath and clapped the door. “Let’s go.”

  She checked for the pouch of gems tucked into her cleavage—still there—then let him help her out of the carriage.

  The Royal Guard, cloaked and hooded in black, were in formation around them as she approached the archway. A man waited there, leaning against the wall with a half-full bottle of wine, wearing a black cloth half-mask. Lean duelist’s body, a knot of straw-blond hair, and a rapier at his belt…

  “Liv,” he greeted with a bow.

  Jon and the guards stiffened.

  “Verib?” she asked, and Jon motioned the guards to stand down.

  “I’d hoped you’d come,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it. “You didn’t have to get so dressed up just for me,” he said with a wink, looking her up and down, “although I’m not complaining. You’re a sight to remember on lonely days at sea.”

  She laughed, and Jon cleared his throat.

  Verib’s gaze slid to him. “You’re here, too. Huzzah,” he deadpanned.

  Jon heaved an exasperated sigh. She’d have to rush him in before he could change his mind.

  There was a break in the fiddle music and dancing nearby, and Verib beckoned them forward to a door in the street, and he pulled it open. A stone staircase led down. “Best not stand around in an alley, unless you want a knife between the ribs and your coin purse taken.”

  “Olivia…” Jon warned.

  “Enjoy yourself,” she said firmly, and headed in.

  With a deep breath, he followed suit, and they descended underground, where she’d finally get her hands on something forbidden.

  * * *

  Jon headed off Olivia, his hand on Faithkeeper’s hilt and his guards around them in the shadows. This was a new place he knew nothing about, and especially with Olivia here, he wasn’t about to let his guard down until he could determine how safe it was.

  Verib cast a candlelight spell that lit the way through the cramped corridor, and Jon hunched to avoid hitting his head on the uneven stone above them.

  Laughter, chatter, and music filtered in, echoing from the distance, and loudened as they kept walking. Those were the last things he wanted to hear after the evening he’d had.

  “Il Mercato Sotterraneo,” Verib provided, strutting next to him. “You can find anything here.”

  Anything.

  Jon shook his head. Then that’s why they were here. Olivia was still trying to find some miracle that would save his life.

  “You can’t find what doesn’t exist,” he said to Olivia.

  She nudged his arm. “You won’t know it exists unless you look for it.” She said it in that lofty way, positive, cheerful even.

  He wouldn’t waste what time he had looking for more time. Especially when there was work to be done.

  But there was no dissuading her.

  Firelight glowed at the end of the corridor, a lot of it, and they came upon the edge of a staircase winding down into a massive cavern, brimming with tents and people, bartering, laughing, singing, dancing, eating, fighting. There was an entire bazaar down here.

  There seemed to be a few exits spaced in the cavern walls, with people lazily entering and leaving. The merchants were cramped together, but not so much so there wasn’t room to maneuver.

  A bard with a lute sang a rowdy tune in Sileni, her voice rousing the drunks to sing along, and a man approached them holding various bottles, peddling wine. Verib bargained over a bottle of Melletoire red.

  One tent—black canvas—was full of books and scrolls sold by a dark-elf man in a black leather hood. The Immortals in Silen had mingled with human society more, then.

  Olivia gaped and hurried in, practically skipping, and flitted from book to book. Jon accompanied her, eyes on the strangers around them, as she thrust three large tomes in his arms, then stacked another, then c
arefully placed a number of scrolls on top.

  He couldn’t help but grin.

  Among the bustle around them, he glanced over the topmost scroll. “Olivia, do you really need all—”

  She placed two more scrolls on top of that one, then reached into her bodice and pulled out a pouch.

  A laugh rumbled in his throat, and the stack was unwieldy, but he wouldn’t deny her anything. She looked as happy as a paladin at the sacred blacksmith’s.

  “Well,” she said, finally out of the tent, “I just spent the bulk of what I’d brought on these, but they’re all in Old Sileni, which isn’t actually all that different from Sileni, so I think I can—”

  He laughed. She was talking with her hands, and that meant he’d already lost her to whatever subject had struck her fancy.

  “There are two on sangremancy and that giant one is a compendium of Immortal beasts, and then—”

  He cleared his throat, and Florian offered to take the stack from him. Terra be praised. She passed by another tent, where two rangy men offered pelts, leather, claws, and all manner of things derived from Immortals.

  She reached into her bodice, but he gave her his own hefty coin purse. Smiling brightly, she darted into the tent.

  As he watched her shop, Verib returned and held up a bottle of wine.

  “No, thank you,” Jon said.

  “I wasn’t offering. Just showing off my prize.” Verib clamped his teeth on the cork and pulled it free, spat it out, then drank some with a loud moan. “I’ve missed it.”

  “You don’t like me,” Jon said, watching Olivia run wary fingers over a large fur that looked suspiciously like a griffin pelt.

  “Whatever else they say about you, you’re definitely not dumb,” Verib took another swig.

  Bristling, he quirked a brow. “What do they say?”

  Verib shrugged, watching Olivia. “They said you were a paladin before this, and that you fell for a woman. That she disappeared for months, and you betrayed her. Took mistress after mistress. That she came back and forgave you, but discovered another of your betrayals and left.”

  Jon gripped Faithkeeper’s pommel. Tight. Rumor wasn’t too far from the truth, except for that last betrayal. And he deserved every word.

  “How can a man who can’t keep a single woman keep an entire kingdom?” Verib asked, a challenge riding his voice.

  “How can a man judge a king’s leadership by his private affairs?” Jon asked quietly, fighting the rigidity coiling in his arms. He didn’t need another man to tell him how egregiously he’d erred.

  “‘Affairs’ is the right word,” Verib grumbled, narrowing his eyes. His sky-blue eyes.

  His Amadour eyes? His Lothaire eyes?

  Jon looked him over. Something wasn’t adding up. “Why are you so interested in what I—”

  “Because you crushed her heart,” Verib bit out, “like it was nothing.” He soon took a step back and drank again.

  Sky-blue eyes, straw-blond hair, that pale complexion with golden undertones but sun tanned. Even a slight resemblance in the nose… Could it be possible? There was no way this man was her cousin.

  He was her brother.

  Jon stopped, watching as Verib swaggered a couple steps more. “Liam Amadour Lothaire.”

  The swagger stopped. Frozen to the spot, Verib looked over his shoulder, scowled. “What did you just call me?”

  “Rielle’s brother,” Jon said firmly.

  Verib turned around. “You don’t know what you’re—”

  Jon advanced a step. “What did you say about me?” he asked, his voice low. “ ‘’Whatever else they say about you, you’re definitely not dumb’?”

  With a slow exhale, Liam crossed his arms and tapped the wine bottle with a finger, then hung his head a moment. “Only one other person knows about me.”

  Terra have mercy, it was Rielle’s brother. “She knows,” he guessed.

  Liam nodded.

  “Since when?”

  “A couple months.”

  Then Rielle had found her brother when she’d escaped Xir. Found her long-thought-dead brother, and hadn’t told him. He hadn’t earned her trust. He hadn’t deserved it.

  Rubbing the back of his neck, he eyed the ground before looking back up to Liam. “We never had this conversation.”

  Liam squinted those sky-blue eyes, then nodded. “What conversation?”

  Exactly. If Liam didn’t want the world to know he lived and Rielle hadn’t fought him on that, then he certainly had no reason to.

  “You’re not going to lecture me on my duties?” Liam asked skeptically, taking another swig.

  Jon half-laughed under his breath. He should be the last person to ever lecture anyone on their duties. Coming into his duties as king had been nothing short of a complete failure.

  The next tent had a variety of toys—dolls.

  “No lecture.” Side by side with Verib, he followed Olivia as she moved on to the next shop. “Especially from me… I made the worst mistakes of my life, and I’ll spend the rest of it trying to make them right. I’ll never be able to”—they’d lost too much for that—“but I still need to do what I can.”

  Liam assessed him peripherally, then gave a slow nod, looking away to Olivia while she gathered a few items from the hunters’ shop and presented them to one of the rangy men.

  “Are you and her together?” Liam asked, nodding toward Olivia.

  He exhaled lengthily, crossing his arms. Olivia had kissed him tonight.

  Distraction or not, that had changed things. He’d wanted to talk to her about it, clear the air, tell her how much she meant to him, how he wouldn’t be here or alive if it weren’t for her, but she’d—

  “It’s a simple question, man,” Liam prodded.

  “No, we’re not involved,” he murmured, although it wasn’t that simple when she was definitely interested. The way she’d pressed into him, and the passion in her kiss, had made that very clear. She’d silenced him in the carriage, but he couldn’t keep quiet about this for much longer, no matter how difficult the discussion would be. They needed to have it, and he needed to pray she’d still want to be his friend, and his adviser.

  Face bright, Liam watched her with a meandering gaze. It wasn’t the vulgar look he’d expected, but something softer, warmer. Affection.

  Olivia seemed to like Liam enough—or, rather, Verib. The man would have to know she’d have no part in the kind of roving, sea-faring lifestyle he led. For as long as he’d known her, Olivia clearly valued stability.

  She charged out of another book tent with her hands full.

  “Jon, you won’t believe all the things I bought,” she said, as he accepted the armful of bags. “There’s a book about sangremancy rituals in Old Sileni, and this one all about Immortals, including dragons, and then there was this old translated tome on healing that the merchant said had to be from before the Sundering, translated multiple times, he said, with medicines and such, too, and I think it will—” She clipped her words and glanced at Liam, who stared back at her with an amused grin and sparkling eyes. Hooking her arm around Jon’s, she added, “I’ll tell you all about them when we return to the villa.”

  Sangremancy rituals. She hoped to decode what Shadow had done on Khar’shil. Maybe it had to do with the dragons?

  And there would no doubt be concoctions of many kinds in his future, experimentation the likes of which he’d bear if it’d make her happy. And if they worked, well, he wouldn’t complain about living longer. More time to put fists to faces in the battle against the Immortals.

  In addition to the books, he could already see all manner of claw, bone, fur, and scale, when what he most wanted was blessed sleep before calling on Rielle at the Marcels’ mansion as he’d promised.

  Not something he looked forward to. He’d have to explain to her his plan with the Covens, and she’d take it to mean he wanted her to lose.

  Yes, he would gain with her loss, but winning would also earn them an inroad to the
Divinity, with Rielle’s membership in the Magisterium. If Sincuore had been speaking the truth and the Grand Divinus had been involved in the regicide, then there would be some evidence of it somewhere—records in the secret Archives, Hensarin who’d taken part, something. If Rielle agreed, they could use her membership to investigate, and to bargain with the Covens. The Archons wouldn’t turn away an asset high in the Divinity’s hierarchy.

  If she agreed.

  “Aren’t you going to buy anything?” Olivia asked. “Something to remember this voyage?”

  As if he could forget it? The water dragon and being outmaneuvered by the Grand Divinus were memorable enough. That latter memory would sting for years.

  Still, he glanced at the next tent’s offerings, smooth stones engraved with all manner of designs. One was a deep blue, with a sea turtle’s shape carved into it.

  “For longevity and endurance,” the wizened old woman behind the counter said. When he raised a brow, she added, “It’s enchanted.”

  He suppressed a laugh. Terra was having him on today, it seemed.

  There was no way this stone would give him another day of life, or help him endure anything. At least not through its supposed enchantment.

  But he picked up the stone, running his thumb over the engraved turtle, and he couldn’t help but smile at the memory of the forest pool and diving to free Rielle from her turtle captor. Just running his skin over the grooves was enough to take him back to that night, how he'd known in that instant under the moon what she'd meant to him…

  He gripped Faithkeeper's pommel. How determined he’d been to help—and to stay true to his Sacred Vows.

  Endure. Yes, a reminder wouldn’t hurt.

  “This,” he said to Olivia.

  She looked over the turtle stone. “That simple?”

  He nodded.

  Tomorrow wouldn’t be nearly as simple. Sharing plans to break away from an international power never was, but—he thumbed the turtle stone with a smile—he now had hope of enduring it.

  Chapter 21

  Morning birdsong chirped outside the windows when Rielle turned the page in A History of Magisters, scrawling a note about the early magister trials involving demonstrations, trying to keep her parchment in the sliver of light between the drapes she’d spread.