Dark Humanity

by Gwynn White

  And were the Intelligentsia any better?

  Her country and her people were corrupt if they found pleasure in something so cruel, so barbaric. Yes, she wanted Raith dead, but that was to protect thousands of her future subjects, not just because she enjoyed spilling blood.

  And what of the royal houses who had sent sons here to die for her hand? Even knowing the risks, they would not be happy with their deaths. No doubt she’d made enemies throughout this process. How would she contend with seven angry houses and kingdoms, all out for revenge?

  Her only hope was that when she was queen, perhaps she could lead them all into a kinder, gentler world.

  Artemis shifted next to her. “Aurora. You have forgotten that you still have a suitor to check.” He waved at the Intelligentsia. “Note how she hesitates. Is this what you want in your queen?”

  “They won’t have a choice but to accept me once I am married.” She glared out at the men who had come to mock her. “And the first thing I’m going to do when I take the throne is to change that stupid law that says a woman has to be married to wear the crown. Or your disgusting discrimination of Infirm in government. My mother stood by my father’s side. She held his council. And you killed her for it. You won’t do the same to me.” She clenched her jaw, more shocked than anyone that she had blurted out her suspicions.

  Artemis’s mouth tightened. “You would accuse us?”

  Raith gripped Artemis’s shoulder before she could reply. “Did I not warn you that I would not tolerate any more of your abuse?” He glanced over at Jorah. “I doubt he will take kindly to it either. So how about you step away from your niece so she can check my potion.”

  No matter what Raith was, or what his brother had done—with his compliance, no doubt—he had again stepped between her and Artemis. She couldn’t deny her gratitude. Surely only a man who had suffered similar abuse would feel so strongly as to act for a virtual stranger? Part of her wished she and Raith could explore that bond instead of being enemies.

  But even as that thought manifested, she didn’t trust herself with him. Not when he could so easily spin her into a web of thrall she might never escape from.

  Artemis glared at Raith, but he stepped back.

  This was the third time Artemis had stood down from a conflict with Raith. Was it possible that an incubus’s powers extended to the Able, too?

  So much to learn in this new world.

  Raith held out his potion to her. “My princess, I’ve made a strength enhancement potion called Draught of Vigor.”

  Relief snagged her breath at his choice. It was a basic potion, and not a particularly potent one. She had made it for the first time when she was a young girl, trying to cure herself of her ailments. It had helped, but very little. Eventually it wasn’t even worth the effort to make. Jorah would have no trouble overpowering Raith on the dryad Guardian.

  “Drink it.”

  Raith smiled at her. “First, I would like to give you this.” He dug into his pocket and produced a black pearl the size of a pebble. They weren’t as beautiful as white pearls, but their rarity and inky luster made them far more valuable.

  He leaned in close, drawing her into his smoldering eyes. “I found it in the oyster. Please accept it as a sign of my regard for you.”

  Almost like an automaton, she took the pearl and slipped it into her pocket. She tried to blink to break the terrible—but at the same time, wonderful—connection she had with him.

  Her eyes refused to obey.

  She shuffled closer. “I—I thank you—”

  The shattering of glass ripped her focus away from Raith.

  Across the room, Jorah stood over a broken flask. He glared at her, the message clear: Get the hell away from the incubus.

  Chagrined at her weakness, her hands flew to her hair, finding comfort in the wild curls.

  The man was impossibly powerful even without his magic. With it, when she and the rest of the Magical in Ryferia slumbered in their Guardian-induced ignorance, he would be unstoppable.

  Despite what the captain, Artemis, Zandor, and Jorah believed, too much was at stake here to allow his brother to finish that potion.

  Perhaps Jorah should kill Raith in the next trial.

  She cringed. It was one thing for Raith to poison himself with a potion, but altogether another for Jorah to actively seek to kill him. It went against everything she had believed in when she’d changed the trials, but what other option did she have?

  As angry as she was with Niing, Zandor, and Keahr, this was something she had to discuss with them and Jorah before the next trial started. That meant delaying the next event.

  It’s my party. If I want to change the schedule, I can.

  But first she had to finish this trial. “Raith, drink your potion.”

  Despite his previous confidence, his hands trembled as he raised the vial to his lips.

  Someone sniggered. And then the clapping started again.

  Raith’s eyes flashed, but he swallowed the first mouthful.

  She remembered the taste, and when he grimaced, she empathized.

  The Intelligentsia must have read more into her expression than what she had intended because a few of them started stomping rhythmically to accompany the clapping.

  Raith hesitated before taking the next sip. Checking its effects?

  “Drink!” someone in the crowd shouted.

  Raith’s face hardened, and his nostrils flared. He tossed the last of the potion back—and then stared down at himself as if expecting something terrible to happen.

  She scanned the room for something to use to demonstrate his newfound strength.

  The pine logs stacked next to Niing’s pot-bellied stove.

  Given what the potion could do, a stout log would be ideal for her demonstration. She gestured at the wood by making a snapping gesture with her hands. “Give me two halves of a log.”

  Raith strode to the wood and selected the thickest stump in the pile. He gripped it with both hands and, without using any leverage, strained to bend it in two.

  The wood didn’t curve.

  The veins popped in his arms as he increased the pressure. Even gritted in concentration, his face registered disappointment at the potion’s power.

  Finally, the log buckled, then splintered.

  When it cracked in two, cheers rose from the Intelligentsia.

  Raith still managed one of his wooing—if sweaty—smiles as he handed her the two halves. “I had hoped for something more.”

  “I think you have power enough,” she replied, pointedly avoiding looking at him.

  Ignoring Raith’s gasp, she faced Jorah. The dragon’s incisive eyes and disdainful features were instantly grounding. She anchored herself in him. “Lunch will be served in the banqueting hall. It will be followed by the final trial. As promised when I sent out the invitations, by the time the moon rises tonight, I will be married to one of you.”

  She sucked in a breath as she locked eyes with Jorah, wishing she could have said, to you.

  Instead, she shifted again so no one behind her could see her mouth. “Join me in my herb garden while everyone else eats,” she said to Jorah, her voice barely even a whisper, but no doubt perfect for Jorah’s enhanced hearing. “You will find it on the other side of the poison garden. If you stick to the south path, you won’t have any problems. We have to talk about the next trial.” She glanced at Zandor. “He’ll fetch Niing and Keahr.”

  Peckle was out on the streets following that thug Carian and would therefore not join them.

  Jorah frowned. He’d heard her—of that, she was certain. Concerned?

  It probably had less to do with traversing her poisoned plants to get to the secluded, safer herb garden—Jorah would have no trouble with that—but more to do with the word trial.

  Of course the dragon would have a problem with a private discussion that could give him an advantage.

  She sashayed to a passageway that led to her smaller, less lethal herb gar
den. Hopefully, no one watching would guess at the fear nipping at her.

  If Jorah didn’t arrive for the meeting, how could she plan Raith’s demise when that demise depended on the dragon doing the killing?

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  As hungry as Raith was, he grabbed a handful of pastries off the groaning tables of food in the banqueting hall and followed Carian out onto the piazza, where they could speak unheard.

  Although he didn’t know why Aurora had changed the schedule, he wasn’t sorry for a reprieve before facing Jorah. By the end of this discussion with Carian, they had to have a concrete plan in place for defeating—

  He grunted.

  Defeating . . . Another way of saying killing Trojean’s killer in the final trial.

  The last thing he wanted as he reaped magic in Ryferia was a living Jorah breathing down his neck.

  They stopped next to a tinkling fountain. “The hit on my jaw wasn’t just because Jorah doesn’t like me,” Raith said. “He knows. Everything. I’m convinced of it. Ginger, too. We have to act—”

  Carian patted his arm. “Relax, my brother. So what if they know? Have they said anything? Are the musketeers chasing us down?”

  “No, but—”

  “Exactly. They can do nothing without implicating themselves. Never before have we had such advantages.” He patted his pocket. “We can pick and choose our targets without fear of recrimination.”

  Raith’s fangs vibrated in his gums. “You have more blood?” What he really meant was more body parts to appease his cravings, but he didn’t want to admit how much power Carian had over him.

  “Of course I do.” A broad grin. “I collected it on my way to check out the dryad Guardian.”

  Raith shivered. “I sometimes think you’re a psychopath.” What did that make him, when he was happy to make use of his brother’s kills?

  “I’ll consider that a compliment. But you don’t ask how much blood?”

  “Given your smugness, I would say all of it.”

  “Nine vials. We only need three of those to be from noble lines.” Carian bowed from the waist. “I would say we have this covered.”

  A flash of movement on the other side of the fountain snagged Raith’s attention.

  An ugly tabby cat shot across the piazza away from them.

  He swore. “That cat . . . did you see it today while you were . . . busy?”

  Carian spared a glance in the cat’s direction just as it rounded a corner and vanished. “How would I know? The town is filled with mangy strays. Both human and animal. I was focusing on the humans.”

  Despite it being wet, Raith sank down onto the honey-colored stone rim of the fountain. “That cat is Magical. I don’t know why I didn’t factor that in because I’ve seen it just about every time you and I’ve spoken.”

  Carian shrugged his mountainous shoulders. “So what? It can’t talk to anyone here.”

  Raith gaped, unable to believe that Carian—the supposedly smart one in the trio of siblings—was being so dense. “What stops it meeting Jorah or Niing outside the Guardians?” Raith let rip with another expletive. “That’s how they know everything!” He dropped his uneaten pastries and clasped his head in frustration. “You have to hunt it down and kill it. Now. Go. Before it spills everything we’ve just spoken about.”

  Carian didn’t move. “With pleasure. But like I said, what does it matter that they know? While you’re clambering up the Guardian, I’ll brew your potion. You can drink it while Jorah marries the ugly bitch. Before they’ve even finished the toasts, you will have them. It will be over for Jorah and Ginger before they even know what’s hit them.” His eyes glinted. “And then you can give me my reward.”

  Raith shot to his feet. “Power has blinded you. Trojean spoke to me . . . in that vile garden. She warned me, but I didn’t understand. But I’m beginning to see now.”

  He sighed as the full import of his hallucination hit him: Whether it was Trojean who had spoken to him, or his own mind, it didn’t matter. The message had been clear—Carian’s lust for magic had destroyed their sister long before Jorah had killed her. Just the way it would destroy him—if he let Carian continue unfettered.

  Carian snorted, his face darkened. “What are you implying?”

  Raith gathered all his courage. “Forget the cat. It’s too late for that now. And forget about Jorah living long enough to marry Aurora. You have to help me kill him. Today. During the trial. He’s drunk a blood elixir and cannot bleed. How long it will last, I don’t know. But I bet his potion is a lot stronger and better than the rubbish I made. While he lives, my—our—lives will always be in danger.” He sucked in a breath as his courage took on an unstoppable momentum. “I don’t care how you do it, but Ginger must never know.”

  Carian eyed him for a long time. “I don’t appreciate that you doubt me. But to prove that I am not the enemy here, I will do as you ask. I will kill Jorah Thalyn.”

  Raith’s shoulders sagged with relief. It was tempered with caution. “Tell me everything you discovered about that dryad Guardian. And your plan for killing the dragon.”

  Carian’s face clouded with unfamiliar concern. “I won’t kid you, brother, but the dryad’s a monster. Easily ninety feet high. And it moves. All the time.”

  Raith’s heart sank. Climbing a moving construct wasn’t his idea of fun, even with the extra strength his potion gave him.

  “There’s a door at the bottom of it, but I doubt you’ll get in through there. They wouldn’t permit that—it’s too easy. The best you can do is scramble your way up the sides to the platform behind the dryad’s face. That’s the only safe place where Ginger can wait.” A dry laugh. “Although how the bitch is going to climb all those stairs inside to get to the platform, I will never know.”

  Sprinting up a ninety-foot tower would be child’s play for Carian. Even Raith would only be slightly out of breath when he reached the top. For Aurora, it was a huge challenge. If the trial couldn’t start before she reached the top, that gave them time to get Carian safely ensconced in the Guardian to topple Jorah. The only challenge was that the final trial was bound to draw a huge crowd.

  Raith looked around for the cat. There was no trace of it. “Is there somewhere for you to hide inside? And don’t forget that the place will be crawling with people.”

  “I already have my spot picked out. In the cogs.” A dark look. “So, if you’re quite finished laying aspersions at my door, I’ll go there now.” Carian looked at him expectantly.

  Waiting for an affirmation that Raith wasn’t casting aspersions? He would wait a long time.

  “Just kill Jorah before he gets to Aurora,” Raith said coolly.

  “Your wish is my command.” But the fear and uncertainty flickering in Carian’s eyes belied his bravado. He took a few steps away from Raith, then stopped. “You’re not planning to renege on our deal, are you?”

  Even if he was, Raith would never admit it—not to a brother who had happily sacrificed their sister in his quest for power. The same brother who would probably slit Raith’s throat if it served him.

  Raith kept his face expressionless. “Of course not. We’re a team. I can’t do this without you any more than you can do it without me.”

  Carian grinned, eyes twinkling, all trace of suspicion gone. “Good. I’m glad you see reason. I will bring you Jorah’s corpse.”

  Raith wasn’t fooled, but he smiled back. Carian was willing to sacrifice anything and anyone for power. Their vision of a Ryferia ripe for the taking still appealed, but Raith would have to keep an eye on his bloodthirsty brother.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  It was only Jorah’s respect for Aurora that prompted him to obey her request to meet in her herb garden. It was deep in the burrow, well past the poison death trap. Only his knowledge of the basic layout of the mines-turned-garden allowed him to find it easily. Still, he kept his hands deep in his pockets and his cravat twined around his nose and mouth as he trod the convoluted path through
the beautiful but deadly plants.

  The minute he set foot on the geometric cobbled lines into the herb garden, he unwound the cravat and breathed deeply in the heavy, fragrant air. His stomach rumbled with hunger as he swept past rows of basil, oregano, and thyme to the spot next to a sundial where Aurora waited.

  “I hope this meeting includes food,” he growled.

  She turned to face him. The light, reflected from the mirror above her, caught her hair. His breath hitched as the profusion of curls gleamed like fire. The soft glow muted her freckles as she smiled at him—or perhaps she drew strength from the plants that angled toward her as she walked to join him.

  Whatever was happening, Jorah was struck by her beauty.

  As she drew nearer, her eyes, greener than anything growing in this—or any other—garden, lit up. Her heart raced in her chest, as clear as a chiming bell to his keen hearing.

  Had she not expected him to come? Or was that delight something more?

  A small, unexpected knot formed in Jorah’s stomach. He hadn’t experienced that since Lila . . .

  He scowled, refusing to acknowledge that this young nymph was affecting him. The sooner he escaped these confounded Guardians, the better.

  Aurora’s smile faded. Her heart rate slowed, too. Her hands found her narrow hips.

  “I’ll feed you when the others arrive,” she said tartly. She turned down a cobbled path between rows of aniseed.

  Jorah followed. Her swaying skirt stirred the sweet smell of licorice. Mixed with her scent, it was impossibly heady.

  Not what he needed when dealing with Aurora and her green eyes.

  He stopped walking. “Where are Niing and Zandor?”

  Aurora walked on. “Niing is meeting with Peckle beyond the Guardians. They will join us as soon as they’re done.”

  “And Zandor?”

  She stopped and peered at him over her shoulder. “What? A big, bad dragon like you scared to be alone with a dryad like me?”

  He marveled at her insight—he was reluctant to be alone with her, and not only because of the way she shimmered and swayed through her plants. “You know I don’t like having special advantages in the trials.”