Grave of Words (Fall of Under Book 2)

by Kathryn Ann Kingsley

  This was the end of their world, wasn’t it?

  He looked down at his left arm. The wool fabric of his coat was bloody and ripped. The blood was sadly his. He had shaken off the creature who had attacked him and planted a bullet in the middle of its head.

  The wound would heal.

  “Dtu!”

  Maverick turned to watch in halfhearted amusement as the young man—Jakob, he believed his name was—raced down the road at the sight of the large humanoid wolf that was limping toward them.

  He smirked.

  “They are quite cute, aren’t they?” Ini piped from his side.

  “Indeed.”

  “I don’t think Dtu quite realizes what’s going on yet.” The Queen of Fate draped her arms over Maverick’s shoulders from behind him, her cheek resting atop his head. He didn’t mind the woman’s touch, even if it was far more public than he would like.

  He had sought comfort after the death of his wife in any way that he could find it. And Ini was never one to refuse the needs of others.

  Jakob threw his arms around Dtu’s neck, hugging the huge creature, uncaring for the blood on the king’s fur. The young mortal was babbling something rapidly up at the wolf, who was trying his best to get a word in edgewise.

  “It’s good for him,” Maverick rubbed his left arm absentmindedly.

  “It is.” Ini drifted away, her gossamer dress floating about her in the air. “He has known the ache of loss for too long. I am glad that in all this death and destruction, some flower might yet bloom.”

  He shook his head, looking down at the row of the dead that they had lost. At the blood that coated the road. “But with such a manner of terrible fertilizer to wet the ground, is it worth the cost?”

  “I have learned, my dear doctor, that death will always find its way. Tragedy is like a great river, etching away at canyon walls. It will erode us all in time. We must learn to use the water to our own advantage—to steer the course when we may. Because if we seek to dam the flow, it will overrun the walls. I say, yes—irrigate the flowers with blood if we must. Whatever it takes to see them grow.”

  Maverick looked up at the floating, elven woman. He did not know what to say to such a speech. He merely nodded and turned his attention back to Dtu and the young mortal. The wolf had finally nudged the man from hanging off his neck, and now the two were quietly speaking.

  Jealousy unexpectedly sparked in his heart. Not because he had any desire to cavort with either the King of Moons or Jakob—that was not his personal preference. No, but because he saw hope blooming in the darkness that he did not have.

  Shutting his eyes, he could see the face of his wife. It haunted him. He was beginning to believe it always would. He could almost smell the scent of her flesh and clothing as it burned. He could hear her screams as she died. Murdered by the agents of the “King of All” during the Rise of the Ancients—she was one of many who had lost their lives during those terrible days.

  It was hard not to resent Aon for the actions of his other self. Though he could understand on a rational level that the King of Shadows was not directly responsible, it was difficult to convince the rest of him that it was not the case.

  A hand stroked over his hair. “Are you all right?”

  He smiled faintly. “My arm will heal. You know it will.”

  “I do. That wasn’t what I was asking.”

  The Queen of Fate saw too much. Heard too much. But he had never known a kinder soul or one more willing to protect those around her. Maverick shrugged. “I am as I have been for a long time.”

  “That once more doesn’t change the answer.” She chuckled. “But you’re dodging. Very well. I know how much you love your privacy.” She hummed. “Perhaps Evie will join us soon. That might cheer you.”

  Maverick fought the urge to swat at the woman. Worse, he fought the warmth in his neck that betrayed he was likely flushing. Yes. He was looking forward to seeing the Queen of Flames after so long.

  A flower growing in the darkness, fed by blood, indeed.

  He sighed and walked away from Ini. “We have more important things to attend to, don’t you think?”

  “Posh. What could be more important than love? Nothing, I say.” Ini vanished with a giggle. “It won’t be the first time our world was saved by compassion.” Her voice floated from nowhere in particular. “I still have hope.”

  “You always have hope.” He mounted his horse and gripping the reins, began to steer it down the road. Their losses could not be helped. The dead could not be buried or mourned. They would be attended to later. If there were any survivors left to do the deed. “That is your blessing and your curse.”

  “All blessings are a curse, and all curses are blessings, dear doctor.” Ini said from behind him. He knew she was perched on the back of the horse, sitting sidesaddle. “It’s all about the bigger picture.”

  “And what is the blessing that comes with this newest curse that is laid upon us, I wonder?” Maverick shook his head. Many of Dtu’s shifters were injured. Some were dead, but healing. They would catch up. Unfortunately, many never would.

  “Fate will decide. The Ancients will guide us to the answer.”

  And that was precisely what Maverick was afraid of.

  Lyon sat by the edge of the reflecting pool, gazing up at the stars. He had lived so long without them—for fifteen hundred years of his life, they had been missing—and he vowed never again to take them for granted.

  The chaos that had brought them back during the Rise of the Ancients had certainly ensured that they all paid a price for their return.

  Someone settled down at his side. He knew who it was by her scent. Like jungle flowers and sweet fruit. They nudged his arm with something. Without even looking, he took the bottle of alcohol from Lydia and lifted it to his lips. It was dark green and shaped at the bottom like an onion with a long stem, a style popular on Earth in the eighteenth century, if he wasn’t mistaken.

  Sharing alcohol and stargazing had become a new tradition of theirs.

  “He’s shut himself off in a room with all his toys,” she muttered as he handed the bottle back to her.

  “I expect he’ll be there for quite some time. He has a great deal of work ahead of him.”

  “I guess.” She took a sip and handed the bottle back.

  The tone in her voice drew his attention from the stars to her. He lifted an eyebrow as he watched her. Her expression was drawn and wary. “What is it, my friend?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve been in that room. Locked in that cage. I guess I wouldn’t wish that on anybody—not even Rxa.”

  “Do you hate him for what he has done?”

  Her jaw ticked. “I don’t know. You?”

  Letting out a long breath, he took another sip from the bottle and passed it back. “I do my best to not hate anyone for their actions. I find it unproductive.”

  “Look at you, being all noble ’n shit.” She nudged his arm with her elbow.

  “I said ‘do my best.’ I never said I was successful.” He smiled at her as she laughed and took the moment to pause. “Do I hate him? No. My heart breaks for him. He is misguided and alone. He is not well. His mind is fractured, and I cannot imagine the pain he suffers for being dead for so long. But do I think he needs to be stopped? Yes. Absolutely.”

  “At all costs?”

  Lyon shook his head. “I do not know.”

  “If we can’t contain him and we kill him, we’re back to the ‘void’ problem. But at least we’d have fifteen hundred years or so to live, right?” She rolled her eyes. “Better than the few weeks Rxa’s planning to give us.”

  Lyon put his hand on her shoulder. “It will be all right.”

  “You don’t know that.” She sipped the alcohol and handed it to him.

  “No, but it is the kind of thing people expect me to say.” He took a heavy drink from the onion bottle, swallowed, cleared his throat, and did it a second time.

  That sent Lydia into stitch
es of laughter. She hugged his arm and rested her head on his shoulder. “Well, we’ve certainly baited the trap, haven’t we? The three of us—the ones Rxa hates the most—all in one spot. He’ll come, sooner or later.”

  “Indeed.” Lyon frowned and set the bottle down into his lap. “I do not look forward to his arrival. I mourn for what might have become of Ember.”

  “I do, too. But…mortals don’t have a long life expectancy here. I just hope she didn’t suffer.”

  “I as well. Rxa was never cruel—never sadistic, in all the years I knew him. I fear that has changed.” Lyon frowned. “I fear for what else about him has now dissolved.”

  “He isn’t the man—angel, whatever—you knew.”

  Gazing up at the stars once more, sadness cinched his heart. “I do not think any of us truly knew him, my friend. And I think therein lies the core of our current predicament.”

  “I guess the only question is how many of us are going to die because of it.”

  He sighed.

  That was the question, indeed.

  12

  Ember had never felt so cozy in her life. She didn’t want to move. Sleep was leaving her slowly, and she wished desperately that it would stay. She was warm, comfortable, and something soft surrounded her. Whatever her head was on was both soft and firm. It smelled amazing. She stretched, yawned, and curled her hand by her face, twisting it into the fabric beneath her cheek.

  Bit by bit, she began to realize that someone was combing their fingers through her hair. It was part of the reason why she felt so safe.

  She never felt safe.

  Because she never was.

  Jerking upright, she shoved away from wherever she had been, and wound up sprawled on her back on the ground.

  Rxa snickered. “You’re jumpy.”

  He was sitting against a tree, his cracked porcelain mask back on his face. She must have been asleep with her head on his thigh. She touched her throat where he had bitten her. It was sore to the touch, but it didn’t seem like an open wound. Just a bruise.

  He tilted his head to the side. “Before you get mad at me—you did ask for that. Not like I’m complaining, mind you.”

  Face exploding in heat, she struggled to get up to her feet. She must have been asleep for a while. Her head didn’t hurt anymore. While she had a bump on her scalp, she wasn’t woozy or dizzy. She felt…honestly rested.

  Nearly tripping over fabric, she finally managed to get vertical. Looking down at herself, she furrowed her brow. “What in the name of the Dread God am I wearing?”

  “Well, that’s a silly question.”

  Sighing and rolling her eyes, she glared at him. She could see it was a long, royal blue coat. It reached her knees and was easily one of the softest pieces of clothing she had ever felt. And since she had no shirt on underneath, just the bandages she bound her chest with, she had a lot of skin to feel it with. “Why am I wearing this, Rxa?”

  “Wow. Way to be angry about it.” He got up as well, grunting and brushing himself off. “I thought you might get cold, that’s all.”

  “Where did it come from?” She pulled it around herself and buttoned up the front, not wanting to be half naked around him. Not that it wasn’t anything he hadn’t already seen plenty of, but it made her feel exposed.

  “Same place as that gaudy, golden spear you’re carrying around.” He gestured at it where it lay in the dirt by a log. “I made it.”

  She shook her head and finished buttoning up the coat. It was very warm and comfortable. “I still don’t get how that’s possible. Magic is real here, I know, but it’s so strange that you can just…summon up whatever you need, whenever you need it. Why don’t you just go about your lives doing that?”

  “It takes power. If I spent all day summoning trinkets, I’d burn myself out. And we aren’t creating matter from nothing, just moving it around. So somewhere in this world, all the atoms that now make up that coat just went missing.”

  “Oh.” She supposed that made sense. “Thank you. Even if…” She tried to be mad at him. She tried to find some armor to hide behind that would protect her from what he had done to her. But she remembered his fangs in her throat. She remembered his touch and his claws against her skin.

  And she remembered asking him for more.

  She turned her back to him—which was a foolish move, but he could kill her at any moment if he wanted to. She ran her hands over her face, and only then realized that her wrists were unbound. She rubbed a small red spot on her arm where the rope had bitten into her.

  “Behave and I won’t have to tie you up again.” Hands fell on her shoulders. “Well…for now, anyway. No promises about later.”

  Turning to face him, she looked up into the fractured, grinning face of his mask. “Rxa, what do you want from me?”

  “That’s a complicated question.” He ran his fingers over the lapels of the coat. “One that I really, really don’t think you want to know the answer to.” He stepped into her, and she froze. When she realized she should have backed away, it was too late. He already had an arm around her waist, holding her still. “And besides.” His voice lowered, husky and warm, as he leaned his head close to her ear. “I think you already know some of the answer…you’re just avoiding it.”

  “This is wrong.” Her excuse was halfhearted. Her voice sounded small to her own ears. It wasn’t a bulwark against the storm. It was holding a branch over her head in the rain. It wasn’t going to do her any good in the end.

  And like some great predator smelling blood on injured prey, she knew he could hear in her pathetic excuse how weak it really was. He growled and tugged her flush against him. He was no longer skeletal or broken. She could feel the strength in his frame. He wasn’t bulky—he wasn’t brawny like the men she was accustomed to seeing on the roads of Gioll. But every line of the man was put there as if by design.

  “Ember…”

  The way he said her name made her shiver. She turned her face away, but he quickly caught her chin and pulled her back to him. To that shattered, grinning mask that should disgust her. It terrified her—he terrified her—but she didn’t find him revolting.

  Anything but.

  “Please,” she whispered. “I can’t do this.”

  “You can. Trust me, you can. You are so strong—holding on to your wits, your sanity, your composure…even after all that’s been heaped on you. Aon trusted you to play your part in all this. He doesn’t trust people lightly. Let alone mortals.” His thumb began to track along her cheek, back and forth, as he cradled her head in his hand. “You tied a vengeful demigod to the back of a horse and had every intention of dragging his ass halfway down a continent full of monsters to whom you’re little more than an afternoon snack.” He chuckled. “I don’t think there’s anything you can’t do, little dove.”

  Her face went warm again at his complements. She tried to pull away from him, but he tugged her back. “I—”

  “In a second. Let me finish.” He rested his thumb in the hollow of her chin, the tip of the sharp nail resting on the line of her lower lip. “You can do this.” He paused, snickered, and added, “You can do me.” He cackled. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat, shaking his head as if to knock a thought loose.

  He’s insane. Don’t ever, ever forget that.

  “I want you, Ember. I want to make love to you. I want to fuck you.” He growled the words as his arm around her waist tightened, pressing her body against his. “And moreover…you want me to. But you want to hide behind ‘can’t.’ Maybe you ‘shouldn’t.’ But trust me…you can.”

  She tried to speak, but no sound came out. She was trembling again. She was caught in his trap.

  “You want time? I’ll give you time. But you can’t deny how you felt in my arms yesterday. You can’t deny how I”—his head was suddenly yanked back—“ow, ow, ow! Ow! Leggo!”

  Rxa let go of her and was dragged away. He had to turn to stagger in that direction to keep from falling over.

 
Cricket.

  The insect-horse had grabbed Rxa by the hair and was now dragging him around the clearing.

  “Ow! Let go of my damn hair, you housefly with horns!” He swatted at the horse, who couldn’t seem to care less. He was pulling the tattered demigod around the clearing in a circle like Rxa was nothing more than a colt being broken in on a rope.

  Ember laughed.

  She laughed hard.

  Harder than she could remember laughing in years. Maybe her whole life. It was easily the funniest thing she had ever seen.

  “Not funny!” Rxa was still swiping at the horse. “Can’t kill him, you’ll be mad, and now—oww, stop it!”

  She could finally breathe enough to speak. “No, it really is hysterical.” She walked up to Cricket and patted his neck. “It’s okay, let him go. He wasn’t hurting me.”

  The horse finally released Rxa’s hair with a final tug and turned his attention to her. He began nudging her with his nose. She chuckled and hugged him, petting the panels of his exoskeleton on the side of his neck. “I’m glad you’re okay. I was so worried.”

  “Stupid horse,” Rxa grumbled and began trying to comb out his frazzled hair. “He was fine.”

  “When I see things get gutted and get back up and walk around, it ends very differently.” She shot him a look and then went back to petting Cricket. She placed a kiss to the horse’s cheek. “Thank you for protecting me.”

  “Protecting you? Interrupting me, more like it. Stupid, cock-blocking horse.” Rxa finally smoothed his hair back. It was still tangled, but it looked a little less chewed on. “I don’t even have a cock for you to block!”

  With a smirk, she whispered to Cricket. “You can give him a hard time whenever you want.”

  “I heard that! Supernatural hearing. Everyone’s ganging up on me today, huh? Sure. Fine. See if I care.” He kicked a pebble off into the river. “I guess it’s time to go, anyway. I’ll help get your things together.” He crouched to start putting her things back in her bag. “I found some stuff that I assume was for cleaning wounds by the smell of it. I put some on the cut on your arm and bandaged it, by the way. Can’t have you getting infected while we’re on the road.”