“I know you admired my first father,” Morghiad said slowly.
“Hedinar was not-” But she paused before she said anything further, and tried to rearrange her words. “I did not love him.
Admiration is different.”
“And King Marteus?”
That man had died over three-and-a-halfthousand years ago! Artemi felt a rush of heat fill her veins and her head, and if she could have wielded in anger at that moment, she almost certainly would have done. But instead she tried to think of the home she would return to, and all ofthe things about it that she had missed. “Marteus and I were never lovers. It was a friendship;
nothing more,” she said eventually.
Morghiad wore an expression that she knew was meant to convey his disbelief, but she ignored it. He had not been there; he could not possibly have known.
“Why do you accept me when you are so different? Not that I’d have you any other way.” Blazes, she’d have hated knowing precisely whom else he was attracted to!
“It is in the nature of fire to burn people, yet the fire is beautiful. It would be a hollow, meaningless thing if it were not dangerous.”
She smiled weakly in response, but could think of little else to say. In the years before, he had demonstrated such devotion to her as to risk the lives and wellbeing of all the people of Calidell just to see that she was safe. Even as a young woman without her memories, Artemi
had possessed enough morality to be furious at him for it. She had thought it a sign of madness. And now that he had done the right thing for countless others – now that he was a true hero – she felt only sadness at it. Morghiad was no longer hers alone, and that knowledge hurt her more than any infidelity. “I suppose I must accept your nature too. You are just the sort of man to do the right thing for the greater good, even if it hurts
us.... You gave your neck to Dorlunh, and now your body to her. As much as I despise both acts, I would not change the selflessness within you that gave rise to them. I would not-” Burn it, she was beginning to cry! “I would not alter you.”
But Morghiad did not nod in agreement. His lips were compressed into a thin line, and the creases upon his forehead were multiplying. “I am not selfless, Artemi. Or good. And
know this: if any man who is aware that you are my wife – if any man so much as touches you, I will see him dead.”
“Then we are in agreement. The same goes for any other queen or peasant who tries what Dorinna has done. IfI ever have the misfortune to see one like her again, I will carve out her throat and shove her eyeballs into the hole and follocks to your precious peace of nations!”
“Best you don’t meet one
then.”
“Best I don’t.” Oh, but it would have been so easy for Artemi to find this Dorinna, had she lived. Few others would be idiotic enough to anger an assassin - an assassin who had been specifically trained to kill obnoxious royalty, no matter how many guards or stone walls or peace treaties they had to protect them! Artemi began to plan exactly how she would have reaped her revenge in that
imaginary world. Even if she was unlikely to meet another woman like her in any lifetime, it would be good to have a plan. Very good indeed.
“She stays,” Kalad said firmly, and placed his hands upon his hips.
Danner’s eyes appeared greyer than usual, but also larger and wetter. Fool man, Kalad thought to himself. Wolves could
not cry.
“You either leave this house, or you get used to having her around.”
The wolf shifted his weight between his front paws as if to make a half-hearted attempt at stamping.
“You cannot spend all day, every day on that spot in the garden,” Kalad said firmly. But it was worse than that. Danner growled at Mirel when she came near him, and there was every
chance that the animal would try to bite her. It was not acceptable, or safe, especially for Danner. It would only take one nip for Mirel to be provoked into killing his wolf, and Kalad did not want to go through all ofthat again. “Fine. You must leave.” Danner looked to the mountains beyond, and then lowered his head onto his paws. “Go,” Kalad said. His wolf whined at him. “For Blazes’ sake, Danner,
Go!” Kalad kicked at the grass for emphasis, which at least prompted the animal to get to its feet.
“LEAVE!” Kalad bellowed, and this time the wolf obeyed. He slunk away with his tail between his legs and his muzzle lowered.
“It’s for your own good,” Kalad muttered quietly enough for only a wolf to hear, “Just don’t come back.” The pale fur of Danner’s backside had vanished into the shadows by the time the
last word had left Kalad’s mouth, and he felt a moment of relief. Their years together had been fun ones, filled with adventure and hunting and companionship, but now Kalad was a settled man. Sacrifices had to be made if he ever hoped to be happy.
Danner would be far more content without Mirel’s scent filling his nose, and Mirel would be happier without the fear of being mauled everywhere she went.
“He is gone?” his wife asked when he returned to the manor.
Kalad nodded, and kissed her on the forehead.
“I know you shall miss him,” she said softly, “It is a great sacrifice you have made.”
Kalad dug around in his wardrobe to find a clean shirt. He needed something more sensible to wear to the dinner he was hosting. “Please. Do not remind me.” Blazed light, he had never thought he would one day be
hosting dinners! He looked down at his gut while he threaded his arms into the new clothing. He had not grown fat yet, and that ought to have been a sign he was not turning into too much of a fool lord to have any sense. He sighed, and recalled an old wish he’d once had. As a boy, he had so wanted to be as good as his brother and sister with the sword, but each successive year of lessons had demonstrated that his skills did not lie there. He had
become bored by the repetitive nature of it all, and worse, frustrated. At the very least, those lessons had kept him fit and strong, which he most certainly did not feel now.
“You must lose those worries, dear husband,” Mirel said as she smoothed the fabric ofthe shirt over his arms. “I shall take them away if they are stubborn.”
“Sweetheart?”
Mirel smiled handsomely at him. “Darling?”
“You need to stay fit to be able to fight as a Kusuru fights, yes?” If Kalad’s memory of his mother and Tallyn Hunter’s obsession with running about the practice yard served him, exercise was something those people breathed.
She nodded slowly. “Of course. But my blades are all gone, and I cannot wield, so I could hardly describe myself as one of The Dedicated now.”
“But you can still fight with a sword?”
“You want lessons with me?”
He took her tiny hand in his and examined her thin fingers. Such delicate, feminine fingers. “There would be no point in that,” he said, “But I would like to train with you – running, strength, endurance. That sort of thing.”
“Hmm.” She removed her hand from his to twirl a section of his beard into twists. She seemed to enjoy doing that. “Perhaps you could have wielded a sword, Kalad Jade’an. Perhaps you had the wrong tutor. The Pirate King Raene used to turn his beard into coils. Did you know that?”
“Was he handsome?”
“You are more so,” Mirel said. “But you could be magnificent.”
He grinned as he led her away to dinner, and barely tempered that smile while he
entertained their guests. Lord and Lady Caffrey were in attendance, low-born Calidellian nobles who had been distant cousins to the Lorthians. The Lorthians, of course, had been the previous inhabitants of the manor that now belonged to Kalad, and they had ruled the surrounding estate, collected dues from the tenants and had even left behind most of their serving staff. But the Lorthian name was gone now, and the Caffreys related only to
ghosts.
Beside the Caffreys were the Medyrysh family – Hirrahan nob
les from the lands that bordered Kalad’s. The enmity that they had once borne for the Lorthians and the Caffreys was still evident in their strained smiles and lined cheeks, but they could not have been accused of being uncivil. At the very least, they were kind to Yulia, who had a wonderfully convincing Hirrahan accent this evening.
“Do you know, Kahriss Yulia, I do not recall you having such fine blue eyes,” Lord Medyrysh said, trying to tuck the straining fabric of his doublet into his belt. “Marriage has really brought out a sparkle in you.”
“Why thank you,” Mirel replied, “My husband is both wise and kind enough to bring a sparkle to the dullest of old rocks.” There was mischief in the look she shot Kalad with those words.
One of the maids frowned fiercely as she placed a bowl of soup before Mirel, and pretended to drop the serving spoon beside it. There was a clatter as it hit the table, and several drops of the liquid ended theirjourney upon Mirel’s bodice. Though all the other staff had accepted Mirel was Yulia with barely a twitch in their cheek or a raised eyebrow, this one maid seemed to have grown spiders in her undergarments over it. Mirel had
said she would have to be fixed, though Kalad did not really desire to know exactly what she had meant by that.
“It does not matter,” Mirel said coolly. “I have other dresses besides this one.” Her smile could have turned snakes to stone, and Kalad was entranced by its wickedness.
“You would wear rags well, my love,” Kalad said as he handed her his napkin, “Now, have any of you here heard about the blood
drinking tigers of Tegra?” He began to relate the tale of his adventure to the captive audience, and as far as he could tell, it did well to thaw some of the frost he saw in his wife. By the time they staggered to their bedchamber after dinner, Mirel appeared to be in very good spirits indeed.
“I must kill that servant,” she said as she began undressing. “I think I will make it slow so that she suffers a little, but no longer
than a day. Is that fair, husband?”
He sighed, and helped her unpick the last of her lacing. “Rel, you cannot kill everyone you do not like, or who does not like you. I forbid you to kill her.”
“That sort of demand will make my life very dull indeed.”
Kalad stroked her hair and whispered in her ear. “I will make tonight perfect for you if you promise to do as I ask. I know the things that make you scream. Let me show them to you.”
Her chin rose and her eyelids became lazy. “I could make you give me those things.”
“But it would not be the same, would it?” He traced a finger down between her small breasts, smiling as her nipples contracted and became pointed. “You cannot make me want to please you. It must be of my own accord. Do not kill the servant girl, and do not maim her.”
She pushed his hand away and folded her arms. “Now you
are adding new terms to our agreement.”
“You can shout at her. That is it.”
Mirel sighed quietly, called him a fool under her breath, but eventually acquiesced. “Do as you will with me then,” she instructed, and Kalad pushed her to the bed. To the left of the bed was a jar of Tedarahan scented oil. It had been part of Yulia’s nightly bathing ritual, but she no longer had need of it. Kalad
poured some of it into the palm of his hand, and began rubbing it gently into Mirel’s skin. He recalled how a Quidarhan wielder had once done the very same to him with oils, and how it had driven him so wild that he was unable to appear in publicfor hours.
For a long while he worked on every part of her body – her legs and arms and buttocks and breasts, but for her sex, until she begged him to touch her there.
“Please, please, please!” she breathed.
Kalad was happy to oblige her. He kissed her, and he caressed her, and he teased her until she moaned at him some more. And when she could not bear to wait for him any longer, he entered her as slowly as he dared. Mirel’s screams at that moment were most likely responsible for awakening the entire house, but Kalad was a proud man indeed.
It was an unfair thing that he could feel her fires and she could not – such clean and pure fires coursing through his blood – but she seemed more than content by the end of it. The two ofthem fell into a deep slumber afterward, and Kalad contemplated in his dreams what an enjoyable marriage he had.
The following morning, they led their guests to the archery range, where Lord Medyrysh was keen to demonstrate his Hirrahan bowmanship to all who watched. It was amusing, Kalad thought as he wrapped his arms about his wife, that Lord Medyrysh could even hope to fire a weapon with that belly of his in the way. But fire it he did, and the arrow landed in the second circle.
“Very good,” Kalad said, clapping his hands. “Most impressive.”
“Will you not have a go, my Kahr?” Lord Caffrey asked. He held a much smaller, Calidellian
bow in his hands, and he did not seem altogether capable with it.
Kalad shook his head. “Chopping and shooting are not my skills. My wife, however...?” He nodded encouragingly to the Calidellian bow that lay before her.
It was too much of a lure for Mirel, and she took it up in a second. With the most elegant and swiftest of motions, she lifted the bow, drew and released as if she had practised only the day
before. The arrow hit the bull squarely in the middle, and she bowed to her captive audience. “I am in awe,” Kalad said.
“Aren’t we all?” Lady Medyrysh added. Now, if anyone there had looked as if they could draw a Hirrahan longbow, it would have been Lady Medyrysh. Well over six feet tall and with shoulders as broad as any cart ox, even Kalad felt unremarkable beside her. She took up her husband’s bow and readied
herself to fire it. After three shots, she had not only pierced the bull, but had succeeded in knocking the blazed target over. “Those bows certainly have some power in them,” Kalad remarked. “Groundskeeper?” He looked about himself for the man to set the target right, but the groundskeeper appeared to have given himself the morning off. “Blazes. Lord ofthe manor might as well do it,” Kalad said as he jogged toward the row of boards. When he reached them, he felt something whisk past his ear. What - who was firing-?
But before he could finish the thought, he saw Mirel flying backwards through the air with an arrow in her gut. But she rallied almost as soon as she hit the ground, and she leapt on top of Lord Medyrysh to throttle him. What in the damned fires of Achellon was going on?!
Kalad ducked as another arrow sailed past his head, fired
this time by Lady Medyrysh. Lord Caffrey watched on impassively as if nothing unremarkable had happened, while his wife was nowhere to be seen. The only explanation that Kalad could entertain in that moment was that they wanted the Lorthian estate for themselves. Perhaps they had come to a deal, and that deal involved offing two very inconvenient members oftheir nations’ royalty. And what a clever play the two couples had
made of being old enemies!
Kalad hauled one of the arrows out ofthe nearest target and began running toward the group, dodging Lady Medyrysh’s shots as he gained ground. She had dipped her points in pinh, he realised as the fourth one swished past his ear and splattered his cheek with its dark fluid. Well, pinh would give her no advantages against him! The fifth one struck his hip too rapidly for him to avoid it, and Kalad
stumbled to the ground with a grunt. It was only two heartbeats before the change was upon him, and Lady Medyrysh’s face became a mask of horror.
Kalad ran at her with his teeth bared and his weapon held aloft. As she stumbled backward and screamed, he thrust his arrow into her neck and held it there. “No,” she gurgled, and Kalad watched as the black oil from his skin dripped down the shaft and into her throat. When
he was sure that enough had entered her wound, he left her where she was and turned to search for Mirel.
By now Lord Medyrysh was already headless and Lord Caffrey lay upon the ground with a broken neck. Caffrey would live, but only if Kalad permitt
ed it, and he was not feeling terribly generous at that moment. Mirel lay on the floor beside him, her whole body a quiver for arrows.
One by one, Kalad started
pulling them out. “There is a lot of poison in you, my wife,” he lamented.
“Is the big bitch dead?” Mirel asked. Already her voice sounded weak, and already the black stains of poison ran beneath her skin.
Kalad looked across to Lady Medyrysh. Her eyes bulged like a fish’s. “She’s gone. You saved my life, Rel.”
“I did, sweet husband. I did that. You are good to me.” Her
eyes fluttered closed as she smiled.
“No.” Kalad shook her, and the ache in his chest was unmistakable. This was what it felt to love a woman, he thought. This was what it was to need someone to live and never leave his side. “Mirel!”
Voices of Blaze (Volume 5 of The Fireblade Array) Page 31