Grave of Words (Fall of Under Book 2)

by Kathryn Ann Kingsley

  That raised a very important question. “Rxa?”

  “Hm?” He glanced up at her. “Ah. Right. That.” He went back to tucking things into her bag. She was impressed with how carefully he handled her things. And the thought of him tending to her wound…it was odd. Flattering and odd. “Well.” He snapped her out of her thoughts. “We’re still going to go south. Eventually. We’re just going to do a little pitstop first.”

  “Pitstop?” She arched an eyebrow.

  “Right. Not from Earth.” He straightened and tied the flap of her bag down to the button and handed it to her. “I’m going to keep the knife and the spear for now, if you don’t mind. You’ve stabbed me twice already.”

  Hard to argue with that. “Fine. But I want them back.”

  “Why?”

  “I…they were gifts.”

  He watched her for a moment silently. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. As if something about how she had said it had touched him. “I promise you’ll get them back.”

  “Thank you.” She shouldered her bag.

  “Anyway.” He cracked his neck loudly. “We’re going to stop somewhere for a while. I want to bathe—with soap—and sit to gather my thoughts without being chased, harassed, stabbed, shouted at, or otherwise falling apart.” He picked up her golden spear, and she watched as it vanished from his hand. She was sorry to see it go. “I want to plan my assault of the Temple of Dreams. I don’t know why Aon wanted you to take me there—but it’s a trap. I’ll need to think through how I want to smoke him and the rest of the rats out of their nest or if I should just go for the full-frontal assault.” He giggled. “Full-frontal.” He shook his head. “Never mind. Sorry.”

  “I…suppose.”

  Rxa walked up to Cricket and poked the horse in the sensitive part of his nostril. The horse snorted angrily. “Listen to me carefully, you overgrown fruit fly. If you want to stay with her”—he pointed at Ember—“then you obey me.” He pointed at himself. “We go where I want to go. Otherwise, you can fuck right off, and I’ll walk there with her on my own. It isn’t that far away.”

  Cricket stomped his front hoof. He shook his head, flipping his mane, and stomped the dirt again.

  “You don’t have to come, Cricket. It’s all right. I understand.” She put her hand on the creature’s shoulder. “You’ve done more than your share.”

  The insectoid horse huffed another angry breath. But he didn’t leave.

  “I get it, I get it. ‘Hurt her, I’ll hurt you.’ Blah, blah, blah…” Rxa sighed and moved his head as if in an exaggerated eye roll. “I’m not going to hurt her. Not unless she asks real nice.”

  She smacked him in the arm.

  “Ow!” he whined and flinched away from her. “So much hitting. You’re so violent.”

  “You deserve it.”

  Rxa began to argue before stopping. “Touché.” He gestured for her to get onto the horse first. “After you, mademoiselle.”

  It was her turn to roll her eyes. She climbed up onto Cricket’s back.

  And Rxa mounted the horse, sitting behind her. But this time, facing forward. He slung an arm casually around her, his hand draping high on her thigh.

  She went rigid. Her heart began to pound loudly in her ears.

  He squeezed. “This is going to be a great time.”

  13

  It was exactly five minutes into the ride before Rxa began peppering Ember with questions. She did her best to ignore him, but it was difficult.

  He was maddeningly insistent.

  “Tell me about your life, Ember.”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Please?”

  Silence.

  “Pretty please?”

  Nothing.

  “Pretty, pretty please?”

  She stared ahead at the road.

  “Pretty, pretty, pretty please?”

  Shutting her eyes, she tried to tune him out. She repeated a silent prayer.

  “Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty—”

  Grandfather give me strength. Grant me patience.

  “—pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty—”

  Give me the resilience I need to stand against the rising tide.

  “—pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty—”

  Help me be the shield to defend against the death that will consume us all.

  “—pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty—”

  “Okay!” she shouted, putting her hands over her face. At least he had let her keep her wrists unbound if she promised to behave. “Okay. Fine. Gods damn it, Rxa.”

  He cackled. “Hey. It worked, didn’t it?” The hand on her thigh squeezed. Not hard. Just enough for her to remember it was there. Not like she had forgotten.

  “What do you want to know?” She sighed, defeated. She was his prisoner now, and it was his right to question her, she supposed. But she didn’t honestly understand why he cared. Maybe he was bored.

  “Well…for starters, how did you become a zombie killer?” He combed his hand through her hair, tucking the strands behind her ear. He loved to touch her; that much was clear. She shivered as his nails grazed her neck. He loved to touch, and she wasn’t sure how to protect herself against how it made her feel. She wasn’t used to it.

  “From birth.” She focused on her story, trying to keep her mind away from the presence of his hand on her thigh or the one that was now curling a strand of her white hair around his fingers. “My father died to the drengil while my mother was pregnant with me. It’s tradition in that case that the unborn child be offered up as a hunter. She took the serum that made her sterile—and made me as I am. I was born with the immunity to their bite.”

  “And mine.”

  The poisonous part of it, anyway. She nodded. “I trained as soon as I could walk. When I was thirteen, I was chosen to become a graedari. A healer and a priestess. A shield. I was given the name Ember at that point.”

  “You didn’t have a name until you were thirteen?”

  “No.”

  “Huh…” He spiraled her hair around his finger again. “Continue. Please.”

  “I was paired with a slahundur—the sword. His name was Ash.”

  “Was?”

  “He died.” She frowned. “The blast goggles…those are his.”

  “I wondered why you had them. You don’t seem like the kind of girl to keep broken things.”

  “No, but they still somehow find me.” She turned to shoot him a look.

  “Ouch—oh, ouch.” He groaned in mock pain. “It burns, it burns!”

  Trying not to laugh, she bit it all back except for a smile. She turned back to the road to keep him from seeing it. The last thing she wanted to do was encourage him. He did well enough on his own.

  “Can I ask how he died? Was it drengil?”

  Looking off into the woods, she debated whether to tell him. “No…it wasn’t the dead who took him to his grave. He was too skilled a fighter for that. He died by living hands.” She paused. “He died protecting me.”

  His arm circled her waist and pulled her back into an embrace. It was meant to be comforting, but she didn’t quite know how to take it. “Tell me about Ash. Did you love him?”

  “Of course. He was like my brother. He and I were like family. We didn’t have to speak to understand each other. When he died…I felt like half my soul went with him. He was so funny—always found the bright side of things. There was always something to smile about or enjoy, even with the world ending.”

  She shut her eyes, remembering Ash’s face. Remembering his bright smile and his boisterous laugh. “He fought with a hammer, like the Mighty Son himself. He was something to watch in a fight. He was big, but it never got in his way. We traveled together for years. When we left the citadel, we were fourteen—”

  “They named you at thirteen and sent you to your death at fourteen years old?” Rxa grunted.

  “Our world was on the verge of collapse. The sanctuary towns and citadels were falling left and right. They need
ed everyone who could to fight.” She didn’t know why she felt so defensive. “It was the only thing they could do.”

  “If you say so.”

  “It must be hard to understand what it’s like to stare down the inevitability of death when you’re so old."

  "No. It isn’t.” The arm around her waist loosened to land idly in her lap. “When Aon murdered Qta, the void came. Nothingness began to eat away at us. It shrank our borders. Consumed our cities. And it would come for us all in time. It was only then that Aon regretted his decision to kill the King of Dreams and began to try to find a way to resurrect the dead house.”

  “And you thought he succeeded when Lydia became a queen?”

  “No…I don’t think even he had the power to transmute ink from one color to another. But he does have the power to move or change where that ink resides. I believe he has merely corrupted her. Rearranged her power to suit his needs.”

  “I didn’t meet her long enough to have an opinion.”

  “But you did trust Aon enough to agree to drag me south into a trap.” The hand on her thigh tightened.

  “I’m trying to save the world. It isn’t personal.”

  His grip loosened. “Oh? You don’t hate me, then?”

  “If I hated you, you’d know.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. That fractured, grinning mask was staring back at her. It gave her the willies, no matter how many times she saw it.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  They fell into silence for a long time. The question hung in the air. She could feel it. How did Ash die? But he didn’t ask. For all his murderous ways—for all his insanity—he seemed to know a boundary when he saw one.

  Or at least he did with her.

  Small favors.

  There wasn’t any harm in telling him. Just the joy of reliving a painful moment. Her life didn’t have much else to reminisce on. “We came across a band of survivors who had taken up shelter in an old warehouse. They had a horde of drengil at their door. They weren’t going to last much longer—they were trapped. Ash and I saved them. They offered us food and shelter for the night, and we took it.”

  She began to fidget with the strap of her bag. It was an old habit, but one she couldn’t break. “In the middle of the night, they snuck up on us. They stabbed Ash four times in the chest, and then they came for me. Called us monsters—tainted things. Just as bad as the drengil outside. Said Ash was useless, and the only thing I was useful for, was—”

  She broke off. The words they had said to her still echoed in her mind. As did the feeling of boots kicking her ribs.

  “You don’t need to tell me.”

  “I know.” She shrugged. “It’s over now. It wasn’t the worst thing that’s happened to me. Or the worst thing I’ve seen people do to each other. They told me what they planned for me. How I was going to be dragged along with them for ‘comfort.’ Kept just broken enough that I couldn’t fight, but not broken enough that I’d be unusable.”

  His voice was soft. “What happened?”

  “Ash…got up. He was dying, and he got up. He was bleeding out, and he still picked up his hammer and protected me. He—” She shut her eyes. “He killed four of them before he couldn’t move anymore. I killed the rest. The women, I let go. But I knew they wouldn’t survive for long. I held Ash as he died. I sang him to the old gods. I suppose that’s why I still pray to them, even if they’re dead. Because Ash is with them, and if—”

  Her voice choked. She swallowed it down. She would finish her thought. I’m stronger than this. “If they don’t exist anymore, then neither does he. So, I pray. I suppose I pray to him just as much as I do the Grandfather.”

  Arms circled her as he pulled her back in another embrace. He rested his head against hers, temple to temple. “I am sorry.”

  The hug was equal parts comforting as it was unsettling. She wanted to sink into him and let herself take what was being offered. But she couldn’t help the nagging at the back of her mind. Her conscience was eating at her. “How many people will suffer what I lost because you want revenge…?”

  With a heavy sigh, his arms loosened. “I know you don’t understand. Your world might have been dying—but this world is corrupted. We are nothing but playthings to the Ancients. Toys for their son. He may not hold our leashes anymore—he may not be the King of All. But all this still exists for him, and him alone. It needs to stop. It isn’t cruelty, it’s euthanasia. Tell me something, Ember. Have you ever had to quicken the death of someone who was dying, to spare them unneeded suffering?”

  She didn’t answer. That was a loud enough “yes” for him.

  “That is what I am doing here. I am trying to spare us all the torment and the torture that the Ancients will continue to levy on us until the end of time itself.” He combed his claws through her hair. Her blast goggles—Ash’s goggles—were in her pack, leaving her bi-colored hair free to spill around her face and shoulders. He seemed to love to play with it. She had to fight the urge to shut her eyes and lean into his touch.

  “Revenge is wrong.”

  “You murdered all those men who threatened you. The ones who killed Ash.”

  “To stop them from—” She paused. Her words faltered. She was being led into a corner. “It isn’t the same, Rxa.”

  “The body count might be different. But the action is the same.” He nuzzled his masked cheek against her. “You and I are the same.”

  “Not even remotely.”

  “Yeah, I guess you still have all your important body parts. And you aren’t a total Loony Tune like me.” He held her tightly to him. “But other than that? Explain to me how what you did to Ash’s killers is any different than what I’m doing to Under. This world is full of such horrors—and it needs to be put down.”

  “It isn’t all ugliness.”

  “I’m sure neither were the men you killed. I’m sure they had people who loved them. You were just on the outside of their sphere of kindness. Do you think Aon treats Lydia as poorly as he does everyone else? No. Of course not.”

  “And you treat me differently than you do everyone else.”

  “Oh, most assuredly.”

  “Why?”

  “I told you.”

  She twisted to turn her face to his. He pulled away far enough that she could search the darkness of the empty eyes of his mask, knowing what was hidden beneath. “You can do with me what you like. You’ve proven that. If you wanted to hypnotize me into your bed, you could. Or you could do what those men threatened to do—hold me down and rape me. But you haven’t. Why?”

  “It’s not nearly as much fun. I like playing the long game.”

  “I don’t buy that.” She narrowed her eyes. “You’re lying to me.”

  “No, I’m not. That was total fact. Now, am I telling you the whole truth? No-pe.” He popped the last part of the word and poked the end of her nose with a claw. She flinched.

  “Then tell me the whole truth.”

  “No. Don’t think I will.”

  “Why not?” She glared at him.

  He snickered. “Because you’re gorgeous when you’re so put out. And I like watching you struggle with your unbridled attraction to me. I don’t want to complicate things until I need to. You have enough garbage to sort out already.”

  “I’m not attracted to—”

  He yanked her hips back to his with both hands, zeroing the distance between them. Before she could react, one arm snapped around her, his hand grasping her throat. He squeezed—not hard, but enough, and leaned her head back against his shoulder, pinning her there. “Oh?” he growled close to her ear. The single word coupled with the low rumble sent a shudder through her.

  And so did his hand at her throat.

  What is wrong with me?

  Something is very, very wrong with me.

  “Rxa—”

  His hand tightened. Just a little. But enough that it cut her off. His voice was dusky and thick with passion. “No…the only things you get to s
ay are ‘more,’ or ‘stop.’”

  Her heart pounded in her ears. The drumming threatened to drown out everything else. Fire rushed through her veins at an alarming pace. Like a switch he had flipped, her body was burning. She gripped his wrists. She wasn’t sure if she was pulling him away or hanging on for dear life.

  I should tell him to stop.

  His free hand drifted over her shoulder, barely touching the coat he had given her. Fingers found the buttons and began to flick them open one at a time. She still wore no shirt underneath. She was trembling like a leaf.

  I need to tell him to stop.

  His hand slipped over her bare stomach, claws scratching at her skin. She jolted and let out a squeak of surprise. He shushed her quietly again, the lips of his mask hovering near her ear. “Yes, little dove…that’s it.”

  Just say it. Say it!

  He flicked open the button of her pants. The snakes in her stomach redoubled their struggling. Her face felt like it had been lit aflame. Lips parted; she couldn’t help but pant for air. Silently, she screamed at herself in her head.

  It’s only one word!

  Fingers—warm, thin, and deft—slipped downward. Slowly. Gently. Giving her all the time in the world to fight him. The feeling of the claws disappeared, but she wasn’t quite sure how. And she wasn’t quite sure if she was disappointed.

  No, no, no!

  But the words wouldn’t come. It was all too much. The scent of incense and sandalwood. The feeling of strength at her back. The movement of the horse. The blond tendrils of soft hair that brushed against her face as he pressed cracked porcelain lips closer to her ear.

  The hand around her throat, tight but not painful.

  The hand that now slid lower…

  And then he was there.

  All words fled her mind as her heart skipped a beat. All thought almost went with it. She was stunned. Helpless as he explored her, toyed with her, touched her.

  She gasped. Arched her back. Her hands gripped his wrists for all she was worth, needing something—anything—to hold on to. He hummed appreciatively at what he found, as he cupped her and slipped his digits along her.