by Sarah Fine
Rage exploded through her, quickening her pace. It was almost a relief to plunge her dagger into the back of a Shade at the rear of the attacking group. It collapsed in a heap as if she’d hit its off switch. Magda and Cavan were fighting by her side, killing Shades left and right, and for a few minutes, Aislin couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of her, so intent was she on destroying every Shade that stood between her and Moros. But a shout from about twenty feet away brought her head up.
A group of Shades had hoisted Moros from the ground, holding him by the vest. His usually sharp, observant eyes were unfocused. Blood flowed from a wound at his temple, striping his handsome face and flowing down his neck. His arms were limp at his sides as they began to drag him toward the water.
“Cavan, they’re going to throw him into the lake,” she shouted, slashing her blade with absolute ferocity, neatly slicing a Shade’s head from its neck.
Without waiting to see if her ambassador was following, Aislin kept her Scope nestled in her palm and drew a second blade. Her blood roared in her ears, each beat of her heart like a crash of clarity. She couldn’t lose him like this. They belonged together. Without him, she’d be only halfway complete. Each thought came with a slice of her blades. She was dimly aware of the creatures clawing at her, tearing her skirt, but she was all motion and action, zero hesitation. They were only steps from the lake. Moros was struggling weakly, trying to raise his head, but he didn’t seem to realize how close he was to the deadly shore.
“Jason!”
At the sound of her voice, his head lurched up, and his eyes glowed red. Aislin surged forward, shoving her blade into the back of one of the Shades holding on to Moros’s vest. It tumbled toward the water, which sizzled as the creature fell in. Within a second, it was nothing but bleached bones. Would that be what happened to Moros if he touched the lake? The sight shocked her into stillness for a second too long, and a Shade hit her from behind, wrapping its wiry arms around hers and taking her to the ground.
Aislin rolled over, gasping in agony as one of her own blades sliced along her ribs. But she ignored the pain and kept the momentum, rolling with her attacker straight into the water. As soon as she touched it, the strangest sensation streaked along her bones, tingling and cool and all-consuming. The Shade that had attacked her dissolved in an instant, leaving her by herself in the shallow water with golden, glinting sand beneath her palms, her hair dripping, her heart racing. She rose to her feet on suddenly rock-steady legs, looking down to see her torn dress hanging to her ankles, which had instantly healed as soon as they touched the water. Her skin sparkled under the moonlight as she walked forward and picked up her blade.
Moros was sitting by himself, a few feet from the shore, staring at her. He was covered in a fine film of dust, which had stuck to his eyelashes and the blood streaming from his wound. She glanced around. Cavan and Magda were standing next to a field of Shade-Kere bodies strewn between the shore and Baheera’s hut. Cavan waved his arms. “They fled,” he called out. “They’re gone.”
Aislin nodded, then returned her attention to Moros. As much as it hurt her to see him injured, he was alive. Unspeakable happiness filled her chest, bringing a bright smile to her face as she walked forward to help him up.
But at the sight of her reaching for him, he scrambled back, his eyes wide and his hands out to ward her off. “Don’t touch me!”
She looked down at her palms, still shimmering with water, and her cheeks burned. Hastily wiping her hands on her soaked skirt, she took a step back. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to—”
Moros sank onto his back, staring up at the moon. “Thank you for rescuing me.”
His voice was so weary that it made her eyes sting. “What can I do to help?”
“Just leave me be for now,” he said quietly. “See to the Mother.”
Although she wanted to stay with him, she trudged to the door of the hut and knocked. “Baheera? It’s safe.”
The door swung open, and a naked, warm body dove into Aislin’s arms. Baheera clung to her, sobbing and hysterical, and Aislin found herself stroking the new Mother’s hair, shushing her like a child, frustration building with every passing moment. “Your people need you,” Aislin finally said softly into the woman’s ear. “They need to see you being strong. If you’re scared and helpless, they’ll feel that way, too. If you’re brave and confident, it will bolster their courage.”
“But th-those things,” stammered Baheera, tears still streaming from her face. “Was that what killed my Mother?”
Aislin nodded. “I’m so sorry they invaded your realm.”
“But how did they get in? How did they find us?” Baheera gulped for air as she stared at the bodies scattered along the shore of the lake and the steep steps up the hillside to the palace, Shade-Kere and Lucinae, joined in death. “They killed all of us!”
“No, they didn’t.” Even now, hundreds of Lucinae were swimming to the shores of the lake. Moros’s orders had saved most of them. “And the survivors need their Mother now.” Aislin grasped the young woman by her bare shoulders, looking into her puffy red-rimmed eyes. “Be their Mother, Baheera. This is your chance to lead.”
She wiped the girl’s tears with a strip of her torn skirt, which was still soaked with the water from the lake. At the feel of the life-saturated substance, Baheera seemed to brighten a bit. She sniffled and nodded, her chin rising as if in defiance. “You’re right. They need me now.” She pulled out of Aislin’s grip and walked toward Magda, who was helping her fellow Lucinae out of the water, giving each one a warm hug as they emerged.
Aislin turned back to Moros, but he was gone. She scanned the shoreline for him, worry pulsing inside her. And then she saw him, trudging slowly up the steps toward the palace.
They’d won. They’d killed the Shade-Kere that threatened the realm and saved most of the Lucinae. Moros himself had ensured that Baheera, the new Mother, survived the onslaught. It was a victory. But as Aislin watched the exhausted slump of Moros’s shoulders while he walked away from her, it felt for all the world like a defeat.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Moros collapsed on the bed in his quarters, wondering if there was a single part of him that didn’t hurt. His throat and eyes burned from the acid fumes of that wretched lake. His head throbbed from the blows he had taken. His muscles ached—it felt like his limbs had been pulled out of joint. And he wasn’t healing. He couldn’t possibly heal, not in a miserable place like this. The very air was like poison to him, seeping into his blood and spreading weakness. This feeling . . . it was enough to make him crave the abstraction Nyx had chosen, having no physical form at all.
He had to get out of here.
But he wouldn’t. Not until he’d gotten what he came for. And now, after he’d ensured that the Lucinae didn’t lose a second Mother in a single day, it seemed like his best chance. He just had to gather the strength to go before Baheera and ask for it—too bad the thought of asking that petulant woman-child for anything was more painful than his head wound.
Aislin had made it through the battle. He let out a weak chuckle. She’d more than made it through—she’d come storming out of the palace, her shredded gown swirling around her legs, her shining hair the color of moonlight, blades in her hands and murder in her eyes. She’d cut through her enemies like he’d always known she could.
She’d saved him.
And then she’d almost killed him, coming wet and gorgeous from that lake, her smile so radiant that it felt like she’d wrapped her fingers around his heart. So alive. So alive that it hurt.
As she’d reached for him, he’d nearly been strangled by all the threads of his feelings. Desire for her. Fear of losing her. Certainty that he would; it was only a matter of hours, surely. Tenderness and adoration . . . the mere sight of her did that to him. And shame. He’d never felt this weak, and he was determined not to let her see it.
But she had. The anxious pity that flashed in her eyes before she’d gone off
to comfort Baheera had made him want to retch.
A knock at the door pulled him from his brooding. “Jason?”
He closed his eyes as she said his name. “Aislin,” he whispered, knowing she couldn’t hear him. “What are you doing to me?” She was the only person he would truly miss if he let himself fade—an idea that was becoming more attractive with each passing second.
“I’m coming in,” she said.
Curse these Lucinae for not putting locks on their doors. He pushed himself up to sit on the bed but had to squeeze his eyes shut as the room spun around him. Shade dust gritted between his teeth, making him crave water he couldn’t have.
“Oh God,” Aislin muttered.
He peered at her standing at the foot of his bed. “Indeed. But you don’t have to be so formal, my dear.”
She snorted, a surprisingly uncivilized noise from such a stately woman. She had changed her clothes and was now wearing a new Lucinae garment, this one a shimmering green skirt and a beaded top that hugged the swells of her breasts. He wondered if she realized how sheer the fabric was. And then he realized—not every part of him hurt.
“We have to get you back into the real world, as far from here as possible,” she said.
“We need to meet with Baheera first. I believe I deserve a reward for my heroics, don’t you?” He tried to sound confident and nonchalant, but nothing could cover the hoarse rasp in his voice.
She sat at the end of his bed. “Yes. I’ve asked her for that audience, and she’s agreed to it, as soon as all her people are accounted for and the wounded are healed in the lake. She said they’d gather in her throne room.”
“Well, I’d ask to clean myself off first, but I’m afraid that if I tried to take a shower, all you’d find afterward is a pile of bones.”
She didn’t laugh at his joke. “You don’t have to pretend to be strong.”
Annoyance streaked through him, and he swung his legs off the side of the bed and stood up, tensing against the dizziness that made him sway. “I’m in a realm where everyone believes me to be an abomination. No one would have been sorry to see me fall into that lake—”
“Wrong,” she said softly.
He sighed and leaned against the wall, the cool stone a relief against his burning skin. His determination had been worn paper-thin, and it was all that was keeping him from begging her to take him in her arms, to spread her body over his, to welcome him inside. He wanted her kisses and the silk of her touch. He wanted her softness, the lilt of her voice, the graceful flex of her limbs. He wanted her to comfort him, to make all of this all right.
He wanted her to love him.
“Weak,” he whispered, his fingers curling into the cracks between the stones.
“What?”
“Nothing. It’s just—my thoughts are a bit muddled.” He lifted his head and stared at the wall. “I’ll be fine once we leave.”
While she waited, he stripped and wiped his body with a dry cloth, knocking away the dust and cleaning off as much of the blood as he could. He changed back into his slacks and button-down, unwilling to wear a ridiculous costume any longer. And then he walked by Aislin’s side toward the throne room, hope growing with every step.
Baheera’s subjects were huddled around her chaise, one oiling and braiding her hair, another feeding her bits of pineapple from a skewer, a third offering sips of wine. The rest were chattering among themselves. A hum of unhappiness and anxiety filled the air. Magda and Cavan, standing at the edge of the entourage, were the first to notice Aislin and Moros as they entered. Zayed sat in a chair nearby, the serious wounds he’d sustained in the battle now completely healed. He’d fought gallantly, actually, and for as long as he could, until Moros had shoved him toward the water. He was lucky to be alive. His gaze streaked over Aislin and then he looked away, as if ashamed.
Brave or not, you aren’t worthy of her, Moros thought, pleased that the boy had finally realized it. He glanced at the woman next to him and then looked away just as quickly as Zayed had. She was blinding, almost too beautiful to look at. Perhaps no one was worthy of her.
They reached the base of the dais where Baheera sat, and Aislin bowed. Moros inclined his head. He was afraid that if he tried to bow, he might fall over.
Baheera held up a hand, refusing a piece of offered pineapple. “Charon. Welcome.” Her yellow eyes strayed to Moros. “And Lord of the Kere.”
“We’ll be taking our leave of you soon,” said Aislin. “I know you all will need time to recover from this tragedy.”
“We’ll be moving the realm,” Baheera replied. “I don’t feel safe here anymore.”
Aislin nodded. “I understand completely.”
Baheera waved her hand. “You may go.”
Moros’s stomach lurched. “We’ll be happy to,” he said. “But before we do, perhaps you could give us the blades. We need them to fight the Shade-Kere—and their masters—in the real world and the Veil. It’s the best way to destroy them.” And the only way to destroy Chaos.
Baheera gave him a wide-eyed look. “But by all reports, you easily destroyed at least fifty of those monsters yourself. It hardly seems like you need a blade to kill. Aren’t you Death himself?”
“I have an enemy that is immune to my touch. And if he rises, no one will be safe.”
Baheera’s lip curled. “Am I safe now, my lord?” She gestured toward her subjects. “We’ve never been attacked in our realm. And now, the very day we welcome Death as a guest, the beasts invade. Coincidence?”
“Maybe not,” said Aislin, “but they hunted and killed your Mother earlier today—it’s more likely that they followed her body back here.”
The new Mother’s palm slapped down onto her bare thigh, and her cheeks went pink with rage. “How dare you blame this on my people, especially after everything we’ve been through!”
Moros’s vision flashed red, and he closed his eyes. “I am terribly sorry for what you’ve been through, but I daresay it would have been much worse if the Charon and I hadn’t been here.”
“Small comfort,” snapped Baheera. “We have nearly a hundred dead. I’m afraid that I cannot give you any weapons. To offer you instruments of death would be like spitting on their memories.”
“What?” Fiery hatred coursed over Moros’s skin. “I saved you. If it weren’t for me, those Shades would have torn you and your lover apart.”
Aislin cleared her throat. “I think what the Lord of the Kere is trying to say, Mother, is that he is honored to have been of service to you, and wishes he could have done more to save your people.”
Moros’s mouth clamped shut. He could feel the sharp edges of his fangs lengthening in his anger. At this moment, he craved Baheera’s blood. But when Aislin’s fingers touched his shoulder, so lightly, so gently, it cooled his temper momentarily. “Well said, Charon,” he murmured. “I wish I could have done more.”
Aislin laid her palm on his upper arm, just above the wound he’d sustained from the Blade of Life. “Both of us are eager to eliminate this threat and ensure that the Lucinae realm is never violated again. Our request for the weapons imbued with water from the lake is for that purpose only. It will benefit the Lucinae to give them to us.”
“Will it?” Baheera asked. “Or will it only make your enemy more desperate to destroy us? Why must I take sides?”
“Mother,” said Magda, her voice even, tightly controlled. “There are things worse than death.”
Baheera’s eyebrows nearly rose to her hairline. “Are you suggesting I accept this-this-this thing as an ally?” She waved her hand at Moros with clear disgust.
“This thing saved your life,” he mumbled, his voice a little slurred. Suddenly his head felt too heavy for his shoulders.
Aislin’s grip on his arm tightened, and she moved closer to him, as if afraid he would collapse, which left him feeling more pathetic than ever. And more vulnerable. He had to get out of this realm or he was going to fall on his face, right at Baheera’s feet. He was
sure it would give her great pleasure.
Magda was arguing in favor of giving Moros the blades now, but before she’d finished her sentence, Baheera shot to her feet, pointing a finger at her. “Sister, I think you’ve been corrupted,” she said loudly. She gave Cavan a hurt look. “And I think our ambassador might be the source of this corruption. Perhaps I have been blind. Maybe we do need a new emissary. Or no emissary at all.”
Magda shrank back at the threat as Cavan stood next to her, stone-faced. Moros was fairly sure that the man was boiling inside, but he’d learned long ago to remain stoic.
“I don’t think it’s fair to blame Cavan,” Magda said.
“Oh, don’t worry. I don’t.” Baheera’s gaze swung to Aislin. “Look at his mistress, practically hanging on the Lord of Death like a pining lover. No wonder everyone’s confused.”
Suddenly, every gaze in the throne room was on Moros and Aislin, but her hand did not fall from his arm like he expected. “We are servants of fate,” Aislin said steadily. “We are devoted to the same cause and fight the same enemy. We need those blades. Please, Mother. In the name of fate, in the name of our alliance and the help we provided tonight, give them to us. Even one would be a priceless gift and a source of eternal goodwill.”
“I’m afraid I can’t,” said Baheera, sinking back onto her chaise. The Lucinae around her looked back and forth between their Mother and Moros, frowning. Of course, Moros thought, they had a different perspective. While Baheera had been quaking inside her hut, the rest of them had watched from the safety of the lake as Moros took on the Shade-Kere who had attacked them. But all remained silent and watchful as Baheera continued. “I will reconsider your request once our realm is safely moved and my traumatized subjects have recovered. Until then, I have too many concerns to spend another minute arguing with you.” She turned to Zayed. “Escort them to the edge of the realm, please. The sooner they’re out of our land, the better.”