His stomach turned as if he’d swallowed vinegar. Being ripped to pieces by an enraged mob was what he could look forward to if her people discovered he was no stronger than one of them now, and he had no hopes of reversing his misfortune with the magic that permeated the Queen’s valley. He would have hesitated to venture there in his earth form, let alone in this feeble flesh.
Katsumi began to clear the table. “Besides, I’ve never heard of humans having any kind of magical ability, so even if we found a way to study the power that shackles the Queen, we’re not likely to be able to use it. It’s too much of a long shot to waste resources or risk people on.”
In other words, he was back where he’d started. He propped an elbow on the table and rested the side of his face in his palm, trying not to look as tired as he felt.
She cleared her throat, making him glance up at her. “If you have no further need of me for the night, I’ll retire.”
He nodded, relieved. “Where will you sleep?”
“The armory.”
That contained nothing to sleep on, but its door could be closed securely, and it was better than the scorched glassyard of the barracks. “Take as many of those furs as you need, and sleep well.”
She blinked as if unsure what to say in return, but took one rolled-up fur, watching him as if to see if he’d meant it. Then she left, closing the door quietly behind her.
Marus waited, listening to the crackle of flames and the soft hiss as a log broke apart into glowing embers, before he got up and moved a bench before the door, as quietly as he could. That ensured she couldn’t come back in unexpectedly, and he was left in peace. It should have been a relief, but he felt strangely alone instead.
Which was nothing new. All the Princes had been alone from the moment of their birth, their mother a raging, insane entity trapped in the heart of her own land, her entire brood ruthlessly territorial. When he had been master of Copper Lake, his human servants had known their place, which was a respectful distance from him. He was their benefactor and their patron, but not their equal or their confidante, because the best way to keep his people aware of his power without needing to display it was to hold himself apart from them.
Especially because he had a habit—which some of his brothers would despise—of indulging himself with the pleasures humans could provide. He liked their food, enjoyed their art and didn’t turn down any of them in his bed, but he made sure they never took that for a sign of weakness on his part. So he sure as hell wouldn’t show any vulnerability now.
He added some of the dried fish to the still-hot water in the kettle and set that in the remains of the fire. The reason he’d never searched the outpost was a fear of being discovered, if human squatters occupied any other parts of it. But two days ago, he couldn’t endure the hunger any more, so he’d ventured out to gather firewood and search for berries. Naturally, he was spotted by a human, who bolted away.
But he’d reminded himself the land wasn’t likely to be one of his brothers’ territories, so any other humans nearby would come straight to him. He only had to receive them with complete confidence, and they would never suspect a thing.
The scent of fish rose into the air as his meal cooked. Hoping she couldn’t smell it from the armory, he lifted the kettle off the embers, his mouth watering. He blew on the chunks of fish rather than wait for them to cool, ate them, drank the broth and felt pleasantly full for the first time in three weeks.
Sleep would be welcome, but there was another precaution to take first. He rinsed the kettle, unlatched a window and flung the water out. The humans obviously knew some Princes enjoyed the taste of food, but if they were also aware no Prince depended on such sustenance as long as he returned to earth form daily, any signs of eating on the sly might give him away.
Of course, Katsumi might notice half the fish had disappeared.
He latched the window, frowning. He’d done his best to intimidate her, and she’d seemed cowed, but that gun of hers had raised the hair on his arms. If she’d been looking at him when she had carried it in, she would have seen the jolt that went through his entire body. She had no idea how easily she might have killed an Earthborn Prince that night.
He put out the candles, spread a few thick furs on the floor and lay down. The furs were so soft it was like sinking into a cloud. He hadn’t expected so much comfort, and he had to fight off sleep, because he needed to think through the new complications of his situation.
His brothers had smashed many of the human settlements on their land, but as far as Marus was concerned, that was a waste of time and resources. He had been quite satisfied in the town of Copper Lake, where the people gave him everything he wanted. That was the proper place of humans: they served a Prince who, in turn, protected them.
Except one morning, a tidal wave of rock and mud had smashed over the farthest fields and the surviving farmers had fled screaming. Marus had bolted out of his manor house—it had been high on a hill, the only thing it had in common with the outpost—and had known at once it was one of his brothers. Not that that bothered him. He would surge to meet the challenge in earth form, rise up as a huge stone wall before the oncoming landslide, and topple forward on the idiot. It wouldn’t hurt, but it might shock him into remembering that the Princes accomplished nothing and gained nothing from fighting each other.
Once or twice, he’d thought if the humans were eradicated, fighting each other would come next, which was all the more reason to leave the humans alive.
He’d willed himself into the earth form that was raw power, a force of nature tons in weight and as imposing as mountains, the Princes’ heritage from the goddess who had spawned them. And nothing had happened.
Marus didn’t like to remember what he’d done next. Actually, his panic had been so great, he couldn’t remember it at all. He only knew he had ended up curled inside a little cave in the hillside, a hole that hadn’t looked large enough to conceal a dog. Distantly, he’d heard shrieks rising from the town before everything was smothered in wave after wave of boiling mud. The entire hill shuddered, and rocks the size of haystacks crashed down.
What felt like years passed as he huddled there, trying everything he could to return to his earth form. He closed his eyes, gripped handfuls of pebbles and dust, slammed a clenched fist against his thigh as if he could pound away flesh to reveal granite and basalt, the bones of the earth. He even sent up a silent plea to his mother, swearing he would never have dealings with vermin again if she changed him back. Nothing restored his power.
By the time exhaustion got the better of him, the destruction outside had ended. Crows cawed as they settled down on the remains of Copper Lake. Marus stayed where he was, limbs cramping, because the survivors might creep back to salvage what they could, and if they saw him, recognized him…
It wasn’t until late that night that he dared to leave the cave, because in the dark no one could see his eyes. Half the town was covered by mud set solid in the cool air, the other half crushed beneath boulders, but he found scraps of food, an egg still intact in a smashed coop, roots that hadn’t been dug up yet.
It kept him alive as he made his way south. He didn’t know where he was going, only that one of his brothers had deprived him of his power and tried to kill him, which meant he had to get well away until he worked out how it had been done.
Surviving in the barren wilderness had been a nightmarish experience. He hadn’t worn shoes in his carpeted house, so he’d torn up his clothes for foot coverings, rags that quickly wore out. The lack of food was worse. The Princes sustained themselves and recovered from injuries by returning to earth form, drawing fresh strength from the land. Without that, he had to eat and sleep—the one difficult at best, the other nerve-racking. He never knew if some hunting animal or human might come across him while he slept.
But now he could order the townsfolk to bring him food and guard him, or at least watch out for other Pri
nces. That would buy him time to regain his power. Somehow. He wondered if he could get a healer to attend him, but he couldn’t think of a convincing enough excuse. The Princes just weren’t vulnerable to human sickness. Besides, what had happened to him smacked of magic rather than the mundane.
Whatever he demanded, he’d have to tread carefully around that woman. For all her respectful words, her actions spoke a great deal louder, and everything she did told him that beneath her humanity she was solid as stone.
“Katsumi Ito,” he said softly, rolling her name in his mouth.
He thought of those dark eyes, tilted at the corners, lining him up in the sights of her rifle. No, as long as he kept the bluff going, she’d stay on his good side. Though he hoped she’d stop being so jumpy, as if he were dynamite too and might explode at any moment. Her mouth was firm and set, as though she hardly ever smiled, but as a human, she didn’t have much reason to do so.
He wondered if she was, like him, sleeping naked on fur.
The image sent a swift flush beneath his skin, a heat that tightened low in the pit of his belly, and he closed his eyes. That was the last thing he needed. Breathing slowly, he forced himself to think of something else—like his brothers. Specifically, whichever of the cowards had backstabbed him, and what he would do in return.
That calmed him, and he let his breath out. He’d sleep for now, and tomorrow he’d question Katsumi Ito about what resources her town would provide. Though he’d have to strike the right balance when he dealt with her. Every instinct told him to be confident and commanding, but something deeper made him want to simply…talk to her, and to hear her speak without fear or anger underlying every word.
The wind sighed outside the windows, and it was the last thing he heard before he slept.
Chapter Four
Kat looked up at a thin wedge of sunlight slanting into the room. For a moment she was disoriented, wondering where she was, and then the events of the last night flooded back. She sat up with a jerk.
The armory was empty and the door closed, but she still glanced down self-consciously. She’d taken off her boots and trousers before lying down, and now her shirt was rucked up past her waist. Pulling its hem below her panties, she listened. The outpost was silent.
She wasn’t used to sleeping on only a fur and a thin saddle blanket, and her joints protested as she got dressed. But the only alternative would have been the barracks, and she wasn’t closing her eyes in there until she’d cleared the remnants of the linx out. Not to mention repaired the roof and aired the place, because the straw that stuffed the few remaining pallets had to be damp and musty by now.
Feeling better with her clothes on, she stowed the fur on a shelf and glanced up at the hole in the roof where a slate had fallen. A puddle of rainwater lay on the floor beneath it. What a cheerless, unpleasant place to live in.
Odd that a Prince, who could have any luxury in the world, chose to take up residence here.
She puzzled over it as she buckled her belt and slung her rifle over her shoulder. Slumming, Mayor Stuyvesant would have said with her usual pithiness, but Kat couldn’t help thinking there was more to it than that.
Her hair had come loose from its knot. She had a comb with only one or two broken teeth, but she’d left that behind because she hadn’t hoped she would live through the night. With a piece of string, she tied her hair back before she edged the door open.
She tiptoed to the barracks and peeked in. Fragments of broken glass lay everywhere, scattered randomly and inert. Sunlight flooding down through the gap in the roof made the place look strewn with crushed ice. She wrapped a few chunks of glass in a rag, trying to maneuver them with the butt of her rifle before she realized they wouldn’t harm her. They were still unnaturally cold, but that was bearable.
She went to the stable and stowed the glass in a saddlebag, then let the pony out on a picket line. There wasn’t much grazing to be had on such poor ground, just clumps of grass pushing their way between stones, but at least returning to the town today meant the pony wouldn’t starve.
Leaving the stable, she walked out through the open gate. Pools of rainwater gleamed here and there, and the pebbles were washed clean, so their pale grey and smoke-blue seemed deeper and clearer in the sunlight. A bare twisted tree thrust up dark against the sky on the next highest summit, three hundred yards away, what they called a hangman’s hill.
From her vantage point, she could just see the edge of Solstice Harbor near the horizon; they’d chosen the location because it was hidden behind the foothills. Her home. It looked the same as always, covered with a faint haze that might have been smoke rising from chimneys or the sting of longing in her eyes.
A presentiment prickled the skin on the nape of her neck, and she turned. He stood there, in the open gateway, watching her.
The sight of him was as much a shock as before, and she tried to pretend her reflexive flinch hadn’t happened, although he wasn’t completely naked now. Still barefoot as he crossed the ground to her, but he wore the other length of silk, this one a deep smoky red. A man who’d never done a day’s honest work in his life should be flabby, especially if he lived like a parasite on people, but this wasn’t a man. He was lean instead, the muscles defined beneath the smooth bronze skin, the silk knotted tight around his narrow waist.
She jerked her gaze up, because while there was no significance in her noticing him—his indulgence in clothes was no different from a horse with its tail braided—she would have preferred to be completely indifferent. But even looking at his face—nothing lower than the face—didn’t help. Last night, there had been more shadows than firelight inside the outpost, and what had stood out most were the differences between his kind and human beings.
Now, the sunlight picked out every bone and muscle on his frame. She was as tall as most of the men in the town, but even barefoot, he overtopped her by a few inches. The sharp angles of his nose and cheekbones were so prominent they made him seem hawklike, a harshness that was only intensified by the dark stubble covering his jaws.
And, of course, the eyes that could never have belonged to anything human. She looked away before he caught her staring.
If he noticed her odd behavior, he gave no indication of it as he approached, stopping when he was a few feet away. “I hope you slept safely.”
Safely? He was the only danger nearby now. “Yes.”
“Good.”
His hair was rumpled as though he had not just slept, but tossed and turned as he’d done so. The silence stretched out awkwardly. Not knowing what to say next, she looked around for inspiration.
The outpost looked worse in the light, the roof over the barracks sagging inward, stones in the walls crumbled away here and there. A patch of lichen spread like a sore. The few outbuildings and the surrounding wall were even more of a shambles.
“Are you used to living in places like this?” she asked.
She’d blurted that out without thinking, and it took him aback. That was obvious despite the unchanging eyes; the rest of his face gave him away.
“No,” he said.
There was a distance in his voice, as if he remembered something that had happened a long time ago, but what he’d just said was more important. An opening. This way, the outpost wouldn’t stay a ruin for much longer.
And she wouldn’t be alone. “Then, if it pleases you, I could bring stonemasons and carpenters from town to repair it. It could be a much more comfortable residence, fitting for—”
“No.” That time, the answer came swift as a ricochet. “I value my privacy. There’s only one human who will come past my gates and into my presence without being pulped like a grape, and I’m looking at her. Is that understood?”
He’d gone so fast from quiet and thoughtful to the hard aloof bearing of a Prince that it took a conscious effort for her not to step back. Her mouth had gone dry. “Yes, High—yes
.”
The inhuman eyes stared through her for a moment more before he raised a brow. “Try not to look so despairing. There could be worse penalties for planning to assassinate a Prince.”
“Like what?”
She couldn’t stop herself from saying that, any more than she could blunt the sardonic edge to her voice, but it didn’t seem to ruffle him. “I could order your people into battle.”
“Battle?” That made no sense. “Who would we fight? I didn’t think Princes needed any human help to settle disputes among themselves.”
“We don’t need your help at all. But one or two of my brothers find it entertaining to resolve territorial conflicts by using humans.”
Her stomach upended. “You mean in combat against each other?”
He nodded, as unaffected as if they were talking about a children’s game played with pebbles. “Or chess on a grand scale, fought with living pieces. Or simply pitting their forces against each other in a pitched battle.”
She felt light-headed, and not just because she hadn’t eaten since that mouthful of bread at dinner. There were so few humans remaining on Avalon, and at the thought of them being slaughtered like that—for a hideous sport, forced to kill each other—her nails dug into her palms until pain throbbed through them. If he could talk about it so casually, the wrong monster had died last night.
There was nothing she could say in her people’s defense, if he chose to do what he’d described, but she wanted to strike back where it would hurt him. “You’re half-human.”
“I’m half-earth.” His mouth curved in a nice-try expression. “But there’s a reason so few of my brothers use humans to settle our differences, and it’s that your kind can be defiant. Not to mention treacherous.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
The bitter reply slipped out, and she tensed, but his smile didn’t change. “Don’t look so scared. I won’t make you fight other humans or even share my bed. Unless you want to.”
The Beast Prince Page 5