by Jade Kerrion
Nithya stared at his back. She had not imagined her desire or his. Nor had she imagined the weary sound of self-defeat in his dismissive tone.
Her heart twisted in her chest. In a week, he could be dead.
Yet the realization that he thought he was doing the noble thing, the right thing, provided no consolation. Not when he was going about it all wrong.
He was still not looking at her; she did not think he would turn around until she left. The argument, his coughing fit, and the near-kiss had shaken the both of them, and left him vulnerable. She knew enough of male pride, specifically his male pride. He needed space and time to pull himself back together.
Tonight was not the right time to drive him past his breaking point. If he ever broke, if he ever came to her as a man instead of a prince, it would be because he wanted her—not because he had a rough day and a brutal night.
That was her female pride.
Nithya drew a deep breath. “The jewel you ordered will be ready in four days.”
“I’ll come by to pick it up.”
She stifled a smile and merely shook her head. How distracted did he have to be to forget that he had ordered the stone as Dace?
Illusions…She glanced down at her gray atern bracelet. Life was full of illusions, but which were harmless façades and which were deadly lies?
Chapter 10
Varian swore softly as the door shut on Nithya’s distracting presence. He drew a deep breath, but his chest still hurt from his coughing fit, his lungs still painfully raw.
His heart thudded an erratic beat. His thoughts flittered like broken-winged sparrows—too injured to fly, too stubborn to stop trying.
So much to do. He had to get his mind off that witch.
Focus…
Varian closed his eyes, but could not dismiss her image from his mind. Nithya’s eyes glittered when she was angry—brighter and sharper than the precious stones in her designs. They flared like liquid fire, flashing with every subtle twist of her emotions.
When she glared at him, he couldn’t keep a single straight thought in his head.
All he wanted was to pull her into his arms and make the fury in her eyes melt into molten heat.
Damn it. Stop! Focus!
He flung the windows open, yanked in a breath of frigid air, and convulsed against the window frame as coughs wracked his body. The agony slammed him back into the moment, and he slumped in his seat, his fingers gripping the armrest until the pain subsided enough for him to think.
Varian’s gaze drifted to the books he had been reading before Nithya’s unexpected interruption. He closed the thickest of the books and ran his fingers along the spine. His months-long study of the various branches of science, both physical and arcane, led him to one conclusion: Magic was simply another form of energy. It could be controlled, not just channeled.
Which meant that no one else had to die.
A slow smile spread across his face. Relief was a balm so profound that for a moment, it even eased his labored breathing.
He glanced at the clock. It was past midnight but news this good could not wait until morning. The palace corridors were empty as he made his way to the guest suites in the eastern wing. He knocked on the door of Ariel’s assigned suite. It opened almost immediately, and Ariel, pale beneath her golden glamour, peeked out.
He grimaced, hating himself for the fear he had seared on her face. “Can we talk?”
Ariel opened the door wide and stepped aside to let him in. Her dinner had scarcely been touched. Neither had her decanter of wine.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
She blinked at him as if she hadn’t expected an apology, and she probably hadn’t. Maybe I am the tyrant Nithya accused me of being. He gestured to the chairs in front of the fireplace, before filling two glasses of wine and offering one to her.
Ariel sat stiffly, her hands folded together on her lap. Her mouth was a pinched, straight line.
Guilt knotted painfully in his chest as he sat across from Ariel, setting the glasses on the low table before her. “I need your help.”
“I figured that part out all on my own.”
All right, he deserved her snide verbal slap in the face. “We can do this without anyone dying.”
“Shatter the barrier?” She stared at him, a furrow forming between her brows. “How?”
“You’re the key. Your magic is almost as strong as mine. You’re one of the few people who could potentially resist channeling magic despite direct physical contact.”
“Maybe, but I don’t understand.” Ariel frowned. “What do you want me to do?”
“When I cast the spell, I want you to be the only person touching me. The others will form a chain behind you. I want you to resist me.”
“But you need the magic for the spell.”
“I need some magic; I don’t need all magic. If the first person in the chain resists, the tide of magic slows. The cost spreads along the entire channel.” Varian leaned forward. “Don’t you see? If everyone gives a little, no one has to die.”
“So you want me to resist you because it will reduce the flow of magic out to you.”
“Exactly. We don’t all have to cast all our magic at the barrier in a split second. We just need enough magic, and by slowing the flow, we can preserve most of it.”
“But even if I stem the flow, the spell will keep pulling magic from you, and it may pull even faster since there’s a scant trickle coming your way. You’re going to die.”
“I’m dead the moment I cast the spell. You know it can’t be recalled or stopped. The key is to succeed and not let anyone else die.”
Ariel chewed on her lower lip as she contemplated his words. “Was this always part of your plan?”
“Yes. I’ve spent the past year studying every book on magic and physics. Magic is energy, and there’s no reason why the same physical laws wouldn’t apply when casting the Convello.”
“Why didn’t you say so? Why didn’t you say no one would get killed?”
“I did say it, in front of thousands of people a week ago.”
She frowned. “Maybe you did, but that’s not what I heard—or at least not what I understood.”
“Will you do it? Will you help me destroy the barrier and save my people?”
“Yes, of course,” Ariel replied immediately. “Why didn’t you just ask?”
“I’m asking now.”
“You didn’t have to send your guards to drag me from my home like a common criminal.”
His jaw dropped. “They did what?”
“They gave Daddy a choice between letting me go and a full-out assault on his household. You didn’t know?”
“No, damn it. They weren’t supposed to—” Varian shook his head sharply. He had dismissed Nithya’s earlier accusations as a female penchant for overreaction and exaggeration, but perhaps he should have taken her at her word. Damn it, Tristan. What have you done? He rose, his voice grim. “I’ll handle this.”
Varian was still working in his office an hour later when Tristan finally arrived. Tristan’s hair was tousled, and he blinked sleep from his eyes as he slumped into a chair. Yawning, he asked, “Do you know what time it is? Is there a reason this conversation couldn’t wait until the sun rose?”
“When I gave you the list of people to invite to the palace, I didn’t think you would arrest them.”
Tristan sat up straight. “Is that what they’re telling you?” He yanked his fingers through his hair. “I gave detailed instructions to the guards. I even gave them a script to follow, but I can’t control every single person who goes out there, doing what you ordered them to do.”
“I want my people’s cooperation, Tristan. I’m not trying to terrify them into submission.”
“Your list was hundreds of people long. From that list, the guards only managed to find a handful whose atern bracelets exceeded the minimum threshold. Only those were arrested.”
“Arrested? Do you hear yourself?�
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Tristan glared at him. “I don’t care what gloss you put on it. You call it an invitation. The people see it as an arrest. They’re summoned to the palace and not given leave to depart? That’s an arrest.” He bared his teeth in a snarl. “Damn it, Varian. You give me tasks that are impossible to pull off without making you furious or making everyone else furious.”
“I’m going to have to meet with everyone you just ‘arrested,’ apologize to them, and set things right. I don’t need the extra work, Tristan. I barely have time to sleep.”
“Your lack of sleep is making you a grumpy, ungrateful bastard.” Tristan shot to his feet. “Maybe you should find another second-in-command, someone who can read your mind and work twenty-two hours a day, because that’s the only way to keep up with you and accomplish everything you demand.”
Tristan stalked toward the door, but Varian called his name. “Tristan.”
Tristan stopped but did not look back or turn around.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what? Your unreasonable expectations or jumping to conclusions?”
Tristan’s tone grated against Varian’s patience and killed the apology on the tip of his tongue. “You said you would handle it. You insisted on taking on this task that I would have given to my secretary. She would have printed invitations on scented floral stationary, not sent armed guards into the streets—”
“If that’s how you wanted it handled, then you should have been more explicit. The fact is, I’m getting things done. The result is what you demanded; the most magically talented witches and fae are here in your castle. Who cares how they got here?”
“I do! These are my people, Tristan.”
“They’re mine too!”
Varian glared at Tristan. “They deserve to be treated with care and respect.”
“No one died. No one’s hurt. Why can’t you let go of the reins and trust me with this one thing? You’re handing everything off to your cousin. How competent is he?”
“This isn’t about Conrad.”
“It is about Conrad. In the end, everything will be about Conrad, even though he’s nothing to you. I’ve been your closest friend all these years, and in the end, I’ll be cast aside.”
“The law dictates my heir, Tristan. I have no say in it.”
“Oh? You can decide to throw your life away, but you can’t choose who inherits?” Tristan snorted. “That’s an excuse, and a pathetic one. It’s no wonder Lecuyer’s so worried he’s teetering on the edge of treason.”
“What’s he done?”
“Sucking up to Conrad. He’s told Conrad he has information about your father’s less-than-legitimate dealings with Neraida.”
Varian stiffened. “That was twenty years ago.”
“Your father ennobled Lecuyer—it was his price of keeping quiet—but it seems he’s decided to forget his bargain with your father.” Tristan shook his head. “Actually, Lecuyer’s been a bastard for a lot longer. The story’s been making the rounds through court for about two years now. Lecuyer got talkative one day when he was drunk and blabbed out all the details. Your father was furious.”
“How did I not hear about this?”
“How much interest do you show in palace gossip? None. Your people know better than to engage you in pointless chatter. Anyway, your father considered stripping Lecuyer of his title.”
“I didn’t know that.”
Tristan shrugged. “Then your father died, and it didn’t seem like a big deal anymore. Everyone’s attention was focused on the transition.”
Varian frowned. Would Lecuyer kill Prince Rainier to protect his title?
He recalled, too easily, the wary look on Lecuyer’s face at each council meeting. How long had he worn that worried expression?
Months. Ever since Prince Rainier died.
His thoughts whirling, Varian sagged back in his seat. Could blackmail lead to murder?
It appeared that more than one council member had compelling reasons to want his father dead. How many would have acted on them?
Chapter 11
The flow of traffic to Nithya’s tiny office did not abate for three days. Nobles and commoners, witch and fae, they begged her to wrap her perfect illusions around their atern bracelets.
She did as asked. She took payment as she always did.
The guilt layered in the pit of her stomach until she was nauseous.
Every illusion she cast reduced the number of people Varian could draw on for his spell. Every atern bracelet she dimmed reduced the chance of his spell ever succeeding.
If it kept him from casting at all, if it kept him alive, if it kept Ariel and all those innocent people alive, then the risk was well-taken—but what Varian would do to her if he ever found out?
In the silence of her store, in the quiet of the night, Nithya pressed her hand against her churning stomach. Would he expel her? Execute her?
She could leave La Condamine before he discovered the role she had played in thwarting him. Surely his anger and vengeance would not follow her into the outlands.
But what if it did? She could not bring disaster down on her parents and her family.
Nithya drew a deep, shuddering breath. She had risked her future and her family’s lives—and for what?
For love of a prince, to keep him from doing the wrong thing. Magic was freely given, never taken by force.
How could Varian not understand that?
She wrapped her heavy cloak around her shoulders and walked to the palace where the guards admitted her without any challenge. One of them escorted her down the corridors, not to Ariel’s suite, but to the main dining room where Ariel and many other witches and fae, all with glittering atern bracelets, gathered over a lavish banquet.
What Nithya had not expected was the lively, uproarious mood.
Ariel flung her arms around Nithya’s shoulders, a broad smile on her face. “Nithya, I missed you. I thought you’d be visiting more often.”
“I wasn’t expecting a party.” Nithya eyed the plentiful spread. “Is the food drugged or the wine spiked?”
“Oh.” Ariel giggled. “Everyone’s just really relieved. We’ve had another successful practice run.”
“Practice?”
“For Varian’s spell. He figured out a way for the spell to take as little as possible from the ones contributing their magic.”
“So no one’s going to die.”
“No…Well—” The joy on Ariel’s face dimmed. “Varian will, but no one else. We’ll all give up some of our magic, enough to notice, but not enough to hurt.” Her nose lifted in a haughty manner. “Of course some people decided not to help, so Varian let those selfish bastards go.”
“He let them go?”
“Of course. Channeling isn’t something to be undertaken lightly. If there’s resistance in the chain at the wrong places or if it emerges at the wrong time, it can hurt more people than just the caster. Just think of it; we’re using our bodies to create a channel to direct a current of raw, pure energy. It’s not something to be trifled with.”
Nithya’s gaze traveled over the gathering in the room. “So everyone here wants to be here?”
“Well…” Ariel dragged out the word. “Want is a strong word. No one wants to give up their magic, not even for a good cause, but we’ve all agreed to help Varian.”
“So, the spell will work?”
“I don’t know.” Ariel frowned as she looked around the dining hall. “Varian wants to minimize the amount of magic he draws from any one person. If it’s just us, then it’s still not enough.”
“Will you have to give more?”
Ariel’s frown deepened into a furrow on her brow. “That’s what we’re not sure about. He wasn’t too specific about that part.”
“How much more?” Nithya’s voice carried louder than she intended in the suddenly quiet room.
Her friend chewed on her lower lip. “It could be a lot more.”
“Everything?”
&nb
sp; “I don’t think so,” Ariel murmured. “Varian wouldn’t do that.”
“You don’t sound certain.”
Ariel looked up at Nithya, her eyes wide and pleading. “He wouldn’t.”
To Nithya’s ears, Ariel’s statement sounded painfully like a question. “Where’s Varian?”
“I don’t know. We don’t see much of him. At this time of the night, he’s probably in his study or his suite.”
Nithya thought she knew the way—she had been to Varian’s study twice—but she underestimated the complexity of the palace. A wrong turn somewhere led her into a tangle of corridors and a maze of staircases. She continued along the path for several moments before realizing that the walls were built from wood instead of marble, and a thin layer of dust spread over the wooden floorboards.
Nithya scowled and turned around; fortunately, her footprints would make it easy to retrace her—
Her eyes narrowed as she stared at the floorboards. Footprints—larger than hers—had stomped along the same corridor recently. Dust had not yet settled over them.
But who would pass this way? Servants, perhaps, scurrying from one section of the palace to another, but in that case, the corridor would have been better traveled.
Nithya frowned at the low rumble of distant voices. Here? In an ancient part of the palace, far away from legitimate foot traffic?
She followed the sound, occasionally backtracking until she found the place where it seemed loudest. Even so, it was scarcely audible. Frowning, she pressed her ear against the wooden wall panels.
Voices emerged, clear enough to understand, but too muffled to identify.
“Please…” the first speaker, likely a man, rasped. “I did as you asked.”
“But you didn’t accomplish what I intended.” The second voice bore the polished accents of the nobility.
“I was prepared to die,” the first voice stammered. “That was part of our deal. You said you would take care of my family’s needs if I did as you said. Please, the winter is too difficult…my youngest is so sick. He’ll die without help. He needs your help.”
“And I would have helped them, but you are not dead, which is what we agreed. You would start the riot, and the prince would execute you. Your death would have served my purpose. Your life does not.”