by Alex Lidell
“Tye,” River’s low voice prompted.
Tye’s eyes remained on Lera’s backside as she straightened. “What’s wrong with me being pleased with myself?”
“Because it is typically an indication that you’ve stolen something or are smuggling contraband,” River said dryly.
Tye turned to his commander, who had paused in the middle of attaching a saddlebag to glare suspiciously at Tye. Yes, River oozed confidence and responsibility the way piranhas oozed slime. It was just an inseparable part of the prince of Slait Court that was always there, always awake, always braced to take on the weight of the world. Tye grinned, opening his arms to encompass the whole mountainside. “Where the bloody hell would I find something to steal around here?”
“That’s what I want to know.” River’s eyes narrowed on a spot behind Tye, where Shade must have finally appeared. “Oh, for stars’ sake, you two.”
Blinking in innocence, Tye grabbed a skewer of rabbit meat from the flames.
The female blushed, ignoring them all and settling herself on a log. Her shyness. That was another one of Lera’s delightful little sparks that Tye enjoyed stirring. Her body longed for touch, but often as not, her mind seemed to scold her for savoring the pleasure she deserved. Fortunately, between himself and Shade, Tye was certain they’d conquer that little barrier.
Tye’s chest tightened. He’d had a chance to “conquer a barrier” in a very literal sense a week ago. Finding herself alone with him for once, Lilac Girl had actually asked him to bed her. Being no stranger to the proposition—on either the asking or the receiving end—Tye still didn’t fully understand why he’d said no, insisting on some nonsense about the whole quint being present. Lera didn’t need the whole damn quint there for her first time.
Was it that he was afraid of hurting her—and quietly leaving that job to someone else? No. The first time could be rough on a female, but Tye knew he could make it worth her while. Prepare her until she was so wet and clenching with need that the pleasure of her release would swallow the sting. Make the hurt so good that it morphed into an ecstasy that had her screaming Tye’s name.
Tye shifted his weight, the pressure in his cock growing from uncomfortable to downright painful with each colorful thought. Ripping his mind from Lera’s phantom release—and his own matching pleasure—Tye forced himself to return to the question at hand.
Certainly, Tye wanted Lera. More than he’d ever wanted a female in his centuries of sampling them. He swallowed, his throat suddenly too narrow. Yes, that was it. His longing for Lera went beyond just bedding her. He wanted an exchange of intimacy that he’d not yet earned. Perhaps didn’t deserve. Perhaps never would.
“So today is the day?” Lera said, handing her drained coffee mug to River for packing as Coal joined the group, his blond hair down for once and damp with lake water. “We go enter the Citadel and come out as the official, sanctioned quint that we already are? It seems like a lot of ceremony for little effect.”
“As much could be said for wedding vows,” Tye replied, though he sensed the ease of the lass’s words was as much a lie as his own.
River shot him a glare then settled his gaze heavily on Lera. “This is a binding oath, not a formality. A pledge of obedience to the Citadel and a promise to protect Lunos.”
Tye sighed. That was not the way to sell something—it was the way to chase a buyer off with a broom.
River’s voice softened, making Tye dread the words he had no doubt his commander would say next. “Until the oath is spoken, you can still walk away, Leralynn. You should walk away. It would be the smart thing to do.”
Lera crossed her slender arms over her chest, holding the commander’s gaze in a way few immortals dared to. “And if I do, we would either need to sever the bond between us or all go live in the mortal lands?”
“Yes,” River said.
“Then stop calling something a choice when it isn’t, River,” Lera said primly, snatching one of the meat skewers still remaining by the breakfast fire. Her teeth closed on a morsel of rabbit, pulling it delicately off the stick. “On a philosophical level, does it bother anyone that whoever the magic deigns to select for quint-ness must then bow to the Citadel? What if the chosen fae all want to be basket weavers, not warriors?”
Tye grabbed himself another meat skewer and dug out a wine cask from the saddlebags. Coffee was nice, but this conversation would go better with wine. Something dry and a bit tangy. “Mornings have become infinitely more entertaining since you joined our little gathering, Lilac Girl,” he said around a mouthful of rabbit.
Shade gave Tye a warning look, a subtle show of rank from River’s second-in-command.
River’s jaw tightened, as it always did when he was forced to reconcile his personal dislike of the Elders Council with an equally potent loyalty to the Citadel’s mission. “Flurry’s, Slait’s, and Blaze’s court subjects must pledge an oath to their kings. This is little different. As for the magic selecting basket weavers, it’s simply never happened. There is a warrior spark in every chosen being. The magic doesn’t make mistakes.”
“No?” Lera waved a hand over her very human self.
“You aren’t a mistake,” Tye said, getting to his feet and glaring at River. Heat pulsed through his veins as Autumn’s words in the Slait palace library echoed in his memory. Look at your quint now: a child of Slait, Blaze, Flurry, Mors, and now a child of the mortal lands. Doesn’t that seem a bit too neat to be an accident? But the female’s research was only academic proof of what he’d already known in his gut.
“Tye.” Shade’s voice hardened. They were all falling into their hierarchical roles now, with the Citadel looming. Not that Tye much cared.
“Flurry,” Tye said, pointing at the wolf shifter, before cycling through the other males. “Blaze. Slait. Mors. And now the mortal lands. Does that seem like a mistake to any of you?”
Silence settled over the quint, the others watching Tye warily as he panted, his hands opening and closing at his sides. Let them dare push him on this. Let them so much as try and Tye’s tiger would feast on their flesh.
River cleared his throat, carefully taking a sip of wine before turning to address Lera. “We may not understand the magic’s intentions, but you—”
“I connected with the four of you and survived,” she said, smoothly taking River’s sentence in her own direction. Her beautiful forehead tightened into a frown. “I think we should try it again before we enter the Citadel. Connect in a safe and controlled manner without anyone watching. See what we can do as a quint.”
River choked on his drink. “Safe and controlled? That’s akin to a safe and controlled fall off a bloody cliff.”
Lera threw him a withering glance.
River studied her, his intelligent gaze incredulous. “Have you gone insane, Leralynn? Your surviving enough magic to kill most immortals was a bloody miracle—we are not going to tempt fate twice.”
“Of course, River,” Lera said in a too-sweet voice that woke every fiber in Tye’s body to yet another realization. Last time the quint was at the Citadel, Tye and his elastic relationship with the law was River’s greatest challenge to overcome. This time, that mantle would be going to someone else.
3
Lera
We switchback up the steep road toward the Citadel, the hard-packed dirt granting good footing to the horses. My mare, Sprite, dances beneath me, sniffing the maples that are growing inexplicably greener the closer we get to the top. Magic. So much of it that even the trees and seasons bend to its will. A cacophony of birdsong rings from the branches around us, and flowering vines dangle from the branches arching over our heads. I wonder what the Gloom looks like here, whether I would still see the maples and large ash trees if we were to step into Lunos’s dark undercurrent.
Not that I’m overly eager to find out.
My stomach tightens with each step, the Citadel rising above us like a white marble sentinel atop a forest-dressed mountain. I’d expected
that the decision to remain a quint would bring a calm finality with it. The knot on a braid’s end. It didn’t. If anything, the knot is at the braid’s beginning, with the weave still to come. With snags to be untangled along the way.
Focusing my mind on the current snag, I nudge Sprite to pull alongside River’s dapple-gray stallion, who snorts excitedly.
“You’d be safer downwind.” River pats his horse’s neck. His spine is rod straight as always, the aura of unerring responsibility as much a part of his immortal princely self as his broad shoulders and gray eyes. The latter, all too used to making beings wither from a single glance. “Sprite is going into heat.”
“All your centuries of training and you can’t control your mount?” I say, maneuvering to the other side.
“I can control my mount just fine, Leralynn, but he is still a male and has instincts.” He turns to me, those stormy eyes unnervingly intense. He frowns, his voice dropping to a murmur. “And he isn’t the only one.”
My skin heats. “Should I keep downwind of you as well?”
“No.” River’s eyes flick to the woods, where Shade trots along in his wolf form. The smooth planes of River’s face tighten with worry. He pushes his horse in front of mine.
“What—”
A growl shatters the air before I can finish. With the next breath, Tye, River, and Coal surround me, their blades bared, muscles clenched in defense. My heart stutters at the sudden shift from casual conversation to deadly warriors, and I lick my lips to get moisture back into my mouth. Belatedly, I draw my own dagger, which Coal insisted on pinning to my waist. I feel just as ridiculous with the tiny weapon as I’m certain I look.
Shade’s growl sounds again, and now I hear footsteps crashing through the forest. Whoever it is, they’re no longer trying to shield their arrival from us. And then I see why, as one by one, five armed females emerge onto the trail, Shade snapping his teeth as he herds the procession. The front-most fae warrior, tall with cropped dark-brown hair and keen blue eyes, holds her head high as she approaches us. Like her four companions, she wears a fitted emerald-green tunic and black pants, with brown leather armor buckled over the cloth and vambraces of knives over her forearms. Now that I look closer, I see a single rune tattooed on her neck, just over her jugular. Hers and the other females’ too.
A quint. Autumn told me that female groupings are rare, and I hadn’t expected to run into one anytime soon. Though smaller than my males, the females’ fierceness is so potent I can feel it crackling in the air. Tall, leanly muscled, and sun-kissed from long days in a training yard, they watch the forest, the road, and the five of us with unnerving intensity. Those who haven’t cut their hair short like the leader’s keep it in tight braids that twist and coil over their heads. Their eyes, to a one, are hard as flint.
“I presume that’s your dog,” the tall female says to River, who holds the point of the males’ triangle. “Call him off, First Trial. Now. And sheathe your blades while you are at it.” She surveys the four of us and Shade, who is sitting on his haunches now, his teeth still glistening in the sun. The female raises her chin. “I am Kora, a third-trial quint commander. We will take charge of you from here.”
Tye snorts.
River shoots him a silencing look and sheathes his blade obediently before returning his attention to the females. “First Trial?”
Kora nods. “That is your rank,” she says, her voice a mix of command and patience, like she’s given this explanation countless times before. “As newly chosen initiates, you will be marked with three runes upon pledging your oath to the Elders Council. The runes symbolize the trials you must pass before you may leave Citadel grounds. As we,” she gestures brusquely to the females flanking her, “have yet to complete our third trial, we are called ‘third trials.’ We are one trial away from being a recognized warrior quint, trusted to operate independently. Now, dismount.”
“Who—” Tye starts to say, but River holds up a hand.
“Dismount,” River says, his quiet voice more powerful than Kora’s louder command. A flash of light has Shade shifting into his fae form, while I follow the others’ example and slide to the ground. I can do it myself now, especially off Sprite, but it doesn’t look nearly as smooth as the males’ movements. River bows to Kora. “You were sent to meet us, I gather?”
Kora nods curtly. “We were told to expect a new quint—one with a female and four males.” She frowns, her confident gaze growing wary as it brushes over us. River—tall, confident, hands clasped politely behind his back. Coal—arms crossed, glaring. Shade—stepping between me and the guards. Tye—silver earring glinting jauntily, green eyes moving from one female’s chest to another. And me—human. In short, the males fit the description of wide-eyed initiates about as well as I fit one of an immortal warrior.
Kora clears her throat, her sword point dropping to the ground, coiled muscles relaxing slightly. “I apologize. I’d assumed you were the expected group before inquiring. If you might—”
“I imagine you have exactly the quint you were sent to meet,” River says dryly. “And I look forward to meeting whoever sent you, just as soon as we enter the Citadel.”
The points of Kora’s ears turn a deep red as she sheathes her weapon. She opens her mouth then closes it again without speaking, as if none of the words that came to mind quite fit the situation. “You aren’t first trials.”
“No,” River says gently. “Not for about three hundred years now. You were set up. I’m River.”
Kora’s eyes widen. “River, the prince of—”
“He has a large enough head without you reminding him of it, lass,” Tye says, his hands in his pockets as he steps up casually beside me. “More importantly, I’m Tye, that is Coal, and you’ve already had the pleasure of meeting our puppy, Shade.”
“Your quint is—”
“The second most powerful in Lunos, yes, we know,” Tye says easily, shooting her a wink and wincing only slightly when Coal elbows him.
Kora bows, pulling her pride together with visible effort. Her eyes slide to mine. “And . . .?”
“And that is Leralynn, whom neither you nor anyone else at the Citadel will go near.” Shade’s low voice is laced with venom, draining the blood from Kora’s face and raising it in mine. Holding his ground between me and Kora, Shade is poised on the balls of his feet, his upper lip pulled back to show elongated canines. His shoulders, always wide, seem to have expanded further still to broaden his chest.
“Stand down, Shade,” River orders softly, without so much as turning his head toward the male, before climbing back onto his stallion and bidding Kora to lead the way to the Citadel grounds.
I wait as Kora’s quint falls in step beside River, and then I fall back to block Shade’s path, my pulse pounding. “What the bloody hell was that?” I demand. “That is Leralynn and you will not go near her?”
Shade’s jaw tightens. “That quint pointed weapons at you,” he says finally, not meeting my eyes. “The fact that they walked away with their throats intact is a miracle in itself.”
“One, that was rude.” I poke my finger hard into Shade’s chest, though my smaller frame dampens the effect. “And two, you don’t have a say in who I choose to interact with.”
Shade stands still, a thousand thoughts I can’t read racing through his yellow eyes. No apology comes. No objection either. Just a flash of light before his wolf trots back into the forest.
4
Coal
Coal schooled his face to stone as they approached the mountaintop plateau, the dark clouds rushing overhead a mirror of his own thoughts. From here, all they could see was the immense marble wall encircling the Citadel, the pinnacle of the Elders Council’s tower peeking out just above the white stone. Coal hated this place. The games and rules. The questions, most sent his way in silent, curious stares. What was Mors like? Were you truly a slave? What did they make you do? That last one, his own dreams answered for him too often. He didn’t need to be reminded of
it while awake as well.
A shiver rushed across Coal’s skin, as it always did when walls and restraints loomed over him. An echo of another wall, cold and gray. Czar danced beneath him, the black stallion’s ears lying flat as images raked through his rider’s memories. A jagged stone floor, sloped toward a drain in the corner. Tight manacles, rough with rust. Streaks of blood left behind by broken-off fingernails. The thick stench of pain.
Lera’s gasp yanked him back so fiercely that the world swam for an instant. She was staring at him when it refocused, her chocolate eyes wide against her blanched skin, an acrid tang of fear washing off her.
As if she’d seen into his thoughts. His memories.
Coal’s chest tightened, taking his breath. No, of course she hadn’t. That was impossible.
Putting a hand on Czar’s neck to quiet the stallion, Coal checked his voice before addressing the girl. Just being near her made him ache, and when she turned all her attention on him—like she was doing now—his heart had a habit of bolting like a high-strung colt. “Is something wrong, mortal?”
Lera blinked at him, the color slowly seeping back into her face, though her gaze remained too keen on his. “No.” She shook herself. “No, it was . . . nothing.”
“Good,” Coal said tersely. Space. He needed space and fresh air that wasn’t spiked with Lera’s scent. “You should move downwind from Czar. Your mare—”
“Yes, River said as much.” She put one hand on her hip. “Are you four going to go crazy when I bleed too?”
Coal’s nostrils flared, smelling the female for hidden injury as his eyes surveyed her face, her body—her full chest and curves that the tight leather pants and belted tunic did nothing to hide. They all seemed all right. Lera certainly had been fully healthy when they trained this morning, her warm body pressing against every inch of Coal’s until he was uncertain which of the two of them was in greater discomfort. If she was bleeding—