Taren pushed aside the remains of a slice of berry pie, the portion much too large to finish after several courses of food had swollen his belly. Everything was delicious, but he couldn’t help but think the pie paled in comparison to his Aunt Shenai’s. In that moment, he would have discarded the entire scene for a warm slice of his aunt’s berry pie, along with the sound of her singing in the kitchen while she baked.
Here I am among kings and queens, considered a hero, and I wish I was back home.
He had woken late that afternoon in his castle bedchamber with no memory of anything since the battle, save for a vague impression of someone carrying him at some point like a child and putting him to bed. Mira or Ferret were the likely suspects. He did remember overextending his powers during the battle, however, and the disturbingly intoxicating feeling of unleashing such destruction.
Taren took another long sip of his wine, which was quite good, perhaps the finest vintage he’d ever tasted, save for the exquisite elven variety he’d sampled while a guest of Zylka Daerodil. Either due to the agreeable taste or because of his introspective mood, he sought out the bottom of his goblet. An attentive serving girl had been very adept at seeing that he didn’t want for more wine.
Mira met his eyes from across the table, her concern and unhappiness plain on her face.
He gave her a wan smile but said nothing. She had to save me from myself yet again, only this time, the consequences could have been dire. I nearly lost control out there—a threat to the Balance and all that I hold dear. Shame marred the pride he might have felt at his accomplishment. Destroying the Nebaran army had felt so deeply satisfying, and he sensed that intoxicating allure could easily lead down a dark path once sampled too frequently.
A hard elbow nudged him in the ribs, interrupting his thoughts.
“Why are you so glum?” Ferret asked bluntly. “We kicked their arses and destroyed their army. You’re the big hero.”
He got the impression that if she could’ve drunk, the girl might’ve been well into her cups by then. Everyone else was, from what he could tell, other than Mira.
Taren felt Mira’s gaze on him again but couldn’t meet her eyes. He reached for his cup of wine and finished it off, having lost count of how many he’d had so far.
“May I, milord?” The comely serving girl swiftly refilled his goblet before he could answer. He couldn’t help but note her pleasant scent of lavender and the expanse of cleavage revealed when she leaned over, brushing his shoulder with one ample breast. A silky strand of her long raven hair briefly fell across his forearm.
Ferret was still looking at him, though she spared a pointed glance at the serving girl that he suspected was a warning glare. After the servant moved away, Taren cleared his throat and took another sip before answering her question. “It was a great victory, and of course I’m happy about that. Perhaps I’m just thinking of what lies ahead—returning to the Hall of the Artificers and finding your cure.” That wasn’t exactly truthful, but he didn’t want to explain his inner turmoil to her.
“Ah, and that will be when, exactly?” Ferret’s eagerness was palpable.
Taren surveyed Creel, Kulnor, and everyone else’s varying states of intoxication. “Tomorrow… or perhaps the next day. It depends when the queen will grant us leave.” His eyes sought out Sianna as they had numerous times throughout the night, and surrounded by royalty and nobility as she was, the young queen seemed very far away indeed.
She’s leagues beyond me. Best remember that. Probably right now, potential suitors are lining up to woo her.
“Works for me,” Ferret said. “We won’t have to travel all that way since you can magick us there, right?”
“That I believe I can do.”
Ferret nodded, satisfied, and turned back to Creel on her other side, listening in on the story he was telling.
“Are you well, Taren?” Mira asked.
He sighed and took a long drink of wine. He wasn’t ready for this conversation, but he owed her some honest response. “I’m fine—just a lot on my mind. You were right to stop me during the battle. I was losing control… but what I did was necessary. We needed to end the threat, and I did!”
“I’ll drink to that,” said the officer seated to his left—a colonel, he thought the man was.
Damn it, we shouldn’t be having this conversation here. He grimaced and took another sip of wine.
The pretty serving girl refilled his goblet nearly the instant he set it back on the table, as if attuned to his thoughts. Taren had to admit he enjoyed the attention, the servant’s pleasant scent and her lack of shyness when brushing against him. She caught his eye and smiled, and Taren was forced to look away from the boldness of her gaze. She really was quite beautiful, with tawny eyes and that lustrous hair. He felt his cheeks warming, but that could have been due to the wine. Another drink wasn’t going to help the situation, but he didn’t care.
Mira was studying her hands, and he had sensed conflict through their psionic link when he focused on it earlier—prior to getting drunk. She wasn’t happy about what she’d done to subdue him, that was clear, but she also knew she had made the right decision. Yet at the same time, she feared she’d hurt him with what she couldn’t help but think of as a betrayal.
Taren sighed and reached out, grasping her hand. When her eyes met his, he said, “Don’t fret, Mira. We’ll speak more later, but you did your duty admirably, as always. Saving me from myself.”
Mira squeezed his hand back and offered him a smile and a nod. “You are a hero, Taren. You’re entitled to enjoy the evening as much as anyone. Don’t let me put a damper on your spirits.”
He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile and released her hand. Then he leaned back in his chair and helped himself to more wine. For a time, he listened in on Rafe and Iris telling the story of how Creel had singlehandedly taken on a score of Nebarans on the road to Carran, while fighting with a sword sticking through his chest. Kulnor and Harbek found that particularly amusing, pounding the table and sloshing ale out of their tankards. Taren smiled as he listened. He blinked, realizing he might have dozed off, for now Kulnor was recounting some story about an ancestral stronghold the dwarves had reclaimed.
His wine goblet beckoned him, filled to the rim, so he obliged it. His gaze strayed to the comely serving girl as she refilled some glasses down the table. He noted the way the dress hugged her curves appealingly.
“That lass is a looker, eh?” the colonel asked. He was drunkenly ogling the servant as well. “Nice firm arse, and bet those thighs could squeeze the breath right outta ya.”
Taren grunted agreement, although he felt faintly embarrassed that, in all likelihood, he looked as much a drunken lecher as the officer. The girl turned and caught him looking, smiling and gliding closer. He hurriedly turned his attention back to his wine goblet but resisted the urge to take another drink.
Perhaps I should turn in before I make a fool of myself in public. The possibility was a real one with the amount of wine he’d imbibed. He rose from the bench unsteadily. Ferret grabbed his arm to steady him when he stumbled while trying to both turn and step over the bench, a maneuver that seemed much more complicated than it should have.
“I’m fine, thanks.” Despite his claim, the room had grown quite soft around the edges of his vision, and the floor seemed to have developed a noticeable slant, at least according to what his feet were telling him. He took a moment to locate the doors, far across the great hall.
“Are you ready to retire?” Mira appeared at his side as if by magic.
“Yes. I think I can still find my chamber on my own, though.” He started toward the doors.
“I’m ready to turn in as well,” Mira said, seemingly unoffended by his curtness as she kept pace with him. “If you don’t mind, we can walk together.”
Taren shrugged but didn’t reply, focused on exiting the feast hall without stumbling and falling on his face. He mumbled replies to greetings and congratulations offere
d by those he passed. By the time he made it to the staircase leading up to the guest quarters, he was glad Mira had accompanied him, for her quick reflexes probably spared him a nasty fall down the stairs. Despite his stubborn pride telling him not to, he leaned on her as they made their way down the corridor.
The next thing Taren knew, he lay on his bed, looking up at the ceiling. The room was on the verge of spinning.
Gods, I’ve had way too much wine. Haven’t drunk like that for such a long time. He dimly remembered Mira helping him to his room and bidding him good night, but the journey from the hall to his bedchamber was mostly a blur.
He sat up, reaching down to remove his boots, but saw they were already taken off, sitting neatly at the foot of the bed. A candle was also lit by his bedside.
Bless you, Mira. He smiled and was about to lie back down, but the urgent need to use the chamberpot wouldn’t be denied, so he took care of that business before it was too late.
He flopped down on the bed again, a vague blur of images from the feast going through his mind. Sianna had been engaged with her royal guests, unfortunately not even sparing a glance for him or his friends that he could recall, though she had recognized them by name during the speeches at the beginning. She looked regal and beautiful up at the head table, graceful and poised as she engaged with her fellow monarchs. He thought of his friends enjoying themselves around him, laughing and telling stories, all except Mira, and that was his own fault. He vowed to apologize to her in the morning, for he was sure she deserved that.
His thoughts strayed back to the raven-haired beauty who’d been intent on refilling his wine so faithfully—perhaps a bit too faithfully, as evidenced by his besotted state. He chuckled to himself. That colonel had been right about the lass. I should have asked for her name, at least. I suppose there would be no harm in having a tumble with a lovely maid, had she been willing. Elyas would certainly approve.
The thought of his cousin made him grimace as though he’d tasted something bitter. Their disturbing encounter at the gates of the city came back to him: his cousin somehow ensorceled by that suit of armor, one moment dispassionate and cold, the other almost like the Elyas he remembered.
Elyas, I’ll find you after this war is over and Nesnys taken care of. I’ll free you from her clutches—I swear it.
A cold draft blew in the window, and he shivered, fumbling for the blankets to pull over himself, but he was lying atop them, so that would require getting up, which seemed like too much work right then.
A soft knock sounded at the door, momentarily sparing him from his dilemma.
“Come in,” he said, expecting Mira or Ferret.
Instead, he had to do a double take, unsure if he was dreaming, when the beautiful serving girl stepped inside and flipped the latch on the door behind her. She caught his gaze and boldly sauntered toward him, a sultry smile on her face.
“We meet again, milord.”
“Who… What are you doing here?” Taren sat up and could only stupidly watch her approach, alluring as the sway of her hips was.
“My name is Irralith, and I thought I’d see if milord would care for some company this night.” Her tawny eyes gleamed in the candlelight beside his bed. “I hear we have you to thank for our victory. Let me show you my gratitude.” She reached out and brushed an unruly strand of Taren’s hair back. The low neckline of her gown revealed a great deal of bosom as she leaned toward him.
Taren readied an objection out of principle, although a voice deep inside wondered why he bothered. Be a man, and enjoy this beauty’s company. The voice could have been Elyas’s.
She was sitting on the edge of the bed before he could say anything, taking his hand in hers. Her hands were warm, her cheeks flushed with color although the room was cold. He shivered again, but this time it wasn’t from the cold. Irralith’s lips curved in a seductive smile again. She pressed his hand to her bosom, and he was painfully aware of the exquisite softness filling his palm.
“You’re very beautiful, Irralith, but I’ve had a bit too much to drink, and I think it best that I turn in for the night.” The words pained him to say, but he managed to get them out.
“Hush now, milord.” Irralith pushed him back down on the soft mattress. A moment later, she was straddling him, the hem of her dress hitched up to reveal her shapely thighs. She pressed a finger to his lips to halt any further objections.
Her luminous eyes shone, raven hair spilling forward across Taren’s face and neck. She leaned down, and her soft lips brushed his own. He felt himself stirring at her touch, and she obviously took note, for she suddenly ground her hips against his with a soft laugh.
“Milord has needs that require tending to,” she whispered, nuzzling his cheek and ear, breath hot on his face.
The combination of his intoxication and the beautiful woman atop him swiftly laid waste to any further resistance. The next thing he knew, their lips were pressed together, and he was gripping her back with one hand, running the other through her silky hair. He pulled her closer, feeling her warmth and softness, the scent of lavender filling his nostrils.
Her hot tongue slipped into his mouth, teasing his own, and she rocked her hips against him in a slow rhythm. She gave a soft moan and finally broke off the toe-curling kiss.
Taren gasped for breath now that he could breathe again. Irralith’s lips were hot against his neck, and her thigh was wonderfully smooth to the touch. After a moment, he noticed his mouth felt odd—strangely numb—and Irralith paused in her ministrations, gazing down at him curiously.
She ran her nimble fingers lightly down his cheek. “You’re a handsome man, Taren. Were the circumstances different, I’d probably enjoy seeing this through to culmination.” Disappointment flitted across her features.
Taren’s whole face felt numb now, and he raised his hands, but they trembled and fell back to the mattress, utterly powerless. His amorousness was swiftly replaced by a sharp flash of concern.
Has she poisoned me? He reached for the comfort of his magic but found nothing there—he was cut off from it. Panic flooded him. He tried to extend his second sight but found he was also blind in that regard.
“What… what is happening?” The words came out clumsy and nearly unintelligible from his thick tongue, which felt swollen to double its normal size.
“Relax and let the venom run its course.” Irralith’s voice was businesslike now, no longer flirtatious. She slipped off him and stood beside the bed. “There’s quite a hefty price on your head, I must say. Well earned, from the sound of it.” She stooped and picked up his boots, shoving his foot into one and then the other.
“Who are you… r-really?”
“My name is Irralith, as I told you. As for who I really am, well, see for yourself. I am the youngest daughter of the great frost hag, Hephynore.”
Her features dissolved, like a reflection in a still pond suddenly disturbed, and Taren gasped. She retained the same voluptuous build and servant’s dress, but the rest of her features were dramatically different. The skin of her lower face was a light blue-gray color, like an iced-over pond in the dead of winter, but from her eyes upward to her hairline, the hue darkened to a deep blue, the division broken up by small sweeps across her cheeks like the feathers of a raven’s wing. Her full lips were a bruised plum, matching her hair, collected in a thick ponytail that spilled over one shoulder. Atop her head, she wore a leather coif decorated with small animal bones stitched to it. Most startling of all were her large eyes—slitted amber orbs like a reptile’s—which regarded him steadily, unblinking.
“Does my form displease you?” Irralith laughed to herself, a gray tongue darting out briefly. She blinked then, deliberately, and her eyelids slid horizontally shut across her eyes, an odd gesture that added to her already unnerving appearance.
“You’re v-very… a-a-alluring,” he managed to get out past his swollen tongue.
Irralith laughed again, a husky sound yet not displeasing. “Such a charmer, mageling. P
erhaps I’ll have my way with you yet once we are clear of these walls.” She ran the back of a hand across his cheek, and he shuddered at her touch. Her skin was as smooth and cold as polished stone.
“Fear not, the venom will only paralyze you for a short while, time enough to make our escape.”
Taren tried to speak, but the poison had taken full effect. He could not move his tongue or mouth or any of his limbs, his entire body feeling as if he had become a wool-stuffed mannequin.
Irralith removed a ring studded with moonstones from an inner pocket and slipped it onto Taren’s left middle finger. He could only watch helplessly as, with a sense of rushing vertigo, Irralith suddenly grew to gargantuan proportions, towering over him like a titan. A moment later, he realized that was wrong—not just she but the entire room had grown, the ceiling seeming to be as high as the firmament.
No, I’ve shrunk somehow to the size of a mouse. Stray threads of the duvet were like thick vines sticking out in his peripheral vision.
A huge hand with plum-colored nails reached down and gently plucked him from the bed. Irralith peered down at him, and he feared for a moment she’d toss him in her mouth and swallow him whole as a serpent would a mouse. Instead, her features blurred once more, and he was now looking at a plain-faced and rather stout middle-aged woman, a servant who would draw little to no attention as she moved about the castle.
“Just relax and enjoy the ride.” She unceremoniously stuffed Taren into a pocket in her dress.
He tumbled to the bottom of the pocket and ended up head-down, his weight resting uncomfortably on his head and shoulders. Irralith gripped his legs, adjusting his position as if he were a child’s toy, until he was bent nearly in half, sitting at the bottom of the pocket with a large clump of lint.
“All comfortable in there? Good, let’s go.”
The pocket swayed against Irralith’s hip as she walked. He heard the sound of his door opening and closing, then came more motion as she walked down the hallway, stride lengthening and her footsteps light on the floor.
Trial of the Thaumaturge (Scions of Nexus Book 3) Page 25