The one small consolation, Iykva supposed, was that a centaur herd that resided slightly north of their current location had agreed to take up arms for Iykva’s cause. They would guard the elves in Thamores’ stead until Thamores, and his pack, returned to their duty once the golden moon had once again waned.
His pack and what benandanti needed protection from whatever threat was disseminating their numbers.
Iykva smiled wryly at that thought.
With the benandanti fearing the loss of their true blood race, they would be easy to control. So long, Iykva knew, as false promises were made to protect them.
Never mind the humans who had joined his cause after learning that the clan of Devonshire, who was their sworn enemy, stood with the elves. Allies, it seemed, were more abundant than Iykva could have hoped for.
Still, he was frustrated. He had promised his people the blood of elves and there simply wasn’t enough to go around.
“Force them together.” He seethed, turning his gaze to Thamores. “Or I will.”
“You can’t force them together.” Thamores stopped walking and turned to glare at Iykva. He crossed his arms over his chest in a manner of defiance that Iykva didn’t much care for.
This mortal fancies himself stronger than me. Perhaps after the moon wanes, it will be time to teach him better. And before his pack.
“Find a way.” Iykva seethed.
Tired of Thamores and his ever growing list of excuses, he stormed away.
-30-
Iladrul was surprised when Osete excused himself, leaving him alone with Sezja. It was the first time any of the brothers had allowed him any sort of privacy with the girl.
“You don’t have to stay.” He told her as he packed the pieces of the kings’ board into their carrier.
“I’d like to stay.” She replied, her tone gentle. “If you don’t mind my company.”
“Not at all.” Iladrul swallowed. “But it’s getting late and I must bed down for the night.”
She looked swiftly away. When she spoke, her voice was shaking slightly. “I thought, tonight, I might stay with you.”
Iladrul’s entire body thrummed with those words. He licked his lips and swallowed the lump that had suddenly risen in his throat. “You aren’t required to.”
“I know.” She still wouldn’t look at him. “You’ve been patient with me.”
“I’ll continue being patient with you.” His words belied his desires. “You don’t have to—”
“I’m ready.” Still not looking at him. “Just . . . be tender with me.”
He reached for her hand. When she allowed him to take it, he pulled her to him. She looked up at him with wide, expectant eyes. Her generally hard expression was soft with fear. Her vulnerability tugged at his heart.
“I promise you.” He whispered before leaning forward and taking her lips with his. As he kissed her, his entire body exploded with his desire for her. He pulled away and raised his hand to set it upon her cheek. “This hand will never harm you.”
She let out a nervous little laugh and reached for his other hand. “What about this one?”
“The other shall cut it off before it has the chance.” He smiled down at her.
It was her turn to lean into him, hiding a coy smile in his shoulder before she reached up for him. As she kissed him, she let her tongue run across his upper lip.
The sensation was exquisite.
“Come to bed.” She whispered when she pulled away. “And let me ease your troubled day.”
Terrified, yet exhilarated, he allowed her to lead him to his cot.
-31-
“Something unexpected happened to me that same night.” I flick my gaze to Charlie.
“Oh?” He asks.
“Oh.” I agree with a slight laugh.
“And what might that be?”
“Zamyael and I . . .”
I am no longer smiling. My memory of that night is precious to me and I have shared it with no one.
“You saw earlier in the story that we were falling in love.”
“I did.” Charlie nods.
“I had been staying with Zad and Zam, wearing the mortal face I had chosen.” He nodded again. “That night, she and I . . .”
“You gave into your desire for one another?” He asks, not certain if he should smile.
“We did.” My lips thin.
Sensing my discomfort, he turns slowly toward me. His brow is furrowed. “Why do you sound regretful?”
I look swiftly away. His regard—and his obvious concern—burn me. “The answer to that question lies at the end of this tale.”
“Then perhaps it’s best that you continue telling it.” He encourages me gently. “Perhaps it is your need to speak about this, above all else, that has brought you to my side this afternoon.
I have no room in my heart to disagree.
-32-
Chiron approached Thamores with extreme caution. Though he and his herd were loyal to Jamiason, he had always been leery of Thamores Blackpaw and his kindred.
Benandanti not being creatures that are easy to sneak up on, Thamores first smelled and then heard the centaur approaching. When he turned to face Chiron, his wolfish, yellow eyes flashed with what the centaur could only assume was hunger.
Especially when he licked his lips, leaving an undeniable trail of spittle along the top and a thick pool of drool at the right corner.
Chiron took two steps back, preparing himself to run if the necessity presented itself. “Thamores Blackpaw?”
“Ta.” His tongue caught the pool of spittle before it could drip as his eyes trailed over Chiron’s flank. The centaur took two more steps back. “You must be Chiron Dilthrop.”
“The same.” Chiron agreed. “I understand that you have instructions for me.”
He flicked his long ear at a fly. This time, when Thamores licked his chops, Chiron stomped his front foot. It was a silent warning that, if Thamores made any moves toward him, he was in for a trampling.
This earned him a guarded smile. “Mostly just make sure the elf pups don’t run.”
“Is that a large concern?”
“Oddly enough, no.” Thamores shook his head. “They don’t seem to understand that it’s even an option. They’re extremely obedient to almost every request Iykva has made of them.”
“Almost?” Chiron flicked his ear at another fly.
This time it was Thamores that took two steps back. Chiron bowed his head in a silent acknowledgement of their truce. It earned him another guarded smile.
“You’ll notice that Iykva has paired them boy on girl.” Chiron nodded and flicked his eyes toward one of the nearby tents. “For the purposes of breeding them.”
“A never ending supply of sustenance.” Chiron’s lips thinned with distaste.
“This is the one order that they are refusing to obey.” Thamores chuckled.
“Nature isn’t taking its course?” Chiron asked, his brow rising.
“Not in a single tent.” The benandanti’s chuckle became an amused laugh.
“That’s . . .” Chiron shook his head. “Bizarre.”
“Bizarre is one word for it.” Thamores shrugged. “I asked one of the boys about it and he prattled on about the girls and their honor.”
Chiron shook his head. Though he understood that, under most circumstances, a man wouldn’t force himself on a woman, he failed to see how that could be the case with every single one of these adolescent elves. He, himself, had trampled many a stallion with a penchant for rape.
Never mind the fact that not a single pair of them had come together out of loneliness, fear or love.
Scratching his head in confusion, he returned his attention to Thamores. “What is Iykva planning to do about it?”
“I’m uncertain.” Thamores sighed. “Fortunately the vampires are unable to spread their seed, so raping them isn’t an option.”
“He hasn’t asked you to set one of your wolves upon them?” It was a disgus
ting thought, given that these creatures were still children, but it wasn’t above the realm of possibility.
“I made it clear to him that this is not something I will condone.” Thamores growled. “I killed one of my wolves for attempting to do just that. And three of his brothers when they came after me.”
“Yet,” Chiron grinned at him, “I’m here. Which means you know you can’t control the pack when the golden moon rises with a full belly.”
“I’d as soon not take the chance.” Thamores agreed. As he did so, he raised his hand to the sky. “And it’s best I get them out of here and as close to hoofed game as possible before she does.”
“We’ll have the elves pack up and start the march.” Chiron sighed.
“They’ve been marching all night.” Thamores shook his head. “They need to rest so their blood replaces itself before the vampires crawl out of their caves and bend their necks.”
Chiron frowned at that. When he spoke, his voice was seething. “Why does Jamiason not put an end to this atrocity?”
“He will when he can.” This was said in low tones and only after Thamores looked around them to make certain no one would over hear him. “Bide your time, Chiron Dilthrop. When the opportunity is ripe, Emissary Lord Scrountentine will show his quality.”
“Or damn us all for not showing ours.” Chiron replied.
Though he made no response, Chiron understood by the shift of his eyes that Thamores wholeheartedly agreed.
-33-
“We’re gaining on them.” Jeavlin muttered as the earth that he had raised to his face to catch a scent of who had recently passed sifted through his outstretched fingers. “A day’s ride at most if we keep up this pace.”
“Perhaps we can afford two.” Iladrul muttered.
“My Prince?” Faunus, who was less than thrilled that Iladrul had taken his doxies into service as his personal squires, inquired.
“How fit are you?” He ignored Faunus and posed the question to Gregor.
“If I were a fiddle,” the lad grinned, “I’d be strung and ready to play.”
Iladrul repressed the smile that came easily to his lips.
“Can you catch them?” He inquired. “Scout them out and tell us their strengths and weaknesses?”
“Without this lot holding me back?” Gregor’s grin split his handsome face. “I’ll catch them by noon tomorrow.”
“Good.” Iladrul turned to Faunus. “Set camp for the night. And tell your father and Jeanir that we have plans that must be made.”
“Is it really a good idea to be sending a stable boy on such an important mission?” Faunus scowled at him. “Really, my Prince—”
Iladrul shook his head. He wasn’t interested in Faunus’ complaints. He turned his gaze to Haidar. “Go with Gregor, Haidar. He can use a fine hand like you.”
“My Prince?” Haidar blinked at him, surprised. “You’d send your doxy—?”
“I’d send my friend.” Iladrul stopped him. “And one of the best trained soldiers in my army.”
“I am . . .” He swallowed and shook his head. “I am honored by both sentiments.”
“Mac.” Iladrul ignored the doxy and turned to the lad’s brother. “You and Osete come with me.” He flicked his eyes to Jeavlin. “And you and Sezja must seek out Prince Trevor. Tell him what I have done and see what advice he might share.”
“Yes, my Prince.” Jeavlin didn’t waste a moment. He turned on his heel to find his sister and do his Master’s bidding.
Jeavlin’s willingness to obey without question pleased Iladrul. It was good to know he had at least one obedient servant who would never question his motives.
When they were gone, Faunus glowered at him.
“This is a mistake, Iladrul.” He scoffed. This caused Iladrul’s eyes to narrow at his failure to show his respect and his familiarity. “Doxies and stable boys? As scouts?”
“No.” Iladrul turned away from him and began walking to his tent. He didn’t have time to soothe the wound that tore at his friend’s ego. “But if you insist on pressing the issue, then go with them.”
“Maybe I should.” He snapped.
“Then do so!” Iladrul rounded on him. “I don’t have time for infighting.” He growled. “Though I wouldn’t expect Gregor, or Haidar, for that matter, to watch your back if I were you. Their job is to spy without drawing attention to themselves and come back quick.” He shook his head as if the last of it should be obvious to the bastard babe of a kitchen wench, “It’s a job made for stable boys and doxies!”
Faunus’ lips thinned as he looked swiftly away. After angry consideration, he stormed after the Haidar and Gregor.
“Will he cause us trouble, my Prince?” Osete asked, his tone low and respectful.
“If he does,” Iladrul’s eyes flicked to Macentyx, “I expect you to see to him.”
Macentyx’s strange eyes narrowed as his lips thinned. He didn’t respond. Rather, he gave Iladrul a tight, almost imperceptible, smile.
“Stand guard, Mac.” Iladrul muttered before reaching for Osete’s hand. “Watch over the pair of us whilst we pray.”
Macentyx’s eyes flicked from one to the other of them, dark shadows crossing his features. “As you will me.”
Iladrul ignored his discomfort and led Osete away from the camp and deep into the woods. When they found the river, he turned to the other boy and begged, “Watch over me?”
“Until my dying day, if that is what you require.”
Iladrul nodded, turned toward the river and fell to his knees.
Lady Theasis . . . I beg it of you . . . Lend me your strength.
On his knees, in prayer to his Goddess, Iladrul was unaware that the bauble around his neck had begun to glow.
-34-
Aiken looked up, surprised, as a pixie landed upon the table before him. The creature’s small wings began to buzz in the pattern which made up his words as he made his bow.
Having expected news eventually, the fairy rolled his eyes closed as he let out a long, tired sigh.
It’s time then.
The buzzing of the pixie’s wings confirmed this.
As Aiken stood, his eyes flew to Prince Ishitar, who was sitting on one of Loki’s high back leather chairs with a book in his hand, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings. As he did so, the pixie flew upward, landing in Aiken’s hair, just above the point of his right ear.
“I believe I’ll go to bed.” Aiken announced.
Ishitar raised his gaze, studied Aiken for a moment and then nodded. “I’ll follow shortly.”
Aiken gave him a false smile then made his way to Loki’s bedchamber. Once the door was securely closed, he tilted his head to listen to the buzzing of the pixie’s wings. When he had a beat on Iladrul’s location, he nodded and willed himself out of the Hells’ Realms and into the meadow where the young elfin boy knelt at prayer.
Behind him, another boy let out a surprised gasp, though, oddly enough, he didn’t scream. Aiken looked over his shoulder to see that the boy—younger than Iladrul, if only by a year or so—was staring at him with wide eyes. His expression was a mixture of both fear and awe, causing Aiken to give him a patient, reassuring smile.
The boy nodded, swallowed, and, respectfully, lowered his gaze. When he did so, Aiken returned his attention to the young Prince.
“I may not be the lovely Lady.” He said, his tone gentle. “But I’ve come at the call of your prayers all the same.”
Iladrul spun swiftly toward him, his hand on the hilt of his dagger, as he gracefully found his feet. Aiken froze—not afraid of any damage the boy could do him—with his hands raised, palms toward the child.
“You go to war tomorrow.” Aiken suggested, his tone respectful and low. “Or, if not, very soon.”
“Emissary Lord Darklief . . .” The boy managed, his hand leaving the hilt of his split sword. He wore an expression which told Aiken that he held no trust for the fairy God.
That was alright.
Aike
n might have changed his mind about helping the boy if he had stood before him a lamb rather than a lion.
“You frightened me.”
“In these days,” Aiken gave him a slight nod, “it is wise to be on your guard.”
The boy nodded and lowered his gaze. “How might I serve you, my Lord?”
Aiken smiled at that; he was helpless not to. “You prayed for courage; you prayed for aide.” He said. “I cannot give you the one, but my people can most definitely provide you with the other.”
Iladrul looked confused as he raised his gaze. He studied Aiken’s face for a moment—Aiken supposed he was measuring the God’s intent—and then swallowed. “You’re aligned with Lord Scrountentine.”
“No.” Aiken sighed. “Once.” He forced a tight smile in the boy’s direction. “No more.”
“I don’t understand.”
“My people are mortal people.” Aiken crossed his arms over his bare chest, knowing that the boy would take this gesture for vulnerability.
He wasn’t vulnerable—not by any means—but he understood all too well how to play at politics with mortals. It was best, he had long ago learned, to allow those you wanted something from to believe that they had the slight advantage.
“With magic running through their veins, the same as yours. I cannot take the risk that, should your race be destroyed, Jamiason and his army will not set their sights on the weaker tribes of my fairies next. This is why I gave you my protection.” He indicated Iladrul’s chest with his chin. “My talisman.”
Consideration crossed the elf’s copper brow. As it did so, a flash of recognition shot like an arrow through Aiken’s mind. The boy before him had features that were extremely familiar to him. Features that belonged to neither the boy’s father nor the boy’s mother.
Perhaps the rumors are true. Perhaps this is Raystlyn’s child after all.
It didn’t matter.
If the elf was Raystlyn’s child, rather than Wisterian’s, that was none of Aiken’s concern. Though he would do well to remember that the blood coursing through this creature might be more powerful than any of them suspected. The mixture of the blood of an elf and the blood of a mage was, possibly, an enigmatic combination.
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