by Autumn Dawn
Or rather, him.
Mathin’s nostrils flared as the wind carried Keilor’s scent to him, mixed with the provocative smell of soap and Sylph. He’d never scented anything like it. The stuff of silken sheets and moonlight, naked skin and a lover’s cries. The scent of legend.
One look at Keilor’s savage face was enough to see that whatever he’d been doing with the Sylph, he hadn’t bedded her. That was good, as Mathin intended to do that himself, and once he had her, he didn’t intend to share.
Just because he was Mathin, he called out in his gravely voice, “Have you prepared yourself for your humiliation tomorrow, Keilor?”
Keilor checked in mid-stalk and pivoted to face his antagonist. Baring his teeth in a savage smile, he answered in a low rumble, “Mathin. Defeating cadets has gone to your head, it seems. You’ll have to have a real warrior rid you of your delusions.” Once, years ago, he and the indomitable Mathin had been something of friends, even though they had often been rivals.
He did not know if they were friends tonight.
Mathin laughed recklessly. “Know any?” he asked, disparaging them both. He made no move to secure his waist length black hair into a queue, signaling that whatever his intentions, they didn’t include a battle.
They would save that for tomorrow.
However, it was plain that Mathin wouldn’t mind a bit of mischief while the opportunity presented itself. Keilor smiled grimly. Perhaps he would provide a distraction after all.
Amber mead flowed into Keilor’s paper-thin stone cup, filling it to the brim. Mathin also replenished his own glass. Keilor’s mouth lifted sardonically. No doubt Mathin would get him drunk as an elf if he let him. Granted, there wasn’t much else to do in Mathin’s spartan room.
A narrow bed with a plain chest at the end of it, a small table and two chairs made up the sum of the soldier’s guest room. A single window let in light. Mathin could have had better, but like most warriors, was satisfied with the bare essentials.
Mathin shot back half his cup and then sprawled in his chair with a satisfied sigh, using one scuffed boot to tilt himself back. He laced his hands over his flat stomach, cradled the cup, and studied Keilor with curiosity. “So tell me about the Sylph.”
“She’s a pocket full of trouble,” Keilor answered immediately, his scowl reborn on his face. Trouble and then some.
The corner of Mathin’s lip curled up. “But worth it?”
Keilor drummed his fingers on the table. “I spoke with Jayems for her.”
The warrior’s brows shot up. “Here is news. The untamable Master of the Hunt, captured at last by a woman?” Mathin studied him. “You have no desire for children?”
Keilor rubbed his thumb over the rim of his cup. “I accept that I will not have them.” He could have explained that he planned on adopting a child, but the sudden tightness in his throat prevented it. A forceful swallow of mead cleared his throat enough for him to ask, “What of you? I had always assumed that you liked children. Why would you court a human?”
A humorless smile traced Mathin’s lips. “Perhaps, in my case, it would be better to remain childless.” There was silence a moment. Mathin’s line was not called the Mad for nothing. Mathin himself might be sane, but there were more than enough men in his family who carried the curse of madness. His father, for one. Mathin cleared his throat. “Besides, legend has it that to lie with a Sylph is to experience pleasure worth dying for. Is it not said that more than one Haunt went to his death, smiling, after a night with a Sylph?” He leaned forward, disregarding Keilor’s black look. “I’m no mewling virgin, Keilor. I’ve known satisfaction many times, but never have I—” he broke off, looking frustrated, as if the words eluded him. Or perhaps it was only that he realized the personal nature of what he’d been about to reveal. He finished gruffly with, “I’d like to test the legend.”
“To legends,” Keilor toasted him, not bothering with childish denials. Jasmine would be his tomorrow, and he was man enough to let his jealousy go, even though he wanted nothing better than to bare his teeth and launch himself across the table. To distract himself, he asked, “And what reason do you think drives her other suitors? Other than lust?”
Mathin snorted and refilled their cups. “Bloodless politics, my friend. A man can adopt children, but how many get the chance to ally themselves with the strongest family in the realm?” Keilor grunted, and he grinned. “Though no doubt the lady has some attraction.”
Keilor ignored him.
“Speaking of women, where is your cousin, Fallon?” A wolfish gleam glimmered in his eyes. “Off on one of his mysterious journeys again?”
Keilor gave him a bland look. Mathin knew full well where Fallon had gone, and he’d give his right nut to be able to follow. Even Mathin would have to have a powerful reason to use the gates uninvited, however. Volti were known for their savagery.
Obviously using great restraint, Mathin said nothing more. He was a proud man, and he wasn’t going to sulk. “I marvel at his timing.” He refilled their empty glasses. “Is he still determined to keep his freedom, or has your loyal cousin ceded the game to you?”
Before Keilor could open his mouth to retort, a knock sounded on the door.
“Come,” Mathin called. A messenger entered and handed him a slip of paper and backed up three steps to wait politely by the entrance for a reply. A slow, wicked smile curved Mathin’s lips as he scanned the brief note. “Tell her yes,” he told the messenger, who nodded with respect and disappeared. Mathin tossed Keilor the note and tilted his chair back on two legs to watch his face.
He wasn’t disappointed.
Two glowing slits were all that remained of Keilor’s eyes when he finished and tossed the note to the table. His nostrils flared wide as he stared at it, wishing he could incinerate it and the nine others like it. No doubt the little witch did it just to torment him.
“It would seem the Lady Jasmine is curious about the Ten,” Mathin needled him, the devil in his eyes. “Or perhaps just one of the Ten?”
Keilor snarled at him.
“Were you invited?” Jasmine murmured coldly to him the next morning as he joined her and the Ten for breakfast. They were on the opposite side of the formal dining room from the rest of the gathering, which also included the female members of his family, most likely to help insure good behavior.
Keeping his voice equally low, he leaned forward and breathed in her ear, “After the private invitation you extended to me last night, I had no reason to think you’d exclude me this morning. Or are you afraid to face me?”
There were so many things Jasmine wanted to say to that, the numerous messages temporarily paralyzed her tongue. Keilor just smiled at her and joined the rest of the men. For a moment she didn’t dare turn around, afraid the rage coursing through her would make her behave like a fool. She considered, strongly, calling the guards and having him thrown out.
The man had left her—left her!—shaking and huddled in his bath, suffering the twin agonies of humiliation and blistering desire. He had actually made her want him, and then been cold enough to leave her there to suffer. The man was cruel, and after she’d stumbled back to her room with two Haunt guards watching her with suspicion, she’d let out her anger and hurt in a flood of bitter tears.
Never again.
Rihlia snared Keilor into standing with her to say the blessing. She knew all about last night, and her lightly veiled anger at Keilor shimmered in her eyes. He couldn’t have missed it, but other than one wary look, he made no comment.
Inviting the Ten to breakfast this morning had been her idea. “He wants to play games with you, fine,” she’d said, furious on Jasmine’s behalf. “We’ll skewer the swamp rat and roast him over a fire made of the sexiest men we can find. We’ll teach the arrogant jerk not to play games he can’t win.”
Somehow, the idea had seemed much better last night.
The smile she offered Mathin, the handsomest of her guests, and the most likely to defeat Keilo
r today, was a pale imitation of the flirtatious smile she’d meant to deliver. She felt too bruised to offer more.
Something odd flashed in Mathin’s eyes when she looked at him, almost as if he saw the truth behind her smile. His eyes flickered to Keilor, an indecipherable expression in them. When he looked at Jasmine again, though, his expression was clear. “May I share the blessing with you, Lady Jasmine?” he asked, and his rough voice sent a pleasant shiver down her spine.
“Please,” she answered, mentally swearing at herself as his large, warm hands closed over her shoulders, making her nerves jump with awareness. She closed her eyes, shutting herself in solitary darkness as the blessing was said. It’s just a side affect of last night. She assured herself. Then, angrily, So I feel a little thrill when a handsome man touches me. I’m young, and healthy, and it’s not as if—She broke into a cold sweat. Even in her mind, her heart wouldn’t let her complete the sentence. Panicked, she thought with desperation, I don’t belong to him! He doesn’t have any claim on me! Her eyes opened, and she saw Keilor looking straight at her, and her heart condemned her for a liar.
The meal began, and it was all she could do at first simply to hide her trembling hands. Eleven hungry men made quick work of the quiche and sweet pastries, thinly sliced roast and steaming asparagus. No one seemed to notice that she barely nibbled at her own breakfast.
In an effort to make conversation, she asked Mathin, “Are you nervous about the tournament today?”
Chuckles broke out around the table, and one of Mathin’s dark brows quirked. With great amusement, he answered, “Should I be?”
A touch annoyed at his arrogance, she answered with mock innocence, “Haven’t you heard?” she paused a moment, dragging out the suspense. Even the women looked at her with curiosity. “Urseya has vowed to take to the field and show you all up as bumbling boys.” Urseya’s eyes widened in shock, and it was all Jasmine could do to keep a straight face as the men stared at the young woman in astonishment. “I understand that she’s a wicked hand with a energy blade.”
Urseya took a deep breath and surprised her by leaning back in her chair and saying with regal calm, “You hear correctly, cousin.” She tilted her head, and without the slightest trace of humor, told Mathin, “I’m quite certain you’d find me unconquerable.”
An appreciative gleam appeared in his eye, and he lowered his gaze, conquering his amusement, then slowly raised it to meet Urseya’s. “Then I’ll have to ask you to beg off, warrior queen. I’d hate to risk public humiliation at your merciless hands.” He gave her a mischievous smile, and at his words the snorts and muffled snickers broke into full-blown guffaws. Even Urseya allowed a slight smile to touch her mouth.
Jasmine and Rihlia looked at each other, and Jasmine raised her brows. This was interesting. “Well, maybe I can talk her into a private duel with the winner,” Jasmine conceded with an airy wave of her hand. “I’m sure that he’ll need to have his rest.”
“So long as it’s not directly after the tournament,” Keilor interjected. “I’ll be otherwise occupied this evening.” Silence descended on the table.
Jasmine stared at him in astonishment. Had the man been born with that ego, or had it taken years to inflate to such mammoth proportions? When the eyes of all of the warriors at the table bugged out, she realized that she’d said as much aloud. Even Mathin stared at her, incredulous.
Nuclear winter stormed behind Keilor’s eyes, but his voice was calm when he answered, “Name a warrior who has defeated me since I became a man, Lady, and I will give you everything I own.” Jasmine held his eyes, refusing to give ground. She might not be able to take him with a blade, but by fire, she wouldn’t be the first one to give way now.
“Which is a great deal, by the way,” Rhapsody broke in, almost babbling.
Startled, Jasmine’s eyes leapt to her, breaking her stand off with Keilor. It took nearly a full minute for Jasmine to understand that Rhapsody was doing her best to break the tension, and another for her to turn to Mathin and attempt to converse politely. Choosing the first topic that came to mind, she asked, “So...do you like kids?”
Looking puzzled, he answered, “I fail to see why it would matter.” When she just frowned at him, he said warily, “You don’t know, do you?” When her frown got deeper, he told her, “Humans and Haunt never produce children.”
Eventually she blinked. She had no choice—her lids simply closed over her burning eyes and opened of their own accord. Her lungs pumped and drew air into her starving lungs, and even her heartbeat began again, even if it did lurch and bump erratically.
But she did not feel. Her head nodded once, and then she calmly returned to eating her breakfast, a perfectly calm expression on her face.
She did not taste a crumb.
The meal ended shortly after that, and she thanked everyone cordially for coming and watched as they filed out of the room, shooting her wary glances.
As the last one closed the door behind him, Keilor said from beside her, “Jasmine.”
Without a thought, she turned and slapped his face as hard as she could.
She’d almost thought she’d heard emotion in his voice.
Mathin was waiting for him in the hall. “What happened between you two last night?” he asked with deceptive quietness.
Keilor looked back at the door, but he was clearly picturing the woman within. “Apparently, not enough.”
Jasmine did not give a speech that day.
She watched with dispassion as the Master of Ceremonies announced the events and the names of the participants. Yesterday all of the Ten had worn Jayems’ colors, today each wore the uniform of their own clan. Only two wore the familiar black uniforms of Jayems’ guards. One of them was Mathin.
The other was Keilor.
Rihlia and the others were with her in the pavilion, but she refused to look at anyone. She could easily believe that her friend had no knowledge of...the child thing, but apparently it was common knowledge among the others. Rhapsody had explained that she at least hadn’t thought of it exactly because it was such common knowledge. That did not excuse Jayems. It did not excuse Keilor.
She hadn’t been under any illusions. She’d known exactly what her so called ‘suitors’ wanted from her. It was upsetting, though, to be so casually slapped in the face with the fact that none of them had cared enough about her to be upset that she couldn’t have any children. Wouldn’t a man who felt something other than lust for a woman have the courtesy to at least tell her that he could never give her a child?
A blazing wall of fire flared up directly in front of the gates, and eleven riders charged out up the ramp and through the flames. Jasmine glowered at them. She was determined not to be impressed no matter what antics they pulled.
That idea lasted all of three minutes.
When the first stag beast sailed over Keilor, who raked it’s belly with the tip of his sword, just cutting through it’s rider’s girth, she thought she would have heart failure. When that rider managed to shed his saddle in mid-air, land, and still remain seated on his stag, she knew that this was going to be nothing like yesterday.
The stags were as vicious as their masters, and astonishingly limber. It was amazing that the men could even keep their seats, let alone still have the ability to strike at one another with such strength and speed. Blue sparks showered from each strike, but perhaps they didn’t burn, for the unprotected arms of the warriors never flinched.
Jasmine did their flinching for them.
The battle raged hot and furious, and it didn’t stop until one rider ended up in the dust. Drums sounded and a shofar blew, and that battle was over.
The men barely had time to wipe the sweat and grime from their faces with the backs of their hands when fireworks exploded practically under their stag’s feet. Jasmine gripped her chair, afraid for a moment that they were under attack. An opaque blue haze rose up, obscuring the scattered riders from view. When the sound of battle rose from the blue smoke, Jayem
s explained without prompting, “They’re fighting blind, using scent, hearing, and kinetic sense to find their opponents. The stag is particularly useful for such combat, as its kinetic sense and bravery match that of a Haunt. A horse would be worse than useless in such a fight.”
Jasmine wanted to ask what kinetic sense was, but she was too busy gripping the arms of her chair and straining in vain to catch a glimpse of what was going on in that cloud.
“Man down!” someone shouted, and immediately the haze began to clear. Nine riders appeared out of the smoke, and one man limped off the field, holding on to his stag.
Dread snaked through her, and Jasmine bit her lip. Before she could think, she said to Jayems, “Make them stop. I’m not worth this.” Jayems looked at her, but didn’t say a word.
It was too late anyway.
With an ominous creak, the gates opened again and spawned a new horror. Thirty Haunt soldiers marched out and surrounded the riders, who backed their mounts into a loose ring. These were not cadets. Jasmine began to rise to her feet, but Jayems clamped a hand on her arm and dragged her back down. He kept it manacled around her wrist, too, just as a precaution.
Jasmine could not sit still. The Haunt advanced with eerie silence, and the only sounds were the grunts of the fighters and the clash of blades. She tried to remind herself that no one was going to be killed, that this wasn’t a real battle, but there was nothing feigned about the cat-like maneuvers and powerful strikes of the Haunt. A man was finally dragged, swearing, off his mount. Several women screamed as the Haunt swarmed over him, and only Jayems’ hand on her forearm kept her in her seat. Incredibly, the black sea seemed to struggle for several long seconds, and at least one Haunt drew back with a roar of rage before the warrior was bound and drug off. The procedure was repeated until only six riders and precious few Haunt remained.
“They’re fighting under a handicap,” Jayems explained, perhaps trying to distract her. “If not for that, we would have needed to use more than twice as many Haunt.”