“Finish drinking this first, then we’ll talk.” There was an ominous sound to his words, so she distracted herself by appreciating how the long winter underclothes hugged his body. Marsais looked like an acrobat. A tired one, with dark circles under his eyes.
“Is everything all right?” she asked when she had gulped the last drop of gruel.
“Not really.” He rubbed his short goatee, causing the coins to chime.
“What’s wrong?”
“Hmm, I’m wondering what to do with a certain nymph.”
“You could start by getting into bed with her,” she offered. The edges of his lips twitched, and he obliged her request, sliding beneath the blankets and gathering her into his arms.
“Is that better?”
A sigh escaped her lips as she pressed against him, inhaling a familiar scent mixed with exotic oils. “You took a bath.”
“Oenghus eventually chased me out.”
“You were worried about me?”
“I still am.” Clever fingers combed through her hair. “What do you remember?”
“I told you—the storm.”
“It had been storming all day. Something more precise would be appreciated.”
Silence followed, interspersed by the crackling fire. She didn’t want to remember anything.
Marsais pulled away, so he might look her in the eyes. He waited, neither amused nor angry, while she wracked her muddled mind for a way to escape his question.
“I’d rather not discuss it,” she murmured.
His eyes narrowed. A hulking presence pushed aside a curtain, saving her from the awkward moment. The heavy fur fell back across the opening.
“Curse it,” Oenghus rumbled, “Get your sack o’ bones out of—” The voice stopped mid-sentence and changed tone, to one of relief. “Well look who finally decided to join the living.”
Isiilde looked up at the towering Nuthaanian, who beamed down with unrestrained joy. In the next moment, he reached down, ruffling her hair. “You hungry, Sprite?”
“Marsais gave me that—slop.”
“Oh, did he, now?” She felt Marsais tense. “How bloody thoughtful of him. I thought I told you to stay in bed.”
“He is in bed.”
Oenghus snorted. “Don’t think you’re escaping the grog, ye ol’ bastard.”
When Oenghus disappeared behind the curtain, she turned to her Bonded. “Were you injured?”
“Hmm, after a manner,” he answered. “I’m not sure which is worse: Oenghus yelling at me, or mothering me. He’s worse than a fretting old woman.”
The giant ‘fretting old woman’ returned with a mug in hand. Beyond the curtain, as it opened and fell, she caught a fleeting glimpse of other people moving in the bluish light. “How’d we get here?” she asked.
Marsais untangled himself, and sat up, wrinkling his nose as he accepted the mug.
Since Marsais was otherwise occupied with gagging, Oenghus answered,“While you were burning down the forest, I picked up some strays.”
“Yes,” Marsais coughed, “how is your Oathbound?”
“Shut it.” Oenghus tugged on his braided beard. “I don’t want anything to do with that crazed woman, and she doesn’t want a thing to do with me. All that bloody hissing—”
Isiilde feared that Oenghus would rip out a braid.
“I meant the captain,” Marsais clarified.
Isiilde’s eyes widened in shock. Her guardian had been busy.
“She’s not my Oathbound, Sprite.”
“Marsais!” Isiilde said with narrowed eyes. The man froze, half way between pouring the mug into the fire pit. At least he had the decency to look ashamed. “Surely you can drink that, if I did?”
“You’ve been nearly unconscious while we helped you drink. On the other hand, I have been enduring its taste for two straight days.”
“Stop being a dandy,” Oenghus muttered.
“If you had taken the time to learn how to brew a proper potion, then I would not be complaining.”
“I brew them better than your forgetful arse.”
“As if you’re not forgetful.”
“Would you two stop it!” Isiilde growled, rubbing her temples. Both men cleared throats. “What happened?” she insisted.
The ancients glanced at each other. Oenghus started talking first, and Marsais downed the grog in one gulp, setting the mug aside. All in all, Isiilde was glad that she had missed the trip down the river. But as Oenghus described Marsais’ recent duel with a relish and more detail than she would have liked, her stomach turned queasy.
“She doesn’t need details,” Marsais cut the Nuthaanian’s tale short.
Oenghus shifted with a grumble.
“Is that how you got hurt, Marsais?”
“This brings us back to my earlier question, which you don’t want to discuss.”
The nymph plucked at the white fur blanket. “Is this a frost wolf?”
“No, it’s a winter wolf,” Marsais answered.
“What’s the difference?”
“The frost pelt would still be cold, not warm.”
Oenghus knocked the two back on topic. “Why don’t you want to discuss it, Sprite? You either remember or you don’t.”
“I—” Isiilde faltered, glancing at Marsais in confusion. The carvings on the cave wall no longer reminded her of the forest. She was trapped in a cave, and the weight of rock was suffocating. The room grew smaller, the air stale, and a surge of panic clutched her throat. Flames retreated, drawing in on themselves, feeding the coals at its base until the fire pit glowed molten. It whispered to her with a soft hiss.
Emerald eyes blazed, focused on Marsais, and she bit out tersely, “You took my fire.”
“I did,” he confirmed.
“So what, you lost control again, and tried to kill him?” Oenghus pressed.
“As if you are one to talk!” she bristled, eyes flashed, and the fire surged with fury. But Marsais was ready with a prepared weave. He leapt to his feet, and plucked the flames from the air as they roared outwards, gathering the heat into a ball.
“Stop it!” she screamed.
Oenghus grabbed her roughly. The Lore was on his lips, even as the nymph’s skin seared his palms, but he persisted, and a moment later her world went dark.
❧
Marsais hurled the fireball against the cave wall, scorching stone trees with destruction and ash. He cursed as a backlash of sparks sprayed into the room. Footsteps pounded down the outside tunnel, and the fur drapery jumped aside as Captain Mael charged into the room, sword in hand. She frowned at the drifting sparks and then at the unconscious nymph.
“It’s all right, Captain. Isiilde is having a—difficult time,” Marsais offered, crouching to check the nymph’s pulse. It was steady and strong.
“I’ve never seen her like that,” Oenghus whispered, staring down at his daughter with new eyes.
“Your hands, Oenghus.”
The giant looked down at the blistered skin, and cursed. But it wasn’t for pain or injury, it was for his daughter. “She’s always had a sharp tongue on her, but nothing like this.”
“Did she attack you again?” Acacia asked. She had been roused from sleep, and wore the clinging black underclothing of the Lome. Shocked as he was, Oenghus didn’t even notice.
“More or less.”
The captain took each of Oenghus’ hands, examining his injuries. “You had to knock her out,” she surmised.
Oenghus grunted.
“I’m not surprised at her behavior. She’s as undisciplined as you.”
“It’s not as if we haven’t tried,” Oenghus growled, snatching his hands from the captain’s scrutiny.
“Oenghus is right,” Marsais interjected. “Other Wise Ones, including myself, have tried to teach her control—with no effect.”
“And yet you continued to teach her your Lore.”
“This isn’t the Lore.”
“Then what is it?”
“It�
��s her blood,” he explained. “Nymph’s are creatures of passion, as you well know, Captain. They live in the moment, with no thought for the past or present. We are, in effect, asking her to change the way she thinks, the way she feels. We want her to be behave as a human, but she is faerie—never forget that.”
“That’s not an excuse.”
“No, it’s her nature,” he countered. “You might as well tell Oenghus to stop eyeing women.” As he was now.
Acacia shot a severe look at the appreciative giant before returning to the seer. “I understand, Marsais, but out here we can’t afford her whims.”
“No, we can’t, but for what she has gone through this past fortnight—” Marsais ran his hands over his face, seeking to erase the past. “Her rage and fear is understandable.”
“She needs rest,” Oenghus grunted.
“Yes,” Marsais agreed. “With time, I think she will calm down.”
“That could take years,” Acacia stated. “We don’t have years.”
“We certainly don’t.”
“And every day she remains in this underground city, she is at risk—we all are. Bonded or not, a nymph is still a temptation.”
“I think the precautions you have taken are wise, Captain,” Marsais replied. Acacia had ordered Rivan and Lucas to perform a cleansing ritual on their food and water stores. The Lome chieftain might fear Marsais’ power, but poison was quick, silent, and above all, easy.
“We need to plan an escape,” Acacia declared.
“Let’s not be hasty, Captain.”
“Marsais, we can’t rely on someone else to stop the threat on the Isle. The stronghold is notoriously guarded by enchantments.”
“I agree.”
“I’ve not pressed you.”
“And I appreciate your patience.”
“Lucas is not patient.”
“I’ve noticed.” Marsais stood, moving away from the sleeping nymph. “What would you like to know?”
“How long will it take Tharios to free Karbonek? What is protecting the tomb? And what is in the flask?”
“I don’t know the answer to the last, so I can’t answer your other questions.”
“By the gods,” Oenghus swore. “I know you, Scarecrow, and I know when that mind of yours is scheming. You’ve been scheming something fierce these past days. What are you brewing?”
“Your confidence in me is frightening,” Marsais said ruefully. He clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace. Oenghus rolled his eyes and huffed, retrieving his pipe.
“Marsais?” The seer did not respond to the captain’s call. “Has he forgotten we’re here?” she asked Oenghus.
“Probably.”
“Convenient,” she noted loudly.
“Isn’t it though?” Oenghus mused. “The Scarecrow’s like a burr, he eventually works his way beneath the thickest hides.”
“Why do you call him Scarecrow?”
“You don’t want to know. Just don’t interrupt him when he’s like that.” Oenghus jerked his chin at the rangy man who had stopped dead in his tracks to stare at a crack in the wall. “It can take him years to find his way back.”
“From where?”
“Who the Void knows. You might as well make yourself comfortable. I swear I’ll behave.”
Acacia blew an even breath out, and took a deep breath in, before sitting cross-legged beside the fire. “Hard to imagine.”
Oenghus settled himself beside her, and began filling his pipe. “I thought I had been behaving myself.”
Acacia ignored his flirtatious tone. “Lucas told me what happened. I’m surprised you went back for the captives.”
“Why would you think that?”
“You’re a berserker.”
“What of it?” he snapped.
“I believe the saying goes, the strong survive until they die.”
“I gave them a fighting chance—nothing else.” He plucked a tinder from the fire and paused before lighting the tobacco. “You and your lot would have left women and children to rot because they don’t bow to your bloody Blessed Order.”
“Some might, yes,” she admitted.
“But not you?” he asked puffing on the stem until the weed caught.
She looked at him evenly. “Is a paladin who helps the weak really as rare as a berserker who heals?”
“In my experience,” he said slowly, “it is.”
“You seem to have met as many unworthy paladins as I’ve met careless berserkers.”
“I never said the rest of my kin were careful,” he chuckled.
“No, they certainly aren’t.” She looked at the sleeping nymph. “You are exceptional.”
Oenghus inhaled a mouthful of smoke. “Excuse me?” he coughed.
“It means rare.”
“I know what it bloody means,” he grumbled. “Just never thought I’d hear it from your lips. And a lovely set they are.”
“Don’t get cocky, Oenghus.”
“I’m always cocky.”
“Not in the camp.” He narrowed his eyes and she went on to explain. “I would have likely freed the captives immediately. You, however, showed exceptional restraint in securing the supplies and returning. Above all, you didn’t place my lieutenant in danger for a side errand.”
“An impulsive paladin,” he whistled low. “A woman after my own heart.”
“I don’t like cages.” Pale eyes focused on him, and she stood, walking over to Marsais, who had transferred his gaze from the rock to his toes.
“Your Order doesn’t share your views,” Oenghus observed.
“I’m surprised you haven’t taken up with one of the Lome,” she changed the subject. “The women certainly seem eager where you are concerned.”
Oenghus scratched his beard. He wasn’t sure how to take her comment. So he took it lightly. “Tribes consider me good breeding stock. My size gets them all excited.”
Acacia turned towards the barbarian. “Is that what happened with Isiilde’s mother?”
His beard twitched, and he tensed, holding himself very still and dangerously quiet.
“You’re a man, Isiilde is a nymph. I’ve been around enough nymphs to know how they affect men, especially ones like you, Oenghus.”
He found his voice, a rougher one than normal. “You don’t know a thing about me.”
“I know enough.”
“I cared for Isiilde’s mother as the Emperor’s healer. I was with her when she gave birth, and I was with her when she died holding her infant.”
Paladin and barbarian locked eyes, one pair gleaming with emotion, and the other cool and calculating. “That must be it,” she said at length. “Because if you were her father, Oenghus—the consequences would be grave.”
“Worse than being charged with Bloodmagic?”
Acacia smirked. “Lies are easy to unravel. Truth is not.”
“Good thing it’s just my caring nature, then.”
“Good thing,” she agreed.
“Good things are always good,” a voice murmured distantly.
“You back with us, Scarecrow?”
“Had I left?”
“Aye, you bloody left.”
“Where’d I go?”
“To a harem with a hundred virgins.”
“By the gods,” Marsais exclaimed, “no wonder I’m exhausted.”
“Before you left for your harem, you were going to share your plans with us,” Acacia said. Oenghus glanced at the paladin in surprise.
“Was I?” Grey eyes narrowed.
“I certainly hope so.” The captain’s tone was void of amusement. “You mentioned the Shadowed Dawn earlier. Why that day?”
Marsais scratched at his chest, gazing distractedly around the room, until his eyes fell on the sleeping nymph, where they remained fixed. “A night and a day of darkness. It’s suitably dramatic, don’t you agree, Captain?”
“You pulled that out of a hat to placate me?”
“Not precisely,” he said. “Al
l paths show three moons.”
“The moons align in the summer too,” Acacia objected.
“Ah, but the veils between realms are thin on that night, when the Dark One’s moon, as you call it, smothers the sun.”
“But he has Soisskeli’s Stave. You said he can open a Gateway with it. Why would he need to wait for the veil to thin?”
“I don’t know, Captain.”
Acacia pressed her lips together, eyeing the vague seer. She didn’t believe a word he said.
“So what’s your plan on getting our hides back on that Isle?”
“I know someone who may be able to help.”
“Who?” Acacia asked.
“An old acquaintance in Vlarthane.” Before Acacia or Oenghus could ask who again, Marsais continued, “I’ve been speaking with Kasja. I believe I can pinpoint where we are in Vaylin. With the rivers, we should make good time.”
“I’m not going to rise to your baited answer, Marsais. Who is in Vlarthane?”
“Someone with unscrupulous ties.”
“Details,” she pressed.
“That’s all I’m willing to share. You and your men are free to choose your own path.”
“Iilenshar has decided for me.”
Marsais inclined his head. “Then you should know the road is dangerous.”
“What road isn’t?” Acacia turned on her heel.
Oenghus stopped her at the curtain with a call. “If you get cold at night, feel free to join me.”
“I’m sure you’d make an excellent rug.” She left without a backward glance, leaving the two ancients with their secrets.
The heavy curtain fell over the tunnel and her soft footfalls dwindled.
“I think I’m winning her over,” Oenghus chuckled, but Marsais did not share his amusement. “So this friend of yours—someone I know?”
“Did I ever mention Saavedra?”
Oenghus plucked his pipe from his lips. “What the Void!”
Marsais quickly wove an Orb of Silence, cutting off the Nuthaanian’s bellow. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“You are insane.”
“Was that ever in question, Oenghus?”
“Didn’t she try to kill you?”
“Hmm, kill is such a permanent word.”
“Are you going to bloody warn the paladins?”
“I did,” Marsais defended. “In a roundabout way.”
King's Folly (Book 2) Page 25