Book Read Free

Shadows of the Keeper

Page 29

by Karey Brown


  “You may eat, and enjoy, Princess Emily.” Inzyr announced from behind her, inclining his head in deference before returning to his self-appointed post directly behind her. Emily nearly slid from her chair from shock. Maybe she should hold out her goblet, ordering the suddenly dutiful Inzyr to fill it.

  “I would not advise it. He’ll just as soon decapitate you than serve.” Dezenial then said something to Inzyr. She dared glance back.

  “Judging by his expression, you shared what I was thinking?”

  Dezenial shrugged, cutting into something resembling what she’d find in the garden. “I asked if he was interested in a career change.”

  “But his has such perks.”

  The prince smiled before wolfing a bit of gray slimy mass. Emily’s gag reflexes kicked into overdrive. She averted her gaze and fixated on her steak. Her very ordinary steak. Already dead. Cooked. Not quivering. Not making creepy screams like whatever the freak two plates down was stabbing at. What the hell? She’d never be able to eat meat again. Muffins. Muffins would be good right about now. Banana. With coffee. My luck, this steak came from side of troll, not side of—

  “Grade AA, as your world refers to their beef. Cow, Emily. Now, eat.”

  “Aren’t you worried about your own food being poisoned?”

  Smugly, he took another bite. She decided to follow suit. If she died, well, at least it would be an end to all this insanity. An end to this ache deep in her soul. Besides, who would give two shits? Current thoughts awakened memories of Dezenial leaving her with Broc. How long before he escorted her back to MacLarrin Castle? Would she bother fighting it? Gah, how much humiliation could one person experience, begging to remain with someone who clearly did not want them? Better to protect the shred of pride remaining, versus a complete flogging of the soul. Bad enough Broc and his regime of Forest Lords were probably dancing upon their trestle tables, singing a drunken ditty about No More Emily. Dezenial and Inzyr would do likewise when finally rid of her. No, actually, these two would probably sacrifice something, offering the kill to their gods. Sipping her wine, she failed to notice Dezenial studying her, his own food forgotten.

  Where was Blade? All this time she’d been healing, she’d completely forgotten about the sword. Proof she made a lousy friend. The weapon had warned Lumynari were evil, vile, deadly. She glanced around the table as steak melted in her mouth with tenderness shaming the finest restaurants. Deadly? Yup. But, what of Dezenial? Deadly gorgeous. Deadly built. And, oh God, those leggings hugging his deadly thighs . . . meat threatened to lodge in her constricting throat. Another sip of wine did the trick. If she could just figure out a way to accidentally run her hand, just once, up his sinewy leg . . . but that would lead to his deadly—

  Emily’s face scorched. Blinking rapidly did little to clear her debauched thoughts. He was too damn virile. And he was currently watching her with interest. Too much interest. Ignoring him, she surveyed those in her immediate vicinity. Their loathing hopped along the length of the table to spit at her before trudging back to each owner it had escaped from. Did they assume she was Dezenial’s whore? Why not? Broc assumed she’d been doing the do with some conniver posing in one of her photos. What is it about males that I’m considered so low? Except Inzyr. I’m nothing more than a gnat to that one. And now, Dezenial’s decreed Mr. Happy as Poop on a Birthday Cake is to train me. Oh, joy.

  Dezenial coughed into his napkin, but she hardly paid him any attention. Reaching for her goblet, she considered this power everyone swore she had. If fire from her hands could be created from mere thought, same hands capable of healing . . . they hadn’t done a damn bit of good for Dezenial. Regret lanced her. She sipped deeper, hoping to drown her failures. He’d saved her. Twice. She’d been able to do naught for him. Another drink. She looked down at her wine. Zinfandel. She smiled to herself. Another detail Dez knew about her. Broc had never bothered to learn anything about her. He was too caught up in his list of faults regarding who she’d been, not who she currently was. Peter hadn’t been much better. Wow, I really need some Man one-oh-one courses and how to pick ‘em. Or how to skin ‘em. Alive. Course, listening to their screams of pain would be a bummer.

  Dezenial did his best to hide both anger over her vulnerability and mirth over her outlandish thoughts. Skinning indeed. She’d run screaming from the actual chore of it. And men didn’t just scream when blades flayed their flesh from muscle, they defecated, pissed, cried, and puked. Nasty business, skinning humans.

  Hollywood horror creatures continued conversing amongst themselves. What did Lumynari discuss over dinner? Torture techniques? Their latest kill? Except the bitch across from her. Apparently, she had other ideas on her mind. Twice, the slut had leaned closer to Dezenial, pomegranate tits displayed as if a buffet to which Dezenial could dine, if he do desired.

  One taste, and I’ll personally shave your tongue and snap off your fangs.

  Dezenial threw back his head and let out a great peal of laughter. Tits Galore thought he laughed over something witty she’d just said. She smiled provocatively.

  Emily seethed.

  Stupid male. So easily manipulated by a simple viewing of cleavage. Hell, she’d smother him in hers if that’s all it took. Here, smash your face in these, big boy, now gimme a ticket to Texas! What she wouldn’t give to be back home, curled up on her couch, a good movie in the DVD player and a bag of—

  “What thoughts harbor in your head?” A rhetorical question on his part. So, hellcat was jealous. And vicious. He especially enjoyed her possessiveness.

  “Oreos.”

  “Oreos?”

  “Yes,” she snapped. “You asked.” Dick. “If you weren’t so mesmerized by Ms. Lift & Tuck, you’d have heard my answer the first time.” Emily’s attention roamed. Since he wanted to make it clear that he belonged to none by encouraging another to flirt with him, then two could play this game. The forgotten cast of House of Horrors stared back.

  Okay, so maybe this was a game best played when a different cast of players could be chosen from. She found herself once again studying her apparent competition. Pfff, as if. Dezenial sipped from a bejeweled goblet. And every word Tits Wonder muttered to him. Emily conjured an image of a ta-ta guillotine. She couldn’t help it. Then pictured herself shoving the bitch and her perky boobs against the machine and the blade—

  “Keer’dra!”

  Emily flinched.

  He swiped his mouth, but not before she witnessed him stifling laughter. “I can no longer fight myself.” He leaned closer. “What is this Oreos?”

  “Are, what are Oreos. Cookies. Cream filled. It’s a cardinal sin to bite into them—“

  “Punishable by death?” He looked hopeful.

  “No, Killer, not that kind of sin.” Emily used her hands to mimic each step she spoke of. “you twist them apart, lick the center—“

  “Do that part again.” He tapped her protruding tongue. She nearly swallowed her appendage, sucking it back into her mouth too fast. His raucous laughter caused several Lumynari to turn and give them a cursory once over.

  “Remind me, Lady Emily, to seek these Oreos, but only in my presence will you be permitted to eat them.”

  “Shut up, Dezenial.”

  Thunderous laughter escaped him again, tugging her own mouth into a quirk.

  “Ah, Keer’dra. I have laughed more in these past ten minutes then these past ten years combined. You are fresh air to my old soul.”

  “I merely encourage the perv in you to surface.” She couldn’t hold back her own mirth.

  They observed together several human women pouring wine from flagons into tall golden and silver goblets, some jeweled, others left plain. “It is strange to me, being here and waited upon like royalty while they are kept as slaves.” Emily looked at her Shadow Master. “You know it goes against everything I believe in; everything I’ve been taught.” She leaned back. “They seem content.” Devilry lit her eyes. “Ah, you must keep them for sex. You should let Inzyr use ‘e
m. He could use sex. Not that I’d know, but supposedly, sex relieves crankiness.” She glanced back at the assassin, trying not to allow Dezenial’s laughter infect her. “I’m thinking you better loan him several. They may be at it for a while.”

  Dezenial ignored Inzyr’s snarl. Emily dared give the assassin a little wave before turning around. She wasn’t completely immune to Inzyr’s rage. Her nape tightened; her shoulders tensed.

  “Some were brought down as children, so they know no other life.” His hand raised to ward off her protest. “We are not as bad as land-dwellers would make us out to be. Okay, okay,” he added, knowing her gawking was due to several facts he’d conveniently forgotten. “You have me there. But, mind you, most of us are not in the habit of snatching children. Where’s the challenge? It would be like your hunters walking up to a caged animal and firing their obnoxious weapons. No thrill. And especially no courage. Homeless children are led away from misery.”

  “Oh, and slavery is much better.”

  “They are clothed, fed, and kept warm at night, and protected by their masters. Slavery is not always what your own history has created it to be. They work during the day, though they do not receive that paper you fools barter for, they receive payment enough by way of roofs over their heads, education, a mate and their own home. Any good Lumynari does not beat his slave. And those who do are severely punished.” He leaned closer. “In my kingdom, abusers are put to death in the arenas, their slaves given a front row seat, if they so desire. Some are faint of heart and do not enjoy viewing the slaughter of their abuser.”

  “And what of Drakar’s kingdom?”

  “You have sampled his kingdom. Sampled, Princess Emily, but not truly tasted. Be glad you still possess lingering fantasies about your Oreos.” Dezenial reclined against his high-backed chair. “Had he arrived in time and taken possession of you . . . “

  The tall proud Lumynari’s gaze snapped to view below their dining terrace. Emily watched as a vicious scowl covered his face. Something enraged him. She was tempted to stand, come around to where he sat and look as well, but maybe, here, it was best to shut up and color.

  “Why did you allow yourself to be captured by his patrol? What if they’d kept you in a separate cell?”

  Withering attention swerved back to her, his voice cold. “His patrol?”

  Emily shrugged. “I don’t know all the intricacies down here in Hell-Fest.”

  “You land-dwellers have your money and gold. We too have things in which to barter with. Let’s just say I paid my way into your cell.”

  Emily snorted. “Did you pay for that beating as well?”

  He lurched viciously. Emily slammed back against her chair. Their audience perked up, highly interested.

  “Never take another beating for me again. I did not accede to be a prisoner to save your neck just to have you throw it away on some fool mission to save mine.”

  “Back off, Lumynari, before I show you foolishness beyond your cruelest comprehension.” Second nature, her hand clasped tightly around her dinner blade.

  His brow arched.

  Her grip squeezed.

  A hand clasped her shoulder. She didn’t need to look to know it was Inzyr staying her murderous temper. Her impudence earned grins, and titters. She offered a scathing look in return. A simple glance challenged them, did it? And who should be returning her glare with dripping contempt? None other than Ms. Shit Tits. Emily refused to cow down to the tramp.

  “You wanna fuck him, you have to take him first, bitch.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Dezenial choked.

  Perfect tits anorexia queen lowered her goblet. “Did you dare speak to me?”

  “Though the males here apparently enjoy keeping company with a bitch in heat, I’ll have you lapping from a dog’s bowl.” Ignoring the tightening of Inzyr’s hand on her shoulder, Emily nonchalantly crossed her leg, the slit in her dress riding higher. As the woman across from her began a garbled attack on Dezenial, Emily’s table partner suddenly appreciated his view of exposed human flesh. She felt Dezenial watching her; felt his silent threat against the male sitting next to her. Ever-so-slightly, she shifted, the dress falling away from her thigh even more. One did not need to look to know the Shadow Master’s eyes currently burned crimson, their fierceness illuminating when the beast next to her openly grinned, admiring his view.

  Inzyr electrified.

  Emily felt the air tighten behind her where the assassin remained. Weird that she could hone in on his emotions. The entire retinue of dinner guests seemed to be holding their breath. DEATH hung a neon sign that it was now open for business. The visual standoff between Emily and the Lumynari woman remained unwavering. Darkness engulfed Emily’s peripherals.

  The female was ominously cloaked. Nervously, she spoke with another . . . squatter in build. Emily’s eyes narrowed. His face turned towards her—the cell guard she’d torched! Another tunnel. An odd rock formation. No, that’s not right . . . a door, of sorts. A facially scarred Lumynari stepped out. Laughter. Embracing the woman sitting across from her, they stepped arm-in-arm through a slight opening. Scraping. Emily wanted to cover her ears. Nails down a chalkboard scraping. The rock-door slid back in place. Another look and none would be the wiser it actually opened. Secret tunnels. Emily glanced over her shoulder. Which way? Which way? I’m lost! No! Mist. A woman stepping from it, beckoning. Aurelia?

  “Keer’dra.” Dezenial found himself closed off from her mind. He’d felt her slipping into her hidden power. Visual command, and Inzyr dropped his blade between Emily and the Shadow Master who’d been ogling her thigh. Another visual command, and the fool no longer owned a head. Inzyr’s searing blade cauterizing as it sliced. Fear silenced the diners. Each suddenly understood, this had been an invitation to their possible assassination.

  Emily remained oblivious.

  “Jin deasep semfi,” Emily stated very matter-of-factly. She didn’t blink.

  Dezenial tensed. Perfect Balkorian. I despise deceit. There remained no misunderstanding of Emily’s words or accusation. The only visible movement from Inzyr was his amber eyes drifting across the table to imprison the female. Tension thickened, none daring to move. The assassin’s skilled cruelty was legendary—as had just been exhibited, the body now dragged off by wait staff. That their goddess, Shadow, granted Inzyr a wide berth warned he was not to be trifled with.

  Emily’s thoughts once again flooded Dezenial’s. She’d seen what he could not, even with his ability at ancient magicks. He had suspected, but lacked opportunities to catch the conniver in the act. Now, his woman had quite possibly sealed her own death by uncovering what spies had failed to; or they danced to a higher payoff. Worth Inzyr looking into, but, for now, he needed to diffuse an explosive situation. His Emily was still healing. Though her flesh wounds were no longer evident, she required more time for emotional recovery; to understand she was both cherished and belonged. To him.

  Dezenial’s dark hand raised, strong fingers gingerly trailing her cheek. Instinctively, she nuzzled her face against his roughened hand. Palpable surprise rippled up and down the length of the table. This was no concubine. A few sat straighter. Rumor was now truth. This was the sorceress their goddess hunted. This was the druidess who’s ancient soul their goddess sought to harness, and promised riches beyond comprehension to any who brought the mortal to her.

  And here Shadow’s son sat, dining and coveting the despised enemy of his mother.

  Emily gave a quick shake of her head. “Dez?” She pulled away from his touch and pretended to smooth imaginary wrinkles in her dress while tamping down the odd flutters in her abdomen. His touch was flame, and she was the moth. She looked up. And wished she hadn’t. His eyes enthralled her. Azure blue and almond shaped, he was wicked-handsome. Nah, hot was more appropriate. Blushing, she averted her gaze. She loved him. God help her.

  “Do you hear yourself, when you speak in anger, the language you take?”

  Ah, Keer’dra. Do you no
t know my heart beats for you as well? But I cannot, will not, speak the words you long to hear. Protect you, yes, but love you from afar is all I will allow myself. For your sake. My realm has already come too close to forever diffusing your light. None of this, did he allow her to hear from his mind, nor his lips. Almost, Dezenial could hear his father’s mocking laughter.

  Or was it his own conscious?

  “Language?”

  “You spoke in the language of Balkore. Not Var’dri, Emily, but pure Balkorian—ancient Balkorian.”

  Emily eyed the guests at the table. Rage, amusement, and curiosity stared back. And then her attention came to rest on the puddle of blood where a being once sat next to her. And a smeared trail of it leading away. She looked up at Inzyr. “Do I wanna know?”

  “I don’t know, do you?”

  “I bet you pee on picnics, don’t you?” She didn’t bother waiting for his answer.

  A loud clap slapped down on the table. Emily could swear she jumped six feet.

  “I will have retribution for the insult your human has dared upon me!”

  Emily slowly smiled. “I did not insult you, bitch, I spoke truths. Tell me, spy, was it your lover I burned to a quaking heap of charred flesh, or do you still drop to your knees for Drakar, suckling from him as he commands what your next mission will be?” Emily slowly stood amidst gasps and hissed murmuring. “Is that your reward for turning against those offering a peaceful kingdom to reside in, you upon your back while Drakar ruts?”

  “Just Emily,” Inzyr muttered.

  The female hissed. Dezenial had stood, and now moved away. His guests took his cue and vacated from the long table as well, lifting chairs back with them. Grand royal table now stood as a makeshift battle-stage. That their prince wasn’t shielding his human from Shelene’s attack increased their intrigue. Discreetly, wagers were placed.

  Emily understood every word, and the various languages they were spoken in. The peculiar sensation of fury beckoned her to allow its unleashing. She was coming to understand it kept her safe in a world that had long ago gone mad. Her head dropped down a bit, eyes narrowing savagely upon her adversary.

 

‹ Prev