by Cora Avery
“Because it changes.”
“That’s right,” he said. “Would you like to hear the other prophecy, about how the unification will occur?”
“Let me guess,” she said. “An Elf Prince and a Pixie Rae are joined?”
“Not just any Rae,” he said. “The Radiant of the Eastern Cliffs. Together, they will bring about a new age . . . one of peace.”
“Is that what you really want, Endreas? Peace?”
“My father is dying, magpie.”
Feel nothing, she told herself.
“And so is the Crown,” he said. “But that’s not surprising to my kind, because that is how it has always been. The Throne and the Crown rule and they die concurrently. But until now, they’ve done so apart. That will not be the case for me. I will be King, but my queen, my Crown, we will rule together and we will die together, as it was meant to be.”
“My people would die before they bowed to the Throne. I don’t know what the oracles saw, but they were wrong. And the small folk, after what your kind has done—”
“Ah, yes, those poor small folk, just as innocent as the oracles,” he said, glancing down at the bloody handkerchief. “Or so I’m sure they’ve told you.”
“You’ve been razing their forests, their homes, driving them out—”
“Yes, we have. We do not tolerate criminals and insurrectionists. If they do not wish to abide by the laws of the Realms, then they will have to leave.”
“Brownies are criminals?”
“Brownies have long conspired with the oracles, both to continue the dragon poaching, funneling the hearts to those who have survived in exile, and to undermine and weaken the King. They themselves set the ancient woods of Green-upon-Thrushtun, killing thousands of innocents because they discovered it was one of my father’s heart-places, and they knew it would weaken him.”
“So the Elves are innocent. Do you expect me to believe that?”
“If you did, you would be a fool,” he said. “We both know better. No one in Alfheim is innocent. Not even you, magpie. Have you not killed to save yourself or those you wished to protect?”
The ghostly sensation of blood running over her hand, hot and slick, returned.
“I know you have.” He held up the bloodied handkerchief. “And I know you will again if you have to.”
Her head throbbed. Resisting her attraction to him was the least of her headaches. She no longer knew what to think or to believe, who was lying, who was telling the truth. She was torn between wanting to run back into exile and wanting to beat everyone bloody until they told her the truth or stopped talking altogether.
“Lavana’s warriors are close,” he said.
She pushed through her headache to meet his gaze again. Some weak, aching part of her lurched, wanting to fall into his arms, but she didn’t move.
“You give me back my knives. You warn me about Lavana. Yet you’ve already told me that no matter who becomes Radiant, you will attempt to join with her. What am I supposed to do?”
“Become Radiant,” he said.
“That won’t change anything between us,” she said. “I don’t trust you.”
“Because I’m an Elf?”
“Because you’re manipulating me,” she said, “to get what you want.”
“And what do you want, magpie? You want me to be someone else? That’s the one thing I cannot give you. I am an Elf. My father is the King. My duties come before all else. I’m doing what I can to help you, but yes, if you fail, I will take Lavana. The Realms are on the brink of war. My people, my father, your Crown, your people, they are restless and afraid. Skirmishes have been increasing on the supposedly neutral border islands. If I don’t succeed, there will be more bloodshed, on both sides. And no, I don’t want that.”
Her chest tightened around the helpless feeling within her, keeping it down and away from her thoughts.
“I’m helping you as much as I can, but already my counselors are calling me home. They think I’m interfering too much. They say I must allow you and your cousin to resolve this matter on your own.”
“They’re watching you?”
“In a manner. They are connected to me. They know my thoughts. My feelings . . .”
Another trembling twist inside.
“But my father does not know I’m here,” he said. “My counselors also fear that I will give myself away and my father will send his troops across the gulf preemptively.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Because he does not want peace, magpie. His heart-places have been methodically attacked and wounded and some destroyed altogether.”
“What is a heart-place?”
“You don’t know?”
She shook her head.
He was quiet for a long moment.
She tensed, heaving herself out of the lulling haze of his presence. Hadn’t she sent him away? “You don’t need to explain—”
“A heart-place is where an Elf leaves his heart, pieces of it. Not literally, but the spirit of his heart. The more an Elf gives away of his heart, the stronger he will be. So long as those places remain strong, so shall he. If they are weakened and destroyed, so shall his heart be. There are many aspects of it that would take a long time to explain.”
“That sounds dangerous,” she said.
“It is very dangerous,” he said. “But it can give you strength that you would never be capable of on your own.”
“And do you have heart-places?”
He winced as if she’d shouted at him.
“My counselors,” he said with a weary smile, “just reminded me that an Elf does not speak of his heart-places with . . .”
“An enemy?”
“I do have them, but far fewer than Princes of the past,” he said. “The Realms are not safe any longer.”
“Then why have them at all?”
“Because I would not be fit to rule if I were so distrustful and selfish that I could not give my heart away, nor would I be allowed to ascend the Throne. That is the law.”
“I shouldn’t be listening to you. I shouldn’t be talking to you.”
“Why? Because you might realize that Elves are not the villains you thought they were?”
“A villain would certainly want me to believe that, wouldn’t he? Even if you are telling me the truth, that means you’re lying to Lavana. It seems far more likely you’re lying to both of us. But it’s not important, because you are going to go back to your Realms and you are going to stay away from me.”
She released her twin-dragon blades, the ring and middle fingers of her right hand. The two blades joined, twining together to form a horn-like spear. One straight thrust to the stomach would cause a slow, painful death. A bit higher and upwards, a killing strike to the heart.
His gaze flicked to the blade and then back up to her eyes. “You know I am not lying about how I feel for you.”
“You’re a Prince. I am a Rae. There is nothing special about what we feel. It is instinct. Nothing more.”
“It is something more,” he said, taking a small step closer. “Lavana is a Rae. I feel nothing for her.”
“Liar.”
“Nothing like what I feel for you.”
“Yes, I know. You like me better. But there’s nothing special in that either. I like chocolate ice cream more than vanilla, but at the end of the day ice cream is ice cream. Just as whoever becomes the Radiant is who you will take, or try to. But you’d better hope it’s Lavana, because if not, your ambitions will be thwarted, Your Majesty.”
He cocked his head. “What is ice cream?”
“That’s not important.”
Leaves rustled somewhere back by the camp. The firelight was a dim, ebbing dome against the pressing darkness. They both fell silent. In that quiet moment, the ache in her seized her thoughts, struggling for control over her good sense.
But Endreas didn’t seem to notice her dragons’ spear retracting ever so slightly before she regained control of herself. He w
as too busy gazing towards the camp.
“Tell me about your Prince,” he said.
“No. Why are you still here?”
“Lavana said he did not want to be claimed. That he resisted her, which is why she put him in her dungeon. Yet, he’s rejoined you. And he’s brought a nymph. What’s that about?”
“None of your business,” she said.
He ground his fist into his palm, still staring in Kaelan’s direction. “You have a Prince and the Enneahedron . . .”—he finally looked back at her—“I assume. All you need to do now is reach the Spire. That is where you’re going, isn’t it, magpie?”
She pressed her lips together, afraid to move or speak. The longer he was there, the harder the craving was to control. Just to taste him one more time . . .
“You realized I was right, didn’t you? You do intend to vie for Radiant.”
Her teeth clenched, tongue flicking through hole where her tooth had been.
“But you should do your Prince a favor,” he said, shifting again, closer. Well within spearing range. He leaned in, so the sweet elixir of his scent curled around her, hooking into her chest, stretching the air taut between them. “Do not claim him.”
“Why?” she asked. “Afraid I might like him more?”
His nostrils flared. “No.”
“Liar.”
“If you claim him, then I will have no choice but to kill him. You will do all of us a favor if you allow me to appear magnanimous by sparing his life when I displace him.”
“If you kill him, then I will have to kill you,” she said.
“You would have to try to kill me,” he said. “But you would fail and yield to me. I know you need him to strengthen your claim to Radiant, and for that reason alone, I will tolerate his presence.”
“And what did Lavana say when you gave her this speech?”
He grabbed her arm, but she remained as she was, blades poised. “I will kill Riker regardless.”
“Magnanimous and just, through and through. So very important for everyone to see that, I can tell.”
He pressed his nose to her temple, his lips skimming her skin. Every hair on her body rose, her skin prickling, her breath quickening.
“Riker slept with you?”
She drew back, only far enough so that she could meet him in the eye. “Actually, I slept with him, because I wanted to.”
“And so I will kill him, because I want to.”
“Perhaps Elf women find murderous jealousy attractive,”—she ripped her arm away from him—“but I don’t. So if this is part of your ruse to seduce me, it’s not working.”
“It is the law. All former lovers of the Queen and King must die before the two are joined.”
“You have some fucked up laws.”
“Is that a Pixie turn of phrase, or a human one?”
“Women have slept with you even though they knew it would end in their deaths?”
“They always think that I will fall in love with them and make them my queen.”
“And you let them think that?”
“No. I tell them there is no chance, but Elven women are very persistent.”
“You still didn’t have to sleep with them.”
“They knew the risks.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“You don’t have to kill them if you don’t want to. The nobility will protest, but since you are not an Elf . . . what can they do? Secretly, they will be relieved. Most of the women I’ve slept with were nobles.”
His hands were wandering over her hips again, raking over the small of her back, closing the space between them once more.
Push him away! A voice in her head screamed. Kill him!
His lips found her neck, his tongue tracing over her skin. His teeth grazed her just before his mouth sealed against her throat. That screaming voice drowned under the wave of him. Once again, the overwhelming intensity of his desire fluxed into her through his hands, his mouth, his body pressing against hers, breaking over the flimsy barriers of her good sense.
Through the empathic channels, she became aware not only of the outflow of his passion, but also the friction. He strained to hold back from her, just as she did from him. She didn’t know if it was possible to trick her empathic senses or not, but if it was, then he had accomplished it. Though it was too complex to define with terms like lust and love, what he felt most simply could be called want. Whatever other lies he might tell her, whatever else may or may not have been true, he wanted her. And she wanted him.
So when his tongue slid between her lips, hers responded. When he worked his hand under her waistband, slipping down into the wet heat that he had created simply by appearing to her. She leaned into his touch. When his fingers dipped into her, the sudden surge of fervor stopped both of them at the peak, breaths held, eye to eye.
And then an emotion she could not name pulsed off of him—blinding and cleaving and unyielding, like a blade plunging into the earth. At that same moment, he moved into her and she forgot about the pulse because with one sure stroke he sent her over the edge. She knotted around him, hands digging into his shoulders, gasping, drinking in his breath, shivering and shuddering as the ache in her was finally, momentarily, assuaged. With just one touch.
He tensed, wincing, as if her pleasure caused him pain.
He grasped her waist firmly as her knees weakened during the aftershocks. All the time his black eyes watched her, studied her, as if burning every flutter of her eyelids into his memory. And yet, she could already feel him retreating from her, drawing back his desire, closing off. Soon, his hands followed, trailing from her. He kissed her in a gentle way that left a sense of sadness floating around her chest, bumping against her heart, bruising it.
He lifted his hand up to his lips. The tip of his tongue ran over the edge of his forefinger. A familiar heady scent, her scent, wafted off his skin. His eyelids fell to half-mast, the black gleam misted, and a fresh wave of want broke off him, plying against her. And if he’d tried to take her then, she would’ve let him.
But he didn’t.
He moved back from her, widening the space between them so they were no longer touching. Lingering tremors of her climax cascaded under her skin, making it hard for her to hang onto any reasonable thought for long. But who was she kidding? She had given up reasonable thoughts the moment she’d let him kiss her.
The muscles along his jaw flexed as though he were in some kind of pain.
“Lavana’s warriors are less than a day behind you, and they ride.”
She swallowed hard. “This changes nothing.”
“Wrong, magpie. Everything has changed.” But he didn’t look happy about it. “Try to stay clean this time.”
His wrist twitched. A gust of wind blurred her vision as her clothes were cleaned once more.
A hollow pang in her chest told her that he was gone even before her vision had cleared to find nothing but darkness before her. And his absence hurt.
“Well, that was interesting.”
She tensed, cursing inwardly. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Damion emerge from the darkness of the trees.
“My own blood and sworn mistress, a traitor.”
“DAMN IT, DAMION,” she said, raking her hands back into her hair. “How long were you there?”
“Long enough,” he said, eyes blazing, stalking towards her, his swords in his hands. “What are you thinking? What are you doing?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Honestly. I couldn’t help it. He’s a Prince—”
“He’s an Elf!”
She held up her hand and glanced over to where Kaelan and Honey slept. Kaelan rolled onto his back. Firelight ran over his scar. The white curl glowed like a tendril of fog in the moonlight.
When it seemed they were still asleep, she turned back to Damion, keeping her voice low. “Elves and Pixies are descended from the same people. We are the same, Damion—”
He growled, drawing back.
“I did
n’t believe it either at first, but Tamia told me herself. Do you think I wanted to be drawn to him? I tried to resist—”
“It didn’t look like you were trying very hard.”
“You shouldn’t have been spying.”
“Why? Because you didn’t want me to know you were a traitor?”
“I’m not a traitor—”
“What else would you call throwing yourself at an Elf?”
“I didn’t throw myself at him. He’s been following me ever since I escaped Lavana.”
Damion shook his head, his scars forming vicious hard lines across his face. She seized his jaw between her hands and forced her memories into his head—everything. From being tortured, to escaping, to everything that Tamia had told her and every moment with Endreas, including the last one. Only because he was sworn to her could she gain such access to his mind, and normally, she wouldn’t have taken such drastic and invasive action. But she needed him. She needed him to be on her side. He and Hero were the only ones she could trust.
“Me and the rat, huh?” he said, pulling his head out of her hands. Though his lip was still curled in disgust, the anger had melted into a brooding annoyance.
“Now you know,” she said.
“Thanks,” he said, slipping his swords into his shadow’s vault. “Now I know how good it feels to be molested by an Elf. I think I’m going to be sick.”
“So do you still think I’m a traitor?”
A scowl dug into his face. “Maybe,” he said. “I don’t know.” He glanced over to the campfire. “No one will believe it, about the Elves and our kind being the same people. And I don’t care what that Elf says. There will never be peace.”
“But he wasn’t lying, about the skirmishes?”
Damion folded his arms over his broad chest. “No. If anything, he downplayed the severity. Things are very bad. And they only look to grow worse. Matters are not helped by the Crown’s ill-health. The Radiants are allowed to fight amongst themselves. The northern provinces are ignoring the border islands’ calls for assistance, and the Crown’s ministers are too busy currying favor from the Radiants to send warriors. Our own coasts are threatened by ogres and trolls and all manner of malevolent creatures island-hopping up to our peninsula. I don’t care what your Elf or Tamia says. These beasts are evil and bloodthirsty. You cannot trust him, Magda.”