“Put aside your petty jealousy and see the Eirielle for what she can be to us.” His Dark Shanti slithered up her body; she shivered against her will. Zakael grabbed her roughly to him, his eyes a smoky haze. “Once we control her power, we control all of Aelinae.”
A goblet of wine appeared, and she took it, drinking from the murky red depths. A slight metallic taste lingered on her tongue. “I think your wine’s gone bad.” She placed the goblet on the table, but Zakael pressed it into her hands, raising it to her lips.
“Drink more. The taste grows on you.”
She tipped the goblet to her mouth and drank. The first sip slid over her tongue with the same metallic flavor, but the next was sweeter, mellower. Another followed by one more and the goblet was empty. She licked her lips, catching every drop.
“Better?” Zakael asked, taking the goblet from her.
“Much.”
He pressed his mouth to hers, invading her as if he wanted to reclaim what she’d drunk. When he lifted his head from her, his eyes were glossy with desire. “I’m glad you enjoyed my Eiric.”
Marissa’s heart stilled. He didn’t mean the wine. Couldn’t have meant that. “Last night? Immensely.”
“Mmm, last night, the wine. He makes an excellent breakfast sausage. Are you hungry?”
Marissa stepped back, her eyes tracking down to the spilled food. Zakael’s beasts panted not far from their master’s feet. A scrap of meat a hand’s width from their muzzles. The sickening white of a bone stuck out from under a massive paw.
“You killed him?”
“He served his purpose. Now,” he grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a shake, “are you ready to stop fucking around and do what needs to be done? This isn’t a game, Marissa. If we’re to rule Aelinae, we need to be ruthless. We cannot show compassion to our enemies or each other.”
She braced against the desk, noticing for the first time that his study was devoid of any artwork. No paintings hung on the walls; no decorative sculptures adorned the tabletops. The furniture was comfortable but not fashionable. A few tapestries hung from the ceiling to keep out drafts, but otherwise the room lacked any personal touches. Save for the wall of books on the far side of the room. The castle, like Zakael, was elegant in structure, but within was cold, efficient, and unrepentant.
She picked up her goblet, filled once more, and sniffed the vintage as she’d been taught to do. “This is a very fine reserve.” Her tongue licked the rim before she took a healthy sip.
Zakael grasped the edge of her gown and pulled her to him. “As I was saying, I have a plan for the Eirielle.”
MARISSA flew through the darkness, her thoughts a tempest. Their plan was dangerous. Dangerous and thrilling. His little game with Eiric taught her much more than he could’ve imagined, and she vowed to never let her feelings for Zakael jeopardize her own plans. Plans he could never know about. She’d given him her complete trust last night, but he’d given her something even more precious. Now she knew, even just a little compassion might kill her.
She buzzed with drunken excitement and careened to the left. After righting herself, she beat her wings to catch an updraft, concentrating on the spot of light before her. Paderau Palace was too well lit for that time of night. She cursed her luck that the duke would have a feast while she was gone.
She swept down from the sky, transforming before landing lightly in her hiding place. When she arrived at her rooms, the maids were in a panic.
“Your mother has come by three times this evening looking for you,” one of them said.
“I’m here now. Just fix my hair and be quick about it. And please, no chattering. I need silence.”
Within half a bell, Marissa was heading down the stairs to the Great Hall. When she saw Rhoane standing by himself, her stomach tightened and heat swept up her body.
“Your Highness.” She curtseyed her greeting. “It’s a lovely night. Would you accompany me in the garden?” She looked up at him, her eyes full of unspoken emotions, a smile on her lips.
“Marissa.” He bowed at the waist. “We were beginning to wonder what had become of you. Your maids said you were ill all day. But it seems you have recovered.”
“I thank you for your concern.” She held out her arm. “Shall we?”
“Not tonight.” His eyes were shrouded from her; she couldn’t read his emotions. She sent a small thread of Mari to his mind but found his thoughts blocked.
Swallowing her hurt, she forced a dazzling smile. “Of course, you must want to spend the evening with your betrothed.” She scanned the area. “Where is she, anyway?”
Rhoane nodded to his left. “She is there, with Sabina and her sisters.” His eyes lingered on Taryn with a look she longed to see reflected back at her.
“Why is it you are here and not with them? It seems to me that your beloved spends too much time with her friends.” She put her hand on his sleeve. “But then, they are young. I’m sure you don’t have much in common with them, what with their follies in the ocean and such. Children can be so tedious, don’t you think?”
A chill invaded the space between them. “Good evening, Princess.” He joined the others, taking Taryn’s hand in his, kissing her fingers before wandering off to speak with a few nobles.
Marissa watched him for several minutes, seething with anger. Lightning sparks lit up the clear night sky.
“Be careful of your emotions, Princess. They are evident in your beautiful eyes.”
“I’m certain I don’t know what you mean, Myrddin.” She cleared all thoughts of Rhoane from her mind. “I was simply taking in the night air.” She inhaled a deep breath. “I do so love the warm evenings this time of year, don’t you?”
He touched her raven curls. “They do make for wonderful flying weather. If you can avoid the lightning storms.” His fingers skimmed down her arm, lingering against her breast.
Her body ignited at the familiar touch. “Is that so?”
“I know you’ve been to see him. What news have you?”
“I’ve been abed all day. I only just started to feel better, so please don’t upset me.” She put a hand to her forehead. “I’m still quite delicate, you see?”
“Indeed. And while you were recuperating, someone tried to kill your sister.”
Marissa kept her features set, her face bland.
“Your absence has been noted. You should pay your respect to your mother and let her know you’re feeling better.”
“In a moment. The fresh air is doing me so much good.” Nadra’s tit, who would have the audacity to try to kill her sister? “Do you have a suspect for the attack?”
Myrddin’s gaze traveled the length of her.
He thought she was behind it? He was a bigger idiot than she’d have guessed.
“None. Whoever it was, they were clumsy in their attempt, and fortunately, your sister is unharmed.” Myrddin nodded to the garden where Taryn sat with the other princesses. Celia was among them, speaking animatedly, hands flailing in the air to punctuate her words. “You might want to let her know you’re relieved she lives.”
“I will. Thank you for your sage advice.”
“Don’t linger long. The empress is waiting.” He shuffled off, touching her mind with an offer to visit her rooms later.
Unlike most men, Myrddin enjoyed the fact she had other lovers, often asking her to tell him of her encounters. The only reason she shared her bed with him was for those few moments when she could slip into his mind. Those were the times she could pluck out information her mother withheld.
Marissa strolled to the ladies and bade Taryn well, apologizing for the illness that kept her away for much of the day. Taryn’s concern for her health chafed Marissa. It was she who should’ve been worried about Taryn, but instead it was Taryn who worried about her. She inclined her head and graciously accepted her well wishes.
Celia followed Marissa when she left the others, muttering in a rush, “My lady, thank the stars you have returned. I had a terr
ible time explaining your absence. What do you think of the attack?”
“I don’t know what to think of it. Were you there?”
“No, but the entire palace was secured for the remainder of the day. I’m surprised the duke had dinner tonight.”
“He’s showing his enemies Taryn cannot be broken.”
Celia told her the details of the day’s events, trying Marissa’s patience with her long-winded account. When she had everything she needed, she tucked her lady’s hand in her own, silencing the gossip. “Stay with me awhile.”
“As you wish, Your Highness.”
Marissa entered the garden room and curtseyed low to Lliandra, nodding to the women surrounding her. “Mother, I was told you’ve been concerned for my welfare. I thank you. As you can see, I’ve nearly recovered.”
“Please, Marissa, join us. You too, Lady Celia. We were just discussing the upcoming Harvest. Tell me, what are your thoughts on the matter?”
Marissa sipped her wine with an inward groan. She didn’t give a fig about Harvest or the ridiculous festival they had each year, but it was one of her sisters’ favorites. Each season, Lliandra tried to outdo the previous festival with booths and games and nonsense that irritated the crown princess. She did, however, find it curious her mother didn’t mention the assassin.
Much later, after several glasses of wine and not enough food, Marissa slouched against a wall in Lliandra’s rooms, being berated for her foolhardy trip to the West. Despite the fact she was old enough to make decisions for herself, Lliandra demanded she be alerted if Marissa left the palace, especially if she were going to see Zakael. That her trip coincided with an attempt on Taryn’s life cast doubt on the crown princess, something Lliandra had spent much of the day subverting.
When it looked like Lliandra’s rant wouldn’t abate for some time, Marissa slumped into a chair. “Please, I’m exhausted. You and those crones rattled on for bells about nonsense. My head hurts, and I need sleep. Can’t we continue this in the morning?”
Lliandra grabbed a handful of Marissa’s hair, pulling her head back. “We will discuss it now. Need I remind you that I am still the empress and you do as I command?” She released her, but not before giving another tug. “What happened at Gaarendahl? What did you discuss?”
Marissa’s Mari flowed through her, easing the pain, giving her clarity to answer. Not for the first time, she imagined the thrill of killing her mother and taking the throne for herself. But it wasn’t time yet; she had to be patient.
She told Lliandra the lies she wanted to hear: Valterys was preparing an army of trolls and men from the West. He believed Lliandra wanted to use the Eirielle against him to seize his throne. It was the same each time they spoke. Valterys might very well be gathering an army, but Marissa didn’t care about war. Her plans only involved Taryn.
Lliandra tapped her fingers on the table. “You told Zakael I have no wish for the Obsidian Throne?” Marissa nodded. “What is that fool thinking? He is playing a dangerous game, one I don’t have time for. What more, Marissa? Did you discuss our plan for Taryn?”
For once, Marissa could tell her mother the truth. “We did. Zakael is most eager to have his sister visit Gaarendahl. He agrees that we need to control her Dark Shanti.” Sparks of her Mari played across her fingertips.
“Stop that. You know it upsets me to see you abusing your power,” Lliandra scolded. “Faelara tells me Taryn is progressing with her Light skills and Rhoane is pleased with her Eleri abilities. Are you certain Zakael will work with us to constrain the girl? If we are to destroy Valterys, we must have his complicity in this.”
“You have his full cooperation, Mother.”
“Excellent. Now go and bathe. You stink of Zakael, and it offends me.”
“Do you miss it?” Marissa said before she had time to think of the consequences. “The feel of his Dark Shanti wrapped around your body like the finest velvet? The silky sweetness of his power pulling you under until you feel like you can’t breathe and all you want to do is linger in the Dark until there is no more Light? Tell me, Mother, do you regret whoring me out to him?”
Lliandra’s face contorted with anger for a split second before she covered it with a mask of calm. “You go too far, daughter.” She stared into Marissa’s eyes. “If I’m not mistaken, you took up the charge without much provocation.”
Marissa met her mother’s glare. “I won’t deny I enjoy it. He is young and virile, like me.”
Lliandra’s hand cracked across her face and the blow knocked her back. Marissa lashed out at her mother with a force contained for far too long. The empress slammed against the wall, her arms and legs held with bonds of Mari.
She moved close to her mother’s face. “Never strike me again. Lest you forget, I am the crown princess and heir to the Light Throne. All you hope to accomplish is but a wish away from me.” She swept from the room, releasing her power on her way out.
When she reached her rooms, she stood at the open window, sucking at fresh air, her palms pressed against the sill. Her body ached from Zakael’s abuse, and she wanted nothing more than to soak in a hot tub until the morning light.
Her maids scrambled to run a bath and arrange for her comfort while she calmed her racing mind. Things were moving too fast and yet not quickly enough. It would be too risky to kill Lliandra now, and yet she was tired of having to answer to her mother’s shortsighted whims. Lliandra thought only of her petty revenge on Valterys. She wanted control of both thrones but was willing to let Zakael be a puppet overlord if it meant Valterys was out of the picture.
Marissa laughed at the folly. Lliandra never dreamed very big. Her limited vision was only the first step in Zakael’s plan, one that was necessary if Marissa were to attain her own goals.
Lady Celia rushed into the room, her hair unbound, her dress askew. “My lady.” She lowered herself near to the floor.
“What are you doing here?” The girl’s arrival was impertinent. Marissa was far too sore to entertain any thoughts of a dalliance with Celia. She needed to rest.
When Celia looked up, it was with wild-eyed confusion. The blacks of her pupils filled her eye, leaving only a sliver of blue around the edges. “You called for me.”
Marissa started to deny the claim but stopped. Something was not right about the girl. “Of course. I was just about to bathe. Join me.” Watching Celia’s erratic movements, the ping of dread she often had when things were not as they ought to be plucked at her nerves. There was too much at stake for anything to alter her course.
“Harvest.” Celia looked up from her undressing, calm clarity in her eyes. “It must be done at Harvest.”
Marissa took Celia’s hands in her own, soothing her. “What is troubling you? Please, unburden yourself to me.”
Celia shook her head with an imbecilic giggle. “It’s Herbret. He’s in a fit because of Sabina.” She shrugged out of her gown and stood naked. Her skin glowed with the faintest dusting of glitter, like black stars on a field of snow, and then it was gone.
“Herbret? I already told him there is nothing to be done. Mother’s mind is made up.”
“No. He must have Sabina first. Must be unbroken.”
Tired of the charade, Marissa went to the bathing room where her maids helped her with her gown. Once rid of the garment, she slipped into the steaming water, wincing when it invaded her tender regions. She was exhausted. In the morning, she’d worry about what that rutting pig Herbret was doing. She closed her eyes and laid her head on the cool porcelain of the tub. The water sloshed with Celia’s entry, spilling onto the floor.
The heat did Marissa’s aching muscles good. Knots of tension worked themselves out, and when Celia moved behind her to massage her neck, she relaxed into the girl’s nimble touch. Celia’s deep breathing and the feel of her breasts against Marissa’s back sent warm tingles through her body. The girl’s Mari encircled her, delightfully strong and tinged with a darkness Marissa craved. It burned through her, easing her anxiety, quieti
ng her concerns.
When Celia’s hands slid over Marissa’s breasts to rest between her legs, a blackness overtook her. Sweet, lulling, seductive. She opened herself to the sensations, lost to the pleasure Celia brought.
Chapter Forty-Three
Tarro dressed Taryn in a gown of blue that matched her eyes. The luxurious silk bodice hugged her cleavage with a scandalous lack of fabric and draped to the floor in a shimmering pool. She fidgeted before the mirror, anxious to be done with dinner and returned to her rooms. A light knock at the door stilled her movements. Kaida, roused from her nap by the sound, yipped at the intruder.
Eliahnna swept in, wearing a sheath of jade that made her strawberries-and-cream skin look ethereal. With her grace and lightness, Eliahnna’s father had to have been a faerie. Taryn tucked away the thought and greeted her sister.
She sat on the sofa, stroking Kaida’s soft fur as they chatted about the day’s events until Tarro finished his preparations and excused himself. When they were alone, Taryn retrieved the small packet from her bureau and sat beside her sister. Taryn turned the parcel over again and again, debating her decision. At length, she handed the bundle to Eliahnna.
“This is a gift from Eoghan. He asked me to give it to you once we were away from the Narthvier.” Taryn held Eliahnna’s hands in her own and met her sister’s gaze. “Normally, I would’ve cautioned you against this, but after what happened yesterday, I’ve realized life is too precious to waste doing what others think is best for you.”
Her sister opened the packet and held up a snippet of wood hanging from a leather cord. Eleri script was meticulously carved into the sanded piece. “Can you read it?”
“I’m afraid not. And please don’t ask me to have Rhoane translate it. If he or his father knew I gave this to you, they’d eat me for breakfast.”
Eliahnna placed the pendant around her neck and, with a bit of Mari, hid it beneath her gown. “Thank you.” She kissed her sister’s cheek, lingering there for a moment. “I’m ever so glad you’ve returned to us and that you’re unharmed. But please,” Eliahnna leaned back, her eyes reflecting the shimmer of jade from her dress, “do be more careful. Vorlocks and assassins? I’ve just found you. I couldn’t bear to lose you.”
The Stones of Resurrection Page 40