Waters of Fate

by Jessica Jarman

  Carefully she reached to her side and scooted along the stone floor until she felt the rough wall. Leaning heavily on it, she managed to get to her feet. Her entire body ached, and her hands and knees burned from the cuts the rocks had inflicted. She turned towards the approaching voices. She could see a faint glow down the passageway.

  Closing her eyes she sent up a prayer the Goddess. Please, Lady, give me strength to face and endure what is to come. Even though they won’t witness this, let my actions be worthy of my King and Queen. She bit her lip. And my mate.

  Suddenly light illuminated the cavern, stinging her eyes. She fought the urge to cover her eyes, and got her first look at her captors. There were two—one was tall and lanky, the other a bit shorter. Both were filthy and their clothes were tattered and hung on their frames.

  The taller one pushed his hair from his eyes and scanned the cavern. When his gaze landed on her, he sneered.

  “There’s the little Princess.” He took a step towards her.

  Neiva braced her legs apart and lifted her chin. “You will not get away with this. My father will see to that.”

  Both men laughed, an ugly sound that bounced around the cavern.

  “Your father hasn’t met our demands. Makes me believe he doesn’t care so much for his human mate and half breed daughter,” the man closer to her spat.

  “Your demands?” she questioned.

  “He hasn’t released the true King,” the short one stated.

  Neiva burst out laughing, despite the coldness spreading through her. “I assume you mean Darrick. He is not the true King, and will never sit on the throne. Never!”

  “We’ll see.” The taller man glanced around again. “Where is she? Your mother? Where is she hiding?”

  The other man moved around, peering behind large rocks.

  “You won’t find her. She’s not here.” Relief filled Neiva. Thank you, Sweet Lady, for allowing my mother escape.

  “Don’t lie to me, you little bitch!” The larger man flashed next to her and grabbed her by the arms, shaking her painfully. “Where is she?”

  “Dead! She tried to escape and fell into the sea,” Neiva lied and was satisfied to see a glimmer of fear in the man’s eyes. “There is no place in this realm or any other you can hide. My father will destroy you. Not only have you killed his mate, but you have taken his son from him as well. He will show you no mercy, and you will beg for death before he is finished with you. No one can save you now.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Standing on the cliffs, Rhys turned to his King and his friends. “This is it, where we were in the dream. We stood right here…” He trailed off as the emptiness he felt swelled. Unable to feel Neiva, everything in him protested.

  Kaelen nodded. “There are dozens of caves among the cliffs. We’ll separate and search. Keep your presence cloaked,” he ordered. “If you find Neiva or those who took her, call to the others.” He waited until his friends nodded, then flashed away.

  Leilen stepped towards Rhys and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “No one will rest until she is returned to you.”

  Dermet laid a hand on his other shoulder and nodded. “We will find her, Rhys.”

  Rhys gave a slight nod. Their support and acceptance of his and Neiva’s being meant gave a small measure of comfort.

  “Remember to stay cloaked,” he reminded before flashing away.

  Time meant nothing to him as he travelled from one cave to another. He imagined Neiva—his Princess—trapped in one of the dank, cold holes and fury fuelled him as he continued. He would kill them, and he would need magicks to do it. No, he’d use his bare hands to squeeze the life out of the bastards.

  Flashing into the next cave, he instantly stilled. A small fire hovered above the stone floor—obviously fuelled by magicks. He could feel the power in the small space. He closed his eyes and tried to reach out to Neiva. He cursed inwardly. Nothing. But something was going on here. Perhaps this was where her captors were hiding out, waiting.

  Careful to mask himself, Rhys moved farther into the cave, even as it narrowed. After several paces, he froze. Great Goddess, Neiva. Her voice floated on the air. He allowed himself one moment to savour the sweet sound before stepping forward. A light shone and he moved steadily towards it. Other voices joined his mate’s—he instantly recognised one. He would never forget that voice, the one which so easily spoke of Neiva’s death.

  The passageway narrowed and the light brightened. Rhys stepped soundlessly into the large cavern. His heart stopped when he saw his mate. Sweet Lady Above! Her hair hung tangled around her shoulders, dirt clung to her face. He could see trails through the grime where tears had fallen. Blood dripped from her fingers and stained the knees of her ripped jeans. Rhys’ heart thundered in his ears. His Princess had crawled…crawled until her flesh tore. His vision blurred and fire filled his veins.

  “My King, I’ve found her. Remain hidden. Her captors are with her.”

  He narrowed his eyes when Neiva burst out laughing. He’d been so focused on her appearance he hadn’t heard what the men had said.

  “I assume you mean Darrick. He is not the true King, and will never sit on the throne. Never!” Neiva bit out.

  Now pride mingled with the fury inside him. Damn, she was magnificent. Even battered and outnumbered, she was every inch the Princess.

  “We’ll see.” The taller of the two men glanced around. “Where is she? Your mother? Where is she hiding?”

  The other man moved around, peering behind large rocks.

  “You won’t find her. She’s not here.” A smile kissed Neiva’s lips, though Rhys could see her hands trembling at her sides.

  “Don’t lie to me, you little bitch!” The larger man flashed next to her and grabbed her by the arms, shaking her painfully. “Where is she?”

  “Dead! She tried to escape and fell into the sea.” Neiva tilted her head proudly, staring unwaveringly into the man’s face. “There is no place in this realm or any other you can hide. My father will destroy you. Not only have you killed his mate, but you have taken his son from him as well. He will show you no mercy, and you will beg for death before he is finished with you. No one can save you now.”

  “Conric?” The man farthest from Neiva looked at his companion, panic clear in his eyes. “If the Queen is dead…”

  “Quiet!” the other man—Conric—bellowed. “She is not the Queen! This changes nothing. We still have this…this bitch, and as far as Kaelen is concerned we still have his mate. Nothing. Has. Changed.”

  “Wrong.” The King’s voice echoed though the space.

  Rhys turned his head. Kaelen and the others stood blocking the passageway.

  “Dad,” Neiva cried.

  Kaelen didn’t look at her as he answered—he kept his gaze pinned on the man who dared lay his hands on the Princess. “It’s all right, sweetheart. It’s over.”

  Conric yanked Neiva towards him, spun her until her back was against his front. He held her wrists in one hand, and in the other, he gripped a wickedly long blade…against Neiva’s throat.

  “Don’t move,” he screamed.

  “Conric! Goddess, Conric, I can’t flash out of here,” the other man whined, grasping his head. “Damn, my head is going to explode!”

  Rhys took advantage of the commotion and made his way around the perimeter of the cave until he stood just behind his mate and the one who imprisoned her.

  “Doesn’t feel so good to have your powers limited, does it?” Leilen smirked, and Rhys realised his friend had cast the same magicks over the men as they had over Neiva.

  “Lift the spell, or I’ll slit her throat,” Conric threatened, the hand holding the knife shaking.

  At first Rhys didn’t place the sound coming from Neiva. Surprise filled him as he recognised her laugh.

  “You’ve just killed yourself,” she said, her voice low and calm. “My mate will never let you out of here now.”

  “Don’t try to deceive me, Princess,” he sneered
. “None of them is your mate.” He nodded towards the King and his men.

  Rhys moved closer and allowed his shields to drop. “No, but I am.”

  As soon as Rhys’ voice reached her ears, Neiva used all her weight to drop to the floor. In surprise, Conric didn’t even try to hold on to her. She rolled away, and nearly wept when her father pulled her to her feet and into his arms. Warmth and love surrounded her. She closed her eyes against the tears that formed and breathed in his familiar scent. A strangled cry made her pull away and turn towards the sound. The short man was on the ground, motionless, with Leilen and Dermet standing over him. Their eyes, however, were on their friend.

  Rhys and Conric faced each other, crouched down, ready to spring.

  “Oh Goddess, Rhys!” She stepped forward, only to be held back. In confusion, she looked back at her father. “Dad, please, don’t let him—”

  “It is his right.” Kaelen watched the pair circle each other, his face an expressionless mask.

  “You think to kill me?” Conric taunted. “I’m not afraid to die for King Darrick. I will gladly die to see him on the throne.”

  Rhys didn’t speak. Neiva held her breath, afraid of what would happen next.

  “You’ve taken my powers. You would be so cowardly as to face a powerless man?” Conric goaded.

  “You faced a powerless woman, you bastard.”

  Neiva couldn’t suppress the shiver that raced up her spine at the low, gravelly tone of Rhys’ voice.

  “And,” Rhys reared back and punched the man in the nose, “I don’t need my powers make you pay.”

  Conric grabbed his face, blood seeping through his fingers. After a moment, he leapt forward, tackling Rhys around the waist. Neiva cried out as they fell to the ground. She tried to move forward to see better, but her father’s hand held her firmly in place.

  Each man pounded at the other. Neiva couldn’t tell who was bleeding from where anymore. Then Rhys flipped the man on his back and, straddling his chest, closed his hands around Conric’s throat.

  As her mate leaned forward, until his nose nearly touched her captor’s, Neiva strained to hear what Rhys was saying.

  “You dared touch the Princess of Fey, the King’s daughter. For that alone, you die.” Rhys’ voice was a whisper on the air. “For daring to touch my mate, I make this promise to you, you son of a bitch. You will not be a martyr for Darrick’s cause. Darrick of Fey will never sit on the throne. I will kill him myself before that happens.”

  Conric convulsed, hands clawing at Rhys’ as he fought to draw in air. Time slowed, everything around them seemed muddled. Rhys stared at Conric, jaw set, until the man stopped moving.

  Finally Rhys released him and stood. Neiva tore her gaze from the motionless man as Rhys turned towards her. Her heart thudded painfully at the tortured expression on his face. Pulling her arm free from her father’s grip, she rushed towards Rhys. He stepped forward and pulled her against him. Running his hands up and down her back, he buried his face in her neck and murmured in the tongue of their people.

  “Rhys…” She kissed his head and clung to him.

  He pulled back slightly and cupped her face. His gaze swept over her, zeroing in on her neck. She could feel the anger come off him in waves. Neiva lifted a hand shakily to the small cut.

  “It’s fine, Rhys. It doesn’t hurt. I’m fine,” she assured. “You probably hurt more than I do.” She gently touched above his eye where a nasty bruise formed.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, then leaned forward and kissed the wound. He trailed his lips up over her jaw, kissing her cheeks, her forehead, her nose. Neiva’s body burned as music built around them, softly, then louder and louder.

  “When I saw you…” His voice broke as he smoothed his hand over her hair.

  “You saved me. I didn’t think… But you came. You found me.” She slid her fingertips over his lips. “You found me. Just like you said you would.”

  The Song wound itself around them, almost a living thing, caressing them. Rhys caught her wrist and brought her palm to his lips. He kissed the already healing flesh, and looked over her shoulder. Neiva frowned as his eyes hardened ever so slightly. He kissed her palm again, then released her. He stepped back, away from her.

  “What’s wrong?” She reached for him.

  He shuddered and moved farther back. “Princess, I’m…” he cleared his throat, “I’m overjoyed that you are now safe. I’ll leave you in the care of your father. I have duties to see to.”

  “Rhys?” Uncertain, she glanced at the other men in the room. Leilen and Dermet kept their gazes on the ground, but her father had his locked firmly on Rhys. Neiva’s stomach dropped at his hard expression. She turned back to Rhys. “Don’t—“

  “Goddess bless you, Princess.” With that, green and blue lights surrounded him and he flashed from the cavern.

  Neiva spun around to face her father. “What did you do?” Tears spilled over and slid down her cheeks. “What did you do, Dad?”

  Kaelen shook his head. “I did nothing. I’ll deal with him later. For now, we need to get you home. Your mother is sick with worry.”

  “Deal with him? Why? He saved me!” she shouted.

  “He denied you,” he said softly.

  “And that’s not for you to deal with. I deal with that!” she bit out.

  “Neiva, you’ve been through so much, and you’re upset. You don’t understand—” he started.

  “No. You don’t understand. He denied me because of you, because of his friendship and loyalty to you.” She swiped angrily at the moisture on her cheeks. Weariness beat down on her, and she trembled. From anger or exhaustion, she didn’t know. “Please just…just take me home.”

  Kaelen stared at her a moment, seeming to search her face for something, then nodded. He stepped forward and gathered her close. “Let’s go home, my daughter.”

  An hour later, Neiva leaned back in the large tub and closed her eyes, only to open them again when there was a soft knock on the door.

  “Yes?” she called.

  The door cracked open. “Honey? I brought you some tea.”

  Neiva smiled at the sound of her mother’s voice. “Come in, Mom.”

  Abagail entered and shut the door behind her before crossing to sit on the edge of the tub. “Are you all right?”

  Accepting the offered cup, Neiva took a small sip of the warm liquid before answering. “Yes.” She held her hand in front of her, palm up. “See, already healed.”

  “That’s not what I was referring to,” Abagail answered quietly.

  Neiva sighed. “What are you referring to? Am I all right after being kidnapped? Am I all right with Rhys walking away from me? Am I all right with Dad being so angry with him and wanting to ‘deal with him’? Which one?”

  Her mother chuckled. “Any of the above.”

  “I’m tired, but I think that’s just an after-effect of the spell.” Kaelen, Leilen and Dermet had worked together to lift the spell from her, and she had full use of her powers again, though she wasn’t in any shape to do any magicks at this point. “As for Rhys… I don’t know. I meant it when I told you I forgive him. I’ll accept it if he denies me.”

  “Will you?” Abagail raised a brow.

  “What choice do I have? I can’t force him to say the words and be with me.” Frustration had her slamming the cup on the rim of the tub. Abagail caught it deftly before it tumbled to the floor.

  “Neiva,” she admonished.

  “What?” she asked, tears clogging her throat. “I can’t keep fighting him on this. And it looks like I’d have to fight Dad too.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “Goddess, you should have seen the way he looked at Rhys, Mom. It must be tearing him apart, knowing he’s upset Dad so badly.”

  “I don’t think that’s what’s tearing him apart.” Abagail smiled.

  “You didn’t see it,” Neiva insisted.

  “Oh I’m sure your father’s…moodiness,” she rolled her eyes, “isn’t making
him happy, but if I had to guess, I’d say you’re on his mind right now more than Kaelen is.”

  Neiva chuckled weakly. “A lot of good that does me.” She swirled her finger through the bubbles floating in the tub. “When he found me and held me, Mom, everything felt right. His arms around me, his lips—” She stopped abruptly, causing Abagail to laugh.

  “I understand,” the older woman assured. “Honey, it’ll be okay. Your father is going to grumble. You know how he is, but it will all be okay in the end.”

  She forced a smile for her mother’s sake.

  “Now, let’s get you out of that tub. You look like you’re about to fall asleep among the bubbles!” Abagail stood and took a large towel from the cupboard near the tub. “You’ll stay here tonight. No arguments. I need you to. Indulge your mom in this.”

  Neiva didn’t argue as she rose and stepped from the tub. She didn’t argue when her mother hustled her off to bed and tucked her in. And she didn’t argue when Abagail curled up next to her on the large bed and held her as she cried herself to sleep.

  Chapter Twelve

  Rhys stood in the gardens outside the Great Hall. A ball was underway—a celebration of the safe return of their Queen and Princess. He hadn’t summoned the courage to go in yet. So here he stood, in the shadows, like a scared youth. Pitiful.

  He closed his eyes and pictured Neiva in his mind. The memory of her filthy and hurt in the dark cave, facing Darrick’s followers, immediately surfaced. His throat tightened painfully. Thank the Goddess they’d found her, that she was safe. He pushed the picture aside and tried to imagine what she’d be wearing that evening. His cock hardened as he conjured an image of her in a traditional Fey gown. Soft material clinging to her full breasts, but leaving her back bare. Her wings would be released and framing her in silver and blue. The skirt would flow around her long legs, brushing against silky soft skin. What he wouldn’t give to slide his hand along the smoothness, up to…

  Fuck! He shifted his legs in hopes of alleviating the pressure on his growing erection. It was hopeless, of course.