With that comment hanging in the air, Telly fell silent, watching with glittering eyes as the guards looked at each other, unable to decide.
Sadiki, on foot, pushed his way around the jaguars and conversed rapidly with the jackals. They looked unhappy; Sadiki indifferent. Finally one of the guards threw up his hands and approached Telly.
“Sadiki says that if we let the herd loose, they will roam the edges of the camp, stay close. The gray can do as he pleases. Sadiki says this will be enough. We will not attempt to fence them in.” The jackal guard waited, hand on his spear.
Telly pretended to think about it. After enough time passed for the jackal to start looking uncomfortable, he nodded. “That is acceptable,” he said. “The jaguar kingdom and its allies thank you for being so considerate.” The smile he flashed at the wary jackal would have convinced anyone but Emma. Emma knew when Telly was laughing at your expense. It was only when he got serious that she didn’t know what to make of him.
He turned to her and took possession of her hand again.
“Are you ready?” He whispered it against her hair, drawing her in close to his body. Whatever he was doing was obviously designed to distract anyone from noticing they were talking, or that he and the others were trying to keep her body constantly shielded, but it had the unfortunate effect of distracting her as well. She reclaimed her hand and looked away from him.
“I’m ready. Let’s just do this thing.” Fern?
His response was instant. He squeezed in between Horne and Guillermo, and made it to her side. He didn’t try to touch her; she didn’t need comfort, she needed courage. They were about to walk into the jackal’s den.
The sound of drums rose up. Somewhere in the shadowed mass of the crowd, somebody began to clap, keeping time with the music. Emma shut her eyes. I feel like I walked onto the set of Indiana Jones.
Fern shrugged out of his robes, squared his bony shoulders. Worse, he sent. It’s more like The Mummy.
18
Either side of the archway sat giant pillars, torches the size of small bonfires atop them, and smaller torches were set into the walls, fire leaping and dancing in the strong wind from the desert. The firelight obscured the structures beyond the archway, but perhaps a hundred yards away, a great dark mass of stone rose into the night sky on two sides. The front of the palace consisted of the pillared facades and what must be several courtyards beyond the high wall; the pylons probably sat at the entrance to the palace interior.
Heat came down over Emma the closer she got to the light, the fire, the flames, and she had to resist the urge to take her robe off. She had no idea if her outfit beneath the robe was considered appropriate attire for greeting a king. That hadn’t mattered to her when she was getting dressed that morning, but the morning and the Ranch and the rest of real life seemed very, very far away just then.
Emma’s breath caught. That’s the king, isn’t it? And the…queen?
Fern sent her a mental shrug that felt more like a convulsion. Yep.
What the hell am I supposed to say to these people?
Just be yourself. Fern’s hand anchored her elbow.
You’re probably the only person on earth who would give me that kind of advice.
He managed a smile for her. That must mean I’m the only one who’s right.
Emma didn’t have time for a retort. Telly took hold of her hand and Horne stepped up behind her, hands on her shoulders, tall body framing her. Fern took the cue and grasped her other hand. Alexi strode forward, ahead of the four maidens who were positioning themselves in front of Emma, and they stopped mere yards away from the jackal army and their royalty.
And Emma finally looked — really looked.
The jackal king was huge, broad shouldered, and the color of burnished teak from the tips of his bare, clawed toes to the top of his bald, tattooed head. His face was hard, with thick planes and heavy cheekbones, and deepset eyes of a pale, pale gold that didn’t look real. Thick black brows seemed set in a permanent frown, and the arrogance of his chin was crowned with a five inch, stiffly braided black goatee, its tip bound in gold to match his eyes.
Like the guards, he wore the belted loincloth, but nothing else — not unless you counted the dozens of gold bands around his ankles and thick forearms. They clinked and chimed together as he shifted in his seat, leaning forward ever so slowly, to peer down at them all.
His pale golden eyes found Emma.
Instantly she regretted it all — they should never have come here, not on anyone’s life. There was no heat to the jackal king’s eyes, none of the lust she had seen in Seshua’s, none of the hatred in Alexi’s.
Emma, focus! Don’t lose it now. Fern flooded her with strength, with resolve, with the electric fizz of his own adrenalin. His fingers bit into her hand, nails cutting into the mark on her palm, making heat flare. She swallowed, the sound lost to the swelling tide of music.
The jackal king stood. The music stopped. Tension thrummed in the silence, and the jackal king took one step down from the tiered dais, and when he spoke his voice reverberated like the grate of stone on stone.
“You.” His eyes acknowledged no one but Emma. She resisted the urge to shrink away. “You have blessed us, finally, with your presence.” There was no inflection to the words, no way for Emma to know if he was thanking her or reprimanding her. His face was expressionless.
Thank him for honoring you, Fern sent. Emma cleared her throat.
“I thank you for honoring me — us — with your hospitality,” she said, sounding less certain than she would have liked. “Our reception seems to be quite an event,” she added, picking up a stray question from Fern’s thoughts. “I hope your kingdom did not go to such trouble just for me.” An idiotic thing to say. They’d kidnapped a serpent priest from another continent, just for her.
But the jackal king, to Emma’s amazement, smiled, somehow looking surprised and smug at the same time.
“The jackal kingdom has gone to much trouble just for you, caller of the blood. ” The king didn’t exactly bow, but he did dip his head, which was probably as low as he was willing to go for anybody. “There has been much celebration. All of the higher races of Africa are represented here, gathered in my kingdom to welcome the coming of the beloved Eye of Re with revelry.”
Higher races!
Fern hushed her. Don’t argue; most royals deem shapechangers a higher race than humans. It’s just their way.
Emma clenched her teeth. She forced herself not to scowl at the king, ignoring Fern’s suppressed laughter.
“We are all honored by your effort,” she said to him, some of the false warmth gone from her voice. “But I’m afraid we haven’t been properly introduced.”
The jackal king’s wide smile faded around the edges. “Of course,” he purred, golden eyes flicking to the rest of Emma’s group. “My name and title are one and the same. I am Khai-Khaldun, crowned immortal, ruler of the jackal people and of the greater kingdom of Egypt.”
Emma thought that sounded arrogant as hell. She suppressed a frown, keeping her face smooth.
Khai-Khaldun cocked his head, fixing Emma with a hawkish look, as though he could read her mind. His eyes flashed as he spoke. “This,” he gestured behind him, to the second, smaller throne, “Is our prince, my nephew, Kahotep.”
The prince turned to meet her eyes, lifted his head for the first time since they had arrived, and Emma did a double take. She’d mistaken him for a woman, but that was impossible now; his face was feminine, but the half shaved head with tattooed scalp gave his masculinity away. The naked line of his jaw was all male, but the soft lips, cool brown skin, and huge, solid brown almond shaped eyes made his face into a slender thing of beauty, framed to one side by a sleek blue-black curtain of hair that fell, dead straight, to his waist.
Emma realized she was staring. She blinked. He didn’t. As if she hadn’t been shocked enough this night, Alexi stepped forward and spoke to cover Emma’s stunned silence.
&nb
sp; “I am Alexi, and I speak on behalf of Seshua, the jaguar king,” he said, voice carrying in the stillness yet somehow as quiet and ironic as ever. “The jaguar kingdom and its allies present to you Emmalina Chase, C aller of the Blood. Treasured by her sovereign kingdom,” he added, a harsh frown slashing the perfection of his brow. “Watched over by the jaguar guard and by her handmaidens.” He gestured, sweeping an arm out as he stepped to the side. “Escorted and aided by not only myself, serpent priest, but also by the walking god Telly, and by Red Sun, and by Fernando.” Alexi — evidently not averse to dropping names.
The jackal king — Khai-Khaldun — made a sound in the back of his throat that Emma did not like. It was an interested sound.
“Fernando,” he said almost to himself, rolling the word around in his harsh accent. “I can feel the power of the others, but not him. What is he to you, Emmalina Chase, caller of the blood?”
Emma had no idea if he was asking what kind of shapechanger Fern was, or asking something else, but she sure as hell knew she didn’t want to answer him either way. She kept her face blank as she tried to think of a way to deflect, and Telly came to the rescue.
“Emma need not explain her personal alliances to you, Khai-Khaldun, with such an audience present.” Telly’s quick eyes were glinting blue and gold in the torchlight, his mouth curved in a conciliatory smile. “As a ruler of many, you surely understand such discretion.”
Khai-Khaldun might understand it, but he didn’t appear to like it. His thick black brows wedged down over his eyes. A muscle ticked in his jaw; a vein stood out thickly at his bald temple. Then his mouth curved in a smile that mocked Telly’s, a smile that made Emma certain she was afraid of him.
“But of course,” he said expansively, voice rumbling out and carrying on the night wind. He turned, a lazy ripple of dark muscled flesh, and sat in his throne. “However —” his hands curled over the throne’s armrests, eyes two gold crescents in the darkness of his face — “The matter of Emma ’s personal alliances is nonetheless the reason why you are here.” Khai-Khaldun turned to her, and she felt the bottom of her stomach drop out. It was coming. What the hell was she going to say? There was no way, no possible way on earth that she could honestly entertain the idea of anything with the jackal king, no pledge, no sacrifice, no body or blood or sex or —
“Kahotep.” The jackal king’s voice rang out, and the prince lifted to his feet like a marionette: smooth, graceful, without thought and without expression. Emma’s breath just stopped in her lungs.
The seated position really didn’t do his body any justice. He was not tall and hulking like his father, instead his body was lean and ripped like a dancer’s, shoulders broad and wide but not bulky, sculpting the perfect column of his torso into a steep vee as it cut in at his waist, only to follow the angular planes of his hips down to bulging, corded thighs.
Telly’s hand tightened on Emma’s. Fern made an uncomfortable sound in her mind. Kahotep fixed Emma with his solid brown eyes, huge and glittering, and glided down the three tiered steps off the dais.
“Caller of the Blood,” he addressed her in a low, musical voice that sounded too young for his body. He cleared his throat, brows pinching in concentration. “It is good to finally meet with you.” He shrugged his silky hair over one shoulder and smiled, a brilliant flash of white teeth that was dazzling and beautiful and did not meet his eyes, and when it faded, his face was as smooth and perfect as though it had never happened — except for something that wavered in his gaze for a second.
Emma tried not to frown. She opened her mouth to say something to him, anything, but the jackal prince suddenly folded down before her, coming to his knees with one leg extended out behind his body and his face pressed down, so that he almost looked like he was doing a push-up.
“No, please,” she managed to get out before Fern’s mind clamped down on hers, apprehension flooding her with the command to be silent. Oh, boy; Fern never commanded.
Kahotep raised his chin, looking up from beneath lashes that turned his eyes to total darkness. “I would be willing sacrifice to your altar,” he said, and Emma felt like a bell had been struck in her brain. Oh, no, no no no —
Fern squeezed her hand. It’s all right, they’re just words, the pledge needs you to accept before —
“My body —” Kahotep’s voice broke, just for a moment — “Is proof of the pledge. Do you accept?”
Emma stared down at him, ears ringing, something inside of her screaming to run and just keep on running. Kahotep held her eyes, face serene, but something in those dark brown depths was screaming back at her — or maybe she was just going nuts. She couldn’t speak — couldn’t risk what the words might do to her. Him. Them. A muscle in the jackal prince’s flawless back jumped.
They can’t seriously expect you to accept the pledge; we’ve barely been here five minutes! Fern’s mind was fluttering against hers, his alarm and hers beating at the back of her throat like wings, but she couldn’t tear her horrified gaze from Kahotep’s beautiful body, laid out before her. There was something so icky about this. Icky, and inescapable. Because she couldn’t look away, and something was happening in her chest, something strange and powerful and insistent —
Khai-Khaldun shifted deliberately in his seat, cocking his head. “What say you, caller of the blood?”
What the fuck do I say, Fern, what do I say? Emma swallowed, hoping to god it looked like she was having appetizing thoughts about the jackal prince. Who wouldn’t? Hysterical laughter bubbled up, trying to claw its way out of her throat. She clapped a hand over her mouth.
I don’t know. Fern sounded desperate. Say whatever you think best. I trust you. We all trust you, or any one of us would have spoken for you. And that was just great; nobody else knew what the hell to do either. Fabulous. Besides, Fern added, an edge of real fear now to his mental voice, It’s forbidden for any other to make the choice for you. We can’t tell you whether to accept or reject the pledge. It’s literally impossible.
Emma bit back a frustrated scream: item number one hundred and eighty six on the list of things they could have told her way before now.
Emma shrugged Horne’s hands off her shoulders and crouched down in front of the prince. Kahotep’s eyes widened, glittering wetly; his jaw clenched. A warning?
Emma frowned at him, breathing carefully through her nose, trying to ignore the sickening thud of her pulse beating behind her breastbone and whispering of magic and power and prophecy.
She said, “Please get up.”
His throat worked, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Do you accept?” His voice was rougher than before. Emma swore under her breath and stood, unwilling to touch him. She closed her eyes, swayed, and looked up to meet the eyes of the jackal king.
“I need time,” she said firmly. Khai-Khaldun’s gaze flashed fire. She pressed on. “I understand your wish to get down to business, and I respect that, especially since it was my —” she searched for the word — what had Alexi said? “Since it was my sovereign kingdom who delayed you by refusing your invitations. But I can’t accept a pledge from your —” she glanced down at Kahotep, whose eyes were black with shadows and wary now — “your kingdom, without consideration.” She licked her lips and met the king’s eyes again. She shook her head. “I’m just not that kind of girl.”
Emma felt the jaguars surrounding her stiffen; if they had been tense before, now they were likely to detonate at the slightest provocation. The jackal king leaned forward in his seat, and Emma tensed for the explosion.
“Wise words,” said the king mildly. His thick fingers came up to smooth his wiry goatee. “But everything comes with a price when you are bargaining in another’s kingdom, Emma, even time. Especially time, given how much of it your sovereign was at first unwilling to spare.” Khai-Khaldun blinked at her, slowly — dark bruised lids the only part of his face that moved, that even looked alive — reminding her all over again why she was sure this whole thing was the biggest mistake she’d ever m
ade. The king leaned farther forward, fingers steepling together, black eyebrows thick and stark against the golden expanse of his smooth forehead and hairless, tattooed scalp. “I can give you time, but you must earn it. You must fight for what you request, as is customary in our kingdom.”
Adrenaline surged through Emma, the immediate threat in the king’s words finally waking the mark on her hand. Heat bloomed in her right palm. Her senses roared to life, vision sharpening, lights dazzling her eyes, the sibilant murmur of the crowd whispering like insects in her brain. Her breath came faster.
A collective growl rippled through the jaguar guards, and Horne’s hands came down on Emma’s shoulders again, and Telly moved to put his body in front of hers.
“We can’t allow her to be put at risk.” Telly dropped her hand, flexing both of his own by his sides. His blond hair lifted like hackles. “She will not fight.” His voice was thick with a growl, the air around him getting hard to breathe, the scent of storm and ozone carrying on an unnatural wind of magic.
Khai-Khaldun lifted one lip. “If the caller of the blood cannot win herself some time, then she will have to decide now. Accept my nephew’s pledge on behalf of his kingdom, or reject it.” His eyes narrowed to crescent slits. “If she cannot decide, but refuses to fight for the right to deliberate, then I can do nothing but assume the pledge is rejected. You will all be free to go — all of you but one.”
The serpent priest. Emma’s hand convulsed around Fern’s.
They’ll keep their hostage. Fern turned huge black eyes on Emma. I wish I believed they were bluffing, but I think they might just be stubborn enough to be for real.
Emma’s gaze jumped from the king to the prince to the jackal guards and back again. Just what the hell were they playing at? And how the hell was she going to pull this off? And why the hell wasn’t Telly just kicking some furry jackal ass and scaring everyone into leaving her alone like he always did?
Khai-Khaldun barked something in ancient Egyptian; Kahotep cocked his head, and the king said something else. The jackal prince stood and spared one expressionless glance at Emma before climbing the tiered steps of the dais and folding himself into his throne once more.
The Wild Rites Saga Omnibus 01 to 04 Page 47