by M. J. Scott
“I agreed that we would bond, once I knew the magic,” Sophie said slowly.
“Never bargain with a sanctii,” Henri said. “They are cunning.” He snapped his fingers and Martius appeared. “Martius, can you tell me if there’s anything untoward in the link Elarus here has formed with Lady Scardale, please?”
Martius looked at Elarus. If Cameron wasn’t mistaken, the male sanctii’s expression was distinctly unimpressed. But he said nothing, just kept staring, then turned back to Henri. “No. For female, no.”
What the hell did that mean?
“Very well,” Henri said. “That is one problem solved.” He scowled at Sophie. “Lady Scardale, you will refrain from attempting anything even vaguely resembling water magic. Elarus may have given you the knowledge, but that doesn’t mean you understand it well enough to use it with any degree of safety. You can commence your studies tomorrow. For now, I suggest we all try to get a few hours’ sleep. Tomorrow is likely to be a long day if it starts with a visit to the palace.”
The palace? Why—he understood suddenly. Aristides would want to know what had happened in the attack on the carriage. Kings, in his experience, didn’t react well when people declared to be under their protection were attacked. He doubted emperors were any different. What was more surprising was that they weren’t at the palace already. He didn’t know how Henri had managed to delay, but Cameron was grateful that he had.
“Excellent idea, Maistre,” he said, shifting his grip around Sophie so he could stand with her in his arms. He wasn’t entirely certain that he could carry her all the way to their chambers but he was damned sure that he wasn’t letting go of her any time soon.
* * *
Cameron put her down just inside their chambers before he closed the door, triggered the wards, and stood with his back pressed to the wood, breathing loudly in and out, eyes closed.
“Are you feeling unwell?” she asked. She doubted he should be up and out of bed. He probably shouldn’t even yet be conscious. That was her doing. As were the chills running over her skin. Though maybe she could lay the blame for those at Elarus’ feet. But she was going to have to get used to that, wasn’t she? Maybe with the bond, she would build a tolerance to the sanctii’s’ lack of warmth.
“Give me a moment,” Cameron said.
“If you are unwell, I should call for Rachelle,” Sophie said. There was more color in his face than there had been in the healer’s rooms, but there were also shadows under his eyes and a bruise darkening the right side of his chin.
Cameron didn’t open his eyes. “I am as well as a man can be when he has just been informed that his wife was almost kidnapped and then chose to ally herself with a . . . a sanctii.”
“Are you going to yell at me again?” she asked. She probably deserved that much. And, quite frankly, she didn’t think she had anything left in her right now for an argument with Cameron to upset her. “It’s all right if you want to.”
Cameron pressed fingers to the bridge of his nose. “I am currently trying to dissuade myself from either kissing you or throttling you,” he gritted out. “So, a moment.”
Heat flooded through her at his words. “I’m not sure I should give you a moment,” she said. “After all, I have a right to be angry with you, too. You almost got yourself killed. For the second time.”
His eyes opened. “Neither time was voluntary.”
“My bonding with Elarus wasn’t entirely voluntary either,” she said.
“That is not necessarily a point in your favor. In fact, it is exactly that lack of good sense I am contemplating.”
“I did what I needed to do,” she said. “For us.” She moved closer so there was only a foot or so between them, staring up into angry blue eyes. “Body and blood, remember? You can protect me. But I’ll protect you, too. I don’t care if that makes you angry.”
His gaze darkened, his pupils flaring. “Oh, don’t you?”
“No. Not if you’re safe.” Safe. Alive. Hers. She needed to prove to herself that was all still true. She stepped closer to him, put her hands on the buttons of his shirt, and yanked. Buttons scattered wildly and the material tore.
His arms closed around her, scooping her up as he moved across the room. She landed on the bed and he began shoving up her skirts, fumbling at his trousers as he did so.
“We haven’t finished the discussion about your new . . . friend,” he said as she spread her legs, suddenly desperate for him.
“I’m sure we haven’t,” she said as he moved over her.
He paused, one hand on the buttons at the neck of her dress. “She’s not here now, is she?”
She hadn’t considered that. She couldn’t feel the sanctii anywhere. No chill cooled her skin. Quite the opposite. The lust boiling through her had her sweating. “Not as far as I know.” She reached down and put her hand around his cock. “Do you care?”
“Not in the least,” he growled, then took her mouth with his. She let go of him and he pushed into her with one sure thrust that pinned her back against the mattress.
It was almost too much, him so hard against her. It was perfect. She pulled her mouth free as she clamped her legs around his hips. “One more thing you should know, husband,” she said, her voice as rough as his. “That part where I said I would let you go? I lied. You’re mine.” She sank her teeth into his shoulder. “Mine.”
“I know,” he said. “Just as you are mine.” And then he began to drive into her, sending all thought of speech, all capability of coherent thought, out of her head. There was only the touch and feel and taste of him, until she was spasming around him, the rush of pleasure so fierce it almost consumed her as she cried out.
Some time later, Cameron rolled off her and reached for the quilt to pull over them. Neither of them made any effort to move farther up the bed. She wasn’t sure she could move other than to turn and curl back around him.
“Cold, love?” he asked, sounding half-asleep.
“No. Not with you here.” She giggled suddenly.
“What?”
“I think we found the cure for sanctii chill,” she said. “Which may be fortunate.”
“Oh, so my marital duties will include being your human bed warmer now?” he said, sounding amused.
“Didn’t they already?” she said, laughing for real now. She may have done something stupid by bonding herself with Elarus, but with Cameron on her side, she was certain they could work it all out. Body and blood. The thought made her ache for him all over again. She rolled on top of him, raising first a surprised “oof” then, lower, a more approving reaction. She wriggled against him just as the door chimes began to sound.
Cameron groaned. “How much would you like to wager that Aristides has decided he isn’t willing to wait until morning and wants to see us now?”
Sophie shook her head. “I try not to make losing bets.”
“How much do you want to wager that I’d be perfectly happy to tell him to fuck off right now?” Cameron said, one large hand descending on her ass to hold her in place when she started to roll off him.
“As our aim right now is to remain out of prison and out of the emperor’s bad graces, I think I’ll decline that bet as well,” she said. She pressed a quick kiss to his mouth, then scrambled free. “You can warm my bed later. I promise I’m not going anywhere.”
She hoped to the goddess, thinking of the possible ways that an audience with Aristides could play out, that that were true.
* * *
She’d insisted on being able to bathe and change again before they answered Aristides’ summons. She didn’t have another of Helene’s dresses to wear and she wasn’t about to attempt to dress herself in the red satin so she took one of her simple day dresses to the bathing chamber.
When she emerged, Madame Simsa was standing in the corridor, a bundle of black cloth in her arms.
She thrust it at Sophie. “Yours.”
Sophie shook out the bundle. A set of Academe robes.
; “Put them on,” Madame Simsa said.
“I’m going to the palace.”
“Yes. So you may as well let them know what you are. If you wanted a sanctii for protection, no point hiding the fact that you have water magic. Or will have,” Madame Simsa said. “Henri wasn’t joking when he told you not to use it yet. You could hurt yourself. And others.”
“I won’t,” Sophie said. She hoped she’d have no reason to try.
“Good. Then I’ll see you when you return from the palace. Henri will no doubt want you to study with Venable Pellesier, but you’ll work with me as well. That old goat doesn’t know anything about being female and a water mage. The fact that your sanctii is female will probably give him conniptions.”
“Does it make a difference?”
Madame Simsa snorted. “The answer to that question will take more time than I suspect you have this morning. Go.” She gave Sophie a little shove toward the bathing chamber. “Put them on. And don’t forget who you are.”
Sophie obeyed, retreating inside to don the robes and settle them into place.
The robe was an odd weight on her shoulders. The fabric was light, made of fine wool in deference to the cooling season, but the folds and gathers and length of it meant that there was plenty of material to add to the weight. At least that’s what she assumed was making it feel so cumbersome even though it was a finer material than her previous robe had been. That or the fact that, seeing the colors at her collar in the mirror, no longer solely brown for earth but blue as well, there was no escaping the fact that by accepting Elarus she had changed her life irrevocably. A royal witch who practiced the fourth art would never be welcome in Anglion, bound or unbound. Some, no doubt, would say it made her a traitor.
Well, so be it.
She scowled at the Sophie in the glass. “I choose myself,” she said firmly, then grasped the robe and her skirts as she turned to leave.
* * *
“Lord and Lady Scardale,” Aristides said gravely. “First let me offer you an apology for what has occurred in my city. Trust me, we are taking measures to exact retribution on your behalf.”
“Thank you, Your Imperial Majesty,” Cameron said, bowing slightly. “We are grateful for your concern.”
Sophie kept her eyes on the emperor as she curtsied beside Cameron. His voice had been cold, holding the same thread of chained anger that it had after the attack in the ballroom. She found herself devoutly thankful that she was not one of the people facing his wrath.
The room they were in was unfamiliar but clearly Aristides’ throne room. Large, immaculately decorated, and designed to focus all attention on the large golden chair the emperor currently occupied.
Its back formed the flares of a sunburst, spiking out around the emperor’s head, framing his dark hair in gold that glittered in the light of the candles and lamps. The first signs of dawn had been lightening the sky when their carriage had passed through the palace gates, but the sky that showed through the windows set high in the walls was still mostly dark.
They weren’t alone with the emperor. Not even close to it. Imogene, Colonel Perrine, and a number of other black-clad guards and imperial mages were arrayed to the left of the room—even Imogene was dressed in sober black, the close-fitting jacket and long skirt echoing the lines of the guards’ uniforms. She wore black leather gloves, not a single ring or jewel in sight. Crown Prince Alain was also present, standing closest to the emperor himself, gazing back out at the room, his expression stony. Next to the guards stood a group of grim-faced older men and one woman who Sophie assumed were the emperor’s counselors or whatever they called them in Illvya. Or representatives of the parliament, maybe.
Sophie and Cameron and Henri themselves had been told to stand directly in front of Aristides. To his left, looking none too happy, stood the Anglion delegation. James Listfold had tilted his head enquiringly at Cameron when they’d passed him, but the other three had barely glanced in their direction.
Barron Deepholt had both hands clasped over his cane, his knuckles pale where they clenched the wood, as he stood watching the emperor. Beside him, Sir Harold stood at sharply set attention that would have pleased the most exacting military inspector. James was also focused on the emperor, his posture that of a well-trained courtier showing respect to authority. Next to him, Sevan Allowood looked tired but somehow resolute, his jaw set. He was sweating lightly but Sophie couldn’t fault him for that. The throne room was, like most of the palace, overheated for her taste.
After her initial glance at them, she made herself ignore the Anglions as they were ignoring her. She was glad of the robes and the enveloping folds that allowed her to grip the sides to hide the slight tremor in her hands. She could hide those but she couldn’t quell the sick feeling in her stomach. No matter what happened here this morning, part of it was bound to be unpleasant.
Aristides lifted his gaze from the three of them and glanced around the room. “It is early,” he said. “And I know some of you have been roused from your beds. But the matter brought before me was too urgent to wait.”
Sophie’s grip on the fine wool tightened. She could almost hear the words of her old deportment instructor telling her that ‘ladies keep their hands clasped in front of them, Sophia, not scrunched in their skirts like a naughty child.’ Right now, the rules of deportment could go to damnation.
“Last night,” the emperor continued, “after departing the palace, it seems Lord and Lady Scardale and the Maistre of our Academe were attacked in their carriage as they traveled the streets of our city. An attempt was made to kidnap Lady Scardale.”
She thought she heard a grunt of surprise from the barron, but it was quickly stifled.
Aristides was looking at her. “Lady Scardale, is this correct?”
“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty, it is. There was an explosion and our carriage was overturned. There were at least two men and a driver who tried to take me from the carriage while my husband and the maistre were incapacitated.”
“And did these men say anything in particular?”
“Only that they wanted me.” She wasn’t about to repeat exactly what had been said. There was no need. She turned slightly, looking Barron Deepholt in the face. “They spoke Anglish, Your Imperial Majesty.”
“You lie!” the barron exploded.
Aristides gestured sharply and the barron snapped his mouth closed with visible effort.
“Native speakers, Lady Scardale?”
“To my ear, yes, Your Imperial Majesty. They had no Illvyan accent that I could detect.”
“And did you recognize any of their voices?”
“No. One of them spoke very low. They were trying to conceal their identities. They wore masks. And the one who seemed to be in charge had a hooded cloak. I didn’t see their faces.”
“I see. Was there anything you noticed that may identify them?”
“A gun fired into the cobbles, Your Imperial Majesty. A chunk hit my arm.” She pushed her sleeve back to reveal the wound. Rachelle had cleaned it and covered it with some sort of clear paste that had set hard, but left it otherwise untended. At Henri’s instructions, she’d told Sophie when she’d asked. Now she understood why. “I believe the man with the gun was similarly wounded. In the leg. His right thigh, if I remember rightly.”
“Your Imperial Majesty, I must protest,” Barron Deepholt stepped forward, the movement jerky. “These accusations are unfounded. Lady Scardale is trying to poison you against us.”
“Oh? To what end, my lord barron?”
“So she does not have to return to Anglion, clearly.” The barron thumped his cane against the marble floor. “Look at her, standing there in those robes. Flaunting her defiance of our temple.”
“My lord,” Aristides said quietly. “If Lady Scardale wishes to stay in Illvya, she knows very well that she has only to ask. There is no need for her to make up stories. I would not allow her to be removed from my realm against her will. I have offered her my protection. Wh
ich has been violated.” The emphasis on the last word cracked through the room.
The barron swallowed. “Still, Your Imperial Majesty. Perhaps she has other outcomes she wishes to achieve.”
“Such as? You have continually assured her of her safety in Anglion. What plot do you believe she has formed in the few weeks she has been my guest?”
“I—”
“As for her claims being unfounded, they are not. The scene of the crime was investigated by my own guard and several of my imperial mages. There is evidence of a magical detonation and, indeed, a bullet found in the street and, as I understand, damage to the street that a bullet being fire into the cobbles could cause. True, Lord Scardale and the maistre were unconscious for some of the attack, but they also remember the explosion.”
“She’s a traitor who wishes to take the throne,” Sevan Allowood said suddenly. He stepped forward, shaking James off when the older man tried to haul him back.
“Indeed, Mestier Allowood? How curious. It seems an odd tactic to flee the country one is supposedly trying to conquer,” Aristides said. “But perhaps you know something I do not?”
Sevan glared at Sophie but didn’t say anything.
“Your Imperial Majesty, you must forgive my secretary. He is overcome,” the barron said, sounding outright worried.
“But what could concern him? Did your ship bring bad news from home, my lord barron?”
What was going on? Aristides clearly was working his way around to a point. She just had no idea what it might be.
The barron shook his head, subsiding.
“As it happens, your secretary is of interest to this discussion. As is the rest of your party.”
“Your Imperial Majesty?” Sevan wasn’t the only one looking sweaty now. A bead of moisture was rolling slowly down the barron’s forehead.
“Once my guard brought word from Lady Scardale that her attackers had spoken Anglish, you will agree that it is natural that my attention was drawn to the Anglions already within my palace. After you were summoned here this morning, my mages conducted a search of each of your rooms.”