Nightshade

by Shea Godfrey

  “I need no lecture, thank you. Do not forget that my son shall sit upon two thrones when I am dead and gone.”

  “She’s a beautiful whore, I will give her that.”

  “She is no whore, Marteen, of that I am certain. Though another woman must play her part first.”

  “So we make our move?”

  “Have you spoken with her?”

  “She will select her moment wisely. You needn’t worry.”

  “She had better.”

  “This is her chosen field of battle, Mal. She is more deadly with her tongue than anyone I have ever known. It shall never be traced back to you.”

  “You seem overly fond of her,” Malcolm said. He lifted an eyebrow, eyeing his First Councilor with suspicion. “You always have been, actually.”

  Marteen laughed. He dipped his right hand in his goblet, then reached out, staining the sheets red as he slid his hand along the soft skin of Malcolm’s belly, pushing beneath the silken sheet. “Are you jealous?” he said, looking up at Malcolm from the middle of the bed.

  “Should I be?”

  Marteen wrapped his wet fingers about the shaft of Malcolm’s cock. “Of course not.”

  Malcolm lifted their shared goblet and brought it to his mouth, then drank the last of it before setting it on the bedside table.

  “It will all come together, Mal,” Marteen said softly. “You’ll see.”

  Malcolm relaxed back into the pillows, his eyes drawn to the movement beneath the sheet as Marteen stroked his shaft with a familiar touch. He could feel it within his thighs and his muscles tightened, his stomach filling with heat. The blood vessels beneath his flesh began to throb and his testes ached as Marteen stroked him faster, throwing the sheet back as he drew closer.

  Malcolm’s left hand slid up the back of Marteen’s neck. “You will take it all this time…yes?”

  “Yes,” Marteen whispered, breathing quickly as Malcolm seized his neck in a grip of iron.

  Malcolm smiled, his heart pounding as Marteen’s mouth closed upon his cock, the heat and texture of his tongue fairly burning Malcolm’s flesh. And then he began to thrust, his hips lifting then retreating with ever-increasing speed as Marteen held on, taking in the length of him until Malcolm spent his seed in one last, perfect thrust.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jessa leaned against the fence in the early-morning dawn. She was dressed in an Arravan skirt and simple tunic, one of Radha’s black shawls about her shoulders. It was yet an hour or more before the first watch bell would ring, and she had risen early for want of a walk.

  She had lain awake into the night before, waiting for something that never came—for Darry to scale the balcony so that she might be alone with her. She had waited for one more opportunity to touch her, though in what manner she had not wondered. Perhaps just to brush her arm or to feel the strength of Darry’s hand as she slipped her own within it. Or to see your dimple, Akasha.

  She had waited, but Darry never came. She knew Darry was at a celebration for one of her men, but still she had hoped. When she had finally fallen asleep it was late and she was alone, with not even Radha’s steady breathing to ease her into the land of dreams.

  Jessa had found no respite there either, her waking thoughts pushing into her mind and turning her dreams odd and frightening. She had felt a hand at her throat and she could not breathe. She had heard Darry’s voice and felt fear at the words she did not understand. She was certain that Darry was in danger but was helpless to protect her.

  She had awoken with her shift soaked through with sweat. Her hands had trembled and she wanted to cry out in rage, though she swallowed it down like bile and collapsed back onto the bed instead. She had spent the next hours fighting sleep, feeling the pull of the dream on the edges of her mind. She must have dozed at some point. When she rose with the sky still dark, Radha lay snoring gently on the divan.

  Jessa had washed and dressed and left their rooms. At first she thought only to walk, but as her feet found the path to the stables and barracks she knew what she sought. She had watched the horses in the paddock moving along the fences and stretching their legs. She had smiled at their joy and trailed a hand against the white painted planks as she was drawn toward the barracks.

  She had no intention of entering, but she wandered past the doors and farther south until she reached the fence about one of the practice yards. It was there that she found exactly what she was searching for.

  Darry moved through the yard wearing brown trousers and a tight homespun shirt that hugged her upper body in a manner that broke all the rules. Sleeveless and cropped at her stomach, it was the garment that Jessa had first seen at the garden pond.

  Her hair was held by a strip of rawhide at the back of her neck and it spilled down between her shoulder blades. Her sword flashed in a smooth arc as her body turned in a fluid manner. She moved through the discipline, her sword spinning in a deadly circle, whisking past her ear but an instant before it shaved the air beside her feet bare in the dirt of the yard. Her movement was constant yet measured, using only the energy that was needed.

  Darry moved with confidence and left the ground, cartwheeling as her left hand found the earth. The tumble was graceful and she gained her feet without a stutter, her sword cutting through the air in a quick strike. She followed the weapon around and advanced into a second series of steps. Every move she made had a purpose and every step a destination.

  The practice ground seemed to shrink in size. No distance was too great in order to attain the goal, no maneuver of the sword too complicated that the ground would not accommodate it. And all the while the sword moved, defending Darry against the air around her in arcs and smooth strokes, striking at an invisible enemy in deadly slashes. Moves that in battle would steal a man’s life without causing a hitch in the blade’s graceful movement.

  Jessa watched the muscles of Darry’s arms and the elegance of her hands as she switched the sword from right to left, then swung it smoothly behind her back. Darry spun to the left and turned with the same grace she had in the Mohn-Drom. Her skin was covered with a sheen of sweat though she did not appear to breathe at all, much less in exertion. Jessa recoiled as Darry’s body twisted at the waist and her feet left the ground and flipped over her head once again. This time, however, both hands held the sword, the strike that resulted from the acrobatic move appearing deadly and without defense.

  Her thoughts lost to the power of her desire, Jessa felt herself slipping. The sleekness of Darry’s movements and the beauty of her body, the clean lines and power, Darry’s breasts caught beneath the white fabric that had begun to darken with sweat. Jessa could see the raised flesh of Darry’s nipples and had to close her eyes. She was wet with her want and her desire moved through her body, spiraling through her stomach until it was enfolded into the heavy pulse between her legs. It was relentless, and Jessa was trapped beneath it.

  She wanted Darry’s flesh against her hands, she wanted the taste of her skin on her tongue. She wanted their bodies to move together and to feel Darry’s hands on her. Jessa wanted to make her cry out like the lovers she had seen on the hot nights in the city of Karballa, as she had wandered cloaked in shadows and looked shyly through their windows at life. She wanted that life and she wanted Darry to show it to her. She wanted the terrible ache to go away, wondering if it would be replaced by something even sweeter.

  When she opened her eyes Darry was moving toward the center of the yard. She turned in a tight circle, the sword gaining speed within its deadly windmill of movement. A grin flashed across Darry’s lips and Jessa smiled, seeing her absolute joy in the gesture.

  There was nothing but stillness.

  Nothing moved. Not the sword, not the air around her, not a muscle or a twitch or a breath of wind. And then a large golden curl slipped forward along Darry’s right temple and fell along her cheek as the tip of her sword was poised but an inch above the ground. Jessa had never seen a moment filled with more deadly promise, but for
the sweetness of the curl. She had no choice but to smile.

  “Is that you, Bentley?” Darry’s said.

  “No,” Jessa replied, unable to find her full voice.

  Darry opened her eyes and was nearly staggered by Jessa’s gaze. She felt naked beneath its force. Her flesh reacted, her breasts chafing against the tightness of her shirt as the tip of her sword dropped slowly into the dirt.

  Darry’s blood rushed at the expression in Jessa’s eyes. She could not mistake it in any way. The desire was blatant and completely unguarded. Darry’s body answered its call and everything tightened with pleasure, arousal and need tipping the scales of her reason and good sense.

  Jessa turned away and walked along the fence.

  “Wait!” Darry stabbing her sword into the dirt and skidded around the west end of the barracks until she reached the edge of the dirt path. She stopped before the pebbled walk, eyeing the stones. She snarled and stepped on the stones, hurrying as much as she was able until she could jump to the scrub grass between the barracks and the main barn of the stables.

  Darry searched the wide path that led to the residence but it wound empty to the trimmed hedges and beyond. Her disappointment was like a wave washing in from the sea and her thoughts shifted toward the common sense she had so easily discarded at a mere look. Don’t be a bloody fool.

  Someone shouted and she jumped. Darry smiled as a horse screamed in rage amidst more shouting. “That would be for me,” she said, and retraced her steps, avoiding the pebbled walk and moving in the grass that grew close to the barn. She stepped into the massive opening of double doors that led from the barn to the paddocks.

  Darry stepped back as a black filly skidded onto the planks of the main corridor and twisted to the left with a push of muscles and sleek flesh, her black mane swishing wildly. A groomsman stumbled from the stall and stretched for the halter rope, but the filly was too quick and he hit the boards with a thud.

  Darry laughed as the animal raced past her. She gave chase, and one of the stable hands opened the wide gate to the lower paddock and waved an arm in an effort to herd the animal. Darry waved to the stable hand and the boy waved back, closing the gate as she sprinted past him.

  The filly bucked and swung her head at the smooth rope that slapped against her flanks. “You cannot play all of the time, my pretty!” Darry called, slowing to a walk through the long grass.

  The filly turned toward the center of the paddock and suddenly halted. Her head was held high, and her forelock of black hair fell across a brilliant, diamond-shaped spot of white between her eyes. She snorted and threw her head back as Darry approached, then took a step in the opposite direction.

  “You mustn’t be so cruel,” Darry said, circling toward the far fence for a better angle. “They only wish to give you the grain I paid good coin for.”

  The filly walked toward the fence a few feet, stretching her neck out.

  “And do I not bring you sugar every day?” Darry asked, reaching out her left arm as the filly tossed her head. “Small pieces that melt on your tongue and make you the envy of every woman around you.”

  Slowly approaching the fence, Jessa watched them both.

  “Like kisses from Gamar that make you strong,” Darry said to the filly. The horse moved forward a step or two, soothed by the sound of Darry’s voice. “Look how beautiful she is, they say. How special she must be, to be given such treats. I wish I were as loved as that. Why am I not?”

  Jessa had never seen a more gorgeous creature, despite the fame of the Lyonese steeds that were the pride of her people. The animal was utterly beautiful, every measure of her flesh filled with strength and muscle and her mane unusually long as it poured down her neck. She was blacker than black but for the splash of white between her eyes. Jessa stopped near the fence, holding her breath as the filly’s nose hovered inches from Darry’s hand.

  “The girls will be so jealous,” Darry said. The filly placed her nose in Darry’s palm, her wet lips nibbling at the skin. “They will sigh with envy and turn away, for I will love only you, my pretty, and no other.”

  The horse stepped close and Darry smiled as she stroked the filly’s neck.

  “You have seduced her.”

  Darry spun beneath the filly’s neck, eyeing Jessa as she stood on other side of the fence. The filly leaned farther over Darry’s shoulder, still intent upon Darry’s hand.

  “No,” Darry responded. “Merely intrigued her, I think.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “No. But it seems more likely.”

  “Perhaps you don’t know how persuasive you are,” Jessa said. The bangles on her wrist clinked together as they came free of her sleeve. The filly reacted and threw her head out, but Darry caught the halter rope. “She has a name?”

  “Not yet. She’s one of yours. She’s of the Ibarris Plains.”

  “Ah,” Jessa replied. “Well met, then, Princess.”

  “Darry,” she corrected her.

  “No. I may call you what is fitting,” Jessa said, smiling at Darry’s bare feet. Her tunic was barely fastened and her shirt only half tucked in. Her hair swung forward over her right shoulder in a mess of curls that mingled with the filly’s long mane, and her face was dirty from the dust of the practice yard she had dominated so easily. “At the moment, you are decidedly of the Blood.”

  “Why did you run away?”

  “I ran nowhere,” Jessa said, knowing without a doubt that she suddenly had a great deal of power. She enjoyed the exhilarating feeling very much. “I thought I would leave you to your friends. You enjoyed your celebration?”

  Darry tried to find her tongue but Jessa’s beauty shoved her thoughts out of order. The filly pushed forward and Darry was forced step closer to the fence. “Yes,” was all she could manage.

  “There was ale and wine?” Jessa drifted closer. “And dancing perhaps?”

  Darry’s heart gave a lurch. “Yes.”

  “And did you dance?”

  “With Bentley,” Darry answered.

  “No women were there for you to dance with?”

  Darry let out a breath as Jessa found her eyes and felt lost beneath them. You look as Hinsa does, I think, when she sees a bird. “Yes, but I didn’t feel like dancing with them.”

  “No?”

  Darry turned to the filly and scratched the hairs on her chin. “No,” Darry answered, feeling strangely trapped, a part of her wanting to run as if the hounds were baying at her heels. She was the prey with nothing but open land stretching out before her. “And what did you do last night?”

  “I had dinner and played Wei-Jinn with Jacob and Alisha, with Emmalyn as my partner,” Jessa said.

  “Did you win?”

  “Of course.”

  “You didn’t play with Malcolm?”

  “Your brother had other things on his mind, I think. His advisor and my brother had his ear. I believe they were discussing trade routes.”

  Darry smiled ruefully.

  “Why do you smile?”

  “For one who will be a king, sometimes my brother is a fool.”

  Jessa laughed and her heart beat fast. Everything was new and it excited her beyond reason. Jessa had never seen Darry so openly shy and nervous, and her blood became incredibly hot. She fought against it, though, because she had no desire to hurt her in any way. She also had very little idea what she was doing and knew her recklessness might well come back to haunt her. But she could not help thinking what she did.

  “I will see you today?” Jessa asked.

  “You’re seeing me now.”

  “With a fence and a wild horse between us.”

  “She’s green broke.”

  “She is wild, Princess. That is why she likes you.”

  “I have duty later.”

  Jessa contemplated Darry’s words, then spoke her mind. “Then I will see you when you’re done, as before, if you please.”

  Darry’s eyes were brilliant and filled with challenge, and she di
dn’t look shy at all. Her expression was bold and wanting and extremely heady.

  Jessa’ s knees weakened beneath the strength of it. The new power stuttered through her veins, then ebbed away, leaving her feeling more than a little abandoned. The tables had turned and she stood helpless. “Do not forget to give her the sugar you promised,” Jessa said, and turned away. She could feel the strength of Darry’s attention on her back and she straightened her shoulders, walking true. Vhaelin essa, what did I just do? She felt wonderful and was smiling like a fool.

  Darry watched Jessa move, watched her curves and her supple body beneath her skirt and tunic, and the black shawl that might have been the Lady Radha’s. She stepped away from the filly and took a few steps, but then stopped and tumbled into the long grass, which enveloped her.

  The filly walked over and lowered her head, her lips flapping at Darry’s shirttail. She grabbed it and lifted her head back, jerking Darry’s body to the side. I’m a dead woman. She let out a tiny hiccup of sound. Jezara’s corset, my brother really is an ass. That doesn’t bode well in the larger scheme of things.

  The filly pulled again and slowly towed Darry through the grass until her tunic ripped completely and the filly reared away from her, a chunk of green fabric between her teeth. The horse bolted, leaving Darry staring at the sky and grinning.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Radha stood cast within her veiled charm even though the two women she watched were perhaps the only ones powerful enough to see through the spell. They sat against the far balcony wall, their shoulders touching. Darry’s legs were stretched out with her ankles crossed, and Jessa’s were folded before her, her left knee resting on Darry’s thigh.

  They had been that way for some time, talking as if they were lifelong friends. Darry spoke of a horse and how she had thrown the dice with a trader from Ibarris, waiting until he was drunk and then having the wicked Lord Greeves suggest a game of chance. The trader had bristled at the inference that a woman could best him and so, despite being in his cups, he had accepted the challenge. Darry had taken the filly as payment, much to the man’s despair. Jessa laughed happily even as Darry did, trying to describe how he had wept and Bentley had been forced to console him or be found out.