Felling Kingdoms (Book 5)

by Jenna Van Vleet

  ‘Stars, I hope you see something you like.’

  “You’ve taken so many wounds,” she said softly, touching faint scars on his stomach.

  “I am a soldier,” he replied as if stating water was wet.

  “My brother never took wounds like this.”

  “Your brother only fought against Shalaban twice. I fought them my whole life.”

  She leaned over him and pierced the flesh. “How many battles have you been in?”

  “More than I can count.”

  She drew a stitch closed. “We will get you to a Spirit Mage as soon as we arrive tomorrow.”

  “Oh, no, I wear all my scars proudly, and these will always remind me of you.”

  She smiled in gratitude, and he swore she blushed under the firelight. It had not escaped his attention that she was able to summon the Head Mage. Either he had not come, or she did not try. With her dependence on him, he was certain she had. That put him at a huge advantage.

  “Someone clocked your head,” she murmured as she tied off the edge of the stitch and leaned down to sever it.

  He reached up and felt a spot that throbbed. Robyn grabbed his hand and put it back, clutching his head and angling it in the firelight. Holding it in one hand, she dabbed it with the cloth. He met her eyes for a moment of breath-holding tension, but he averted first, hoping she would think him a gentleman.

  He had a long scratch on his left shoulder and several other welts on his forearms where he had blocked the blunted knives. She carefully cleaned each one with the expertise of a woman who had done it before. Virgil envied Gabriel. He wanted to know how the man had taken wounds that needed stitching, especially since the man controlled most things, but he dared not bring the Head Mage to the forefront of her mind. That was where he was supposed to be now.

  “Roll over, watch the hip.” She had wisely left it uncovered. He pushed himself over to reveal the cut that ran from one shoulder blade to the other. He could feel bruises and welts forming. “Not too bad. It won’t need a stitch.” She took her time washing the dirt from it. All he could think of were her hands on his skin, even where it ached.

  “All done,” she said, and he rolled to his back, leaning back to stare at the stars overhead.

  “Will I live?” he asked.

  “Probably not.”

  He grinned. “Well, it has been a pleasure.”

  She chuckled and rose to add fuel to the fire. “Thank you for fighting so hard.” She returned to her seat beside him and braced herself on an arm.

  “Of course,” he said quietly. “I could not let them take you. You were not wounded, were you?”

  She rubbed the inside of a thigh. “They pulled me off the saddle pretty hard.”

  He frowned. They were supposed to be forceful but gentle with her. “I wish I had ice for you.”

  She uncorked the flask of alcohol and took a swig. It screwed her face as it went down, and she handed it to him. “I feel better already.”

  He swished the flask and wished he brought more. “You are not like other women.”

  She sighed and gave him a sympathetic smile. ‘Do not push her.’

  “You light fires, stitch wounds, sip the hard stuff,” he shook the flask, and she took it up. “What else do you do I am not aware of?”

  “Hunt, skin, cook,” she sipped the drink.

  “You? Cook?”

  “I make a mean stew,” she grinned and handed him the flask. “You should finish it.”

  He obliged. “Can you untack I’aya? She will not wander off.” She nodded and went to the horse munching methodically around her bit. “Bring the saddle blanket with you.”

  The air was chill against his exposed skin, but he ignored it. Robyn pulled his cloak out of the bag and laid it beside him. She brought him the blanket, and he put it by his head.

  Robyn raised a brow.

  “I am a gentleman, Robyn.”

  She stepped over him to his unwounded hip and eyed the makeshift bed. “I’m more concerned of you freezing.”

  “I will be fine.”

  She knelt down and laid beside him, putting her head back on the blanket. “We should have picked a better spot than a rock shelf.”

  He chuckled and sat up, wincing as the stitches in his hip pulled, and wrapped the cloak around her. “It is not so bad.”

  She reached a hand over his chest and draped the cloak around him as far as it would go, scooching closer to push it farther. “Please wake me if you get too cold.”

  He stared between his boots at the fire. With that source of heat and her beside him boiling his blood, being too cold was the least of his concerns.

  “Sleep well,” he whispered. “Thank you for mending me.”

  “Of course,” she replied and turned her head away, closing her eyes.

  He had spent countless hours sleeping on battlefields to know how to fall asleep quickly and wake at the right time. He let himself drift, waking a few hours later to a smoldering fire. Robyn had rolled to her side into him. With expert precision, he slipped his arm under her head, tucking her into him. Her hand clutched in the cloak was cold, but his body was warm. As he lay relishing her beside him, her hand released and laid flat on his chest. ‘Stars, I could die now and be happy.’

  Nolen threw his shirt on and tucked it in. “You can go,” he said to the woman in his bed who looked less than thrilled to be there. She quickly raised herself and slipped out quietly without a second glance. The women in Atrox Manor were broken creatures. He preferred a woman with spunk and fight, but Maxine had been taking her aggressions out on fair-haired Gaelsins lately.

  He pulled on boots and a buttoned a vest, winding his way out to the great room. He summoned a servant for a mug of ale and a platter of cheese. Pike occupied the great room as usual. He sat fiddling with a dozen things on a table by the window, constantly running white and green patterns through them.

  Today a young woman in a pale blue dress sat before him looking terrified, her fingers twined in her lap. Nolen took a seat to watch as Pike held out a tiny ball of gray material to her.

  “Swallow this,” he commanded with a steely gaze. Nolen could never quite figure Pike out. Sometimes the man was terribly gentle and considerate, but he could switch in a blink to be as fierce as a wounded hound.

  The frightened girl carefully picked up the ball with delicately bended fingers and held it to her eyes. His gaze had not softened. Snapping her eyes shut, she swallowed it.

  They flew open a few seconds later, and she gasped. Her fingers rapidly scratched at her chest, “My Element!”

  Nolen leaned forward in interest.

  “What of it?” Pike asked.

  “I cannot feel it! It’s gone! What did you do?” she cried, tears springing to her eyes.

  He waved a hand in a gentle gesture, and his face took on a calming expression. “It will come back. Inform me the moment it does.”

  “How long will this last?” she asked as she tried to stem her emotions.

  “A few days.”

  “Days?” She jumped to her feet and rushed out in tears.

  Nolen tapped his fingers on the armrest. “How did you do that?”

  Pike looked up as if noticing him for the first time. “Ah, it is a condensed version of the same patterns we used in incanted stones, but with a twist. I canno’ quite work out how to make it last longer than a few days, as the body breaks the lead down.”

  “What is the longest it will work for?”

  “The longest I managed was three days, but I hope this will version will last five.”

  “Is it the size of the ball that factors in?”

  “No, it is the patterns themselves.” Pike tinkered with the little spheres before him.

  “What will you do with them?”

  Pike grinned. “Sell them t’ the highest bidder.”

  “How many do you have?”

  Pike winked and picked up a fresh one, manipulating it with a white pattern.

  A se
rvant entered with Nolen’s ale and cheese, and Ryker joined them, summoning for tea. “It is too quiet.”

  Nolen held his goblet up. “Agreed.”

  Ryker cocked his head and clicked his cheek as he watched Pike. “Nolen, tell me of the women what bedded the Head Mage.”

  Nolen leaned back with a wistful smile. “Where do I start?”

  Ryker clicked again. “Tell me, were there any he was fond of? Any he would be remiss t’ lose?”

  Nolen narrowed his eyes as he grinned. “There may have been. It was difficult to tell with him, but he hesitated with one—a pretty blonde slip of a girl.”

  “Hesitated?”

  “I had to tell him twice.”

  Ryker nodded slowly as his lips toyed with a grin. “Tell me more, I may have use par her.”

  Chapter 7

  “What—is—WRONG WITH YOU?” Gabriel exclaimed. “It’s too early for this.”

  “You have a Council Meeting.” Mikelle replied, standing on his bed.

  “Not for hours.” He grabbed his pillow and put it over his head. She jumped again, jostling him.

  “In less than an hour. You’ve slept in again.”

  He grabbed another pillow and held it over his head. She took a handful of the blankets and pulled them off him.

  “I could be naked,” came his muffled retort.

  “I’m not sure you know what a threat is.”

  He reached blindly for the blankets, and she snatched a pillow away. “I ask for so little,” he muttered.

  “There’s bacon for breakfast.”

  He rolled to his back, head still covered. “How much?”

  “How does one quantify bacon?”

  “I won’t get up for less than five slices.”

  “Then you better get up before I eat them.”

  He took a fistful of the pillow and threw it in her direction. “I need a manservant to wake me like normal people. No one would wake a King this way.” He shook his mussed hair and ran two hands through it, squinting at the open curtains. “Do I have to dress myself too?”

  She laughed and hopped off the bed to search his wondrous wardrobe. She grabbed a coat trimmed in black cord and found a pair of matching high-waist trousers along with simple shirt and a vest.

  He was lying back on his bed when she exited, so she threw the clothes on his stomach to make him choke.

  “Why is it,” he rose, “that my clothes keep getting tighter?”

  “Obviously you have put on weight.”

  “No, no that is not the case. I’ll ask again, but I’ll rephrase this time since I know my tongue does not always translate through your Arconian brain. What have you done to my clothes?”

  She gave him a sly smile. “My dear Gabriel, I would never do anything to your clothes, specifically the trousers.”

  He snapped a finger at her and his lips screwed. “You little vixen! You’ve had them all taken in!”

  She shrugged.

  “I do so much,” he muttered and marched into his dressing room where she heard the whisper of clothes, “and ask for nothing but a little decency and respect now and again….”

  “Your bacon is getting cold.”

  “Woman! Don’t even look at it!”

  He exited a minute later fully dressed, his trousers not as tight as they should have been but still snug enough to be entertaining. “You better lock your door.”

  “We need to discuss how to make threats someday,” she smiled, following him into the study. He grabbed the plate of bacon strips compulsively and sat at his desk. He was halfway through the first strip when someone knocked on the door. Gabriel hung his head in defeat and called for entrance.

  Afton stepped in wearing a pale lilac dress covered to the neck and a gray scarf around her shoulders. “Head Mage, I wanted to check you before your meetings.”

  He waved a hand and went back to his breakfast. She stepped beside him and ran her hands over his head, down his neck, along his jaw, and held a hand against his forehead. All the while her white pattern pulsed.

  “Mage Mikelle, what color are his lips?”

  “It’s between the color of a rose petal reflection on new fallen snow and finely ground nutmeg.”

  He stopped chewing at looked at her. Afton smirked. “Dare I ask t’ color of his skin?”

  “Don’t answer that,” Gabriel snapped.

  “Lamb’s wool and Shalabane sandstone.” The women tittered together.

  “I need more male friends,” he muttered and went back to his bacon and reports.

  Afton released his head. “Do you know where Lael is? I did not see him t’is mornin’.”

  Gabriel seized Void, laid the searchers-pattern, and pointed west.

  Mikelle sighed. “I will never get tired of that hair.”

  “Raven black?” Afton smiled.

  “No, white.”

  “White?” Afton gasped, her face suddenly horrified. “Release Void!” she exclaimed and grabbed his arm. “How long have you had white hair?”

  “A…month or two?” He set down the piece of bacon. “What does it mean?”

  Afton wrung her hands. “You’ve spent too much time in Void. Void is dangerous, uncharted, and it strips us of our humanity. If you spend too much time using it, you will be lost to it. T’ white eyes is t’ first sign, white hair t’ next. By t’ time you turn transparent, it’s too late.”

  “Lost to it?”

  “You become one wit’ Void, a walker of t’ spirit world and reality but not fully part of eit’er.

  Gabriel looked past her for a while, lowering his head with a groan. “I was told it was a sign of mastery.”

  “Whoever told you t’at was tryin’ to kill you.”

  He glanced at Mikelle and clenched his jaw. “How long do I have?”

  “T’ere is no tellin’. Years, decades, mont’s. You need to detox it from your body.”

  “How long will that take? I need Void to shift and search.”

  “A mont’, maybe two. You’re betrothed, yes? You might…” she lowered her voice but Mikelle read her lips, “have fertility issues.”

  “That explains why Maxine hasn’t conceived in years….”

  “Robyn needs heirs,” Mikelle muttered.

  He glared at her. “Go stick your face in something that muffles sound. Afton, I have to use Void. The Arch Mages use it, they have white hair and have been fighting for years.”

  Afton bowed. “As you say.”

  He gently grabbed her arm before she walked away. “Thank you for telling me. I would like to train in Void with you someday. You know patterns I have never seen.”

  “I would be honored.” He let her arm go. “Please continue to rest as your body has not yet recovered.”

  He looked at Mikelle accusingly. “Are you listening?”

  With a bow Afton left them and closed the door behind.

  “I knew it,” he whispered. “I always knew something was wrong.”

  “You knew Maxine was trying to kill you.”

  “Yes, but part of me hoped I was wrong about her.” He prodded the papers on his desk. “She vowed not to fight me.”

  “I would not bet on it.” She folded her hands and did her very best to hide the grin blooming to her lips. “Finish your bacon. Council Meeting in two hours.”

  Robyn awoke with the sun. Her bones ached, but her body was warm and cozy under the cloak. She adjusted her position and realized the ground was much softer than she expected, warmer too, and it smelled nice.

  Her eyes flew open to see Virgil’s tanned chest slowly rising and falling in the dim light of morning. Her hand lay on his stomach partially covered with the cloak, and as she became aware of her surroundings, she felt his arm wrapped around her shoulders. She slowly pulled her hand back.

  ‘Whatever you do, don’t summon the Head Mage.’

  The night had laid his wounds bare, and she could see bruises forming around the wound on his chest and on the knuckles of his hand resting agains
t his ribs. From her lofty vantage point, she could see his hip had sealed nicely though a black bruise formed on the lower part of his hip bone. He took quite a beating to save her.

  His chest rose higher as he took in a deep breath and raised his free hand to his face.

  “Good morning,” she whispered.

  He groaned an unintelligible reply in Arconian and stretched his back which cracked several times. “How did you sleep?”

  “Exhaustedly. How do you feel?”

  “Sore.” He raised up on his left knee to look at his hip, brushing off the congealed blood. “Not bad for a Queen.”

  She rose.

  “No, cold,” he muttered, but she raised up anyway, draping the cloak around him. The fire died long ago, but she did not want to stay long enough to relight it. The sooner they returned to Shshonan Palace, the better. They were going to cause a flurry of rumors as soon as they set foot in the city.

  Virgil slowly stood and brushed himself off. Robyn traced the lines of bruises forming over his back with her eyes and winced for him. He slowly pulled his trousers over his hips. The bloodied fabric crinkled where it dried.

  “You look terrible.”

  He looked down at her with a surprised smile. “This is nothing.” He grabbed his shirt and tunic. “I take worse in a tourney.”

  “Don’t be so bold.”

  “I am truthful.” He extended his hand and pulled her to her feet.

  “I have taken feather beds for granted,” she winced, feeling her spine unwind. He slipped his shirt on as she unbraided her hair and finger-combed it.

  He whistled sharply, and I’aya cantered into view. “We are a few hours out of Rabier. Can you wait for breakfast?” He hefted the saddle over one shoulder and laid out the saddle pad.

  “I’ll manage.”

  He finished tacking the horse and stuffed the last of his things into the saddle bags. He looked at the horse’s eyes. I’aya dropped slowly to her belly.

  “That is amazing,” Robyn whispered. Virgil threw a leg over the saddle and guided her to sit behind him, wrapped in his cloak. I’aya lurched to her feet with a groan, and they were on their way.

  “Is the hip staying closed?”