by SL Figuhr
He released her, paced the room, wishing she had some wine; he could do with a drink right about now. He ran his hands tiredly over his face and slumped unmindfully on the bed. His words seemed to be addressed more towards the floor.
“No. Mica told me the kid was already an immortal when he and Colin found him. I don’t know how long he had been one before they met. None of us was able to discover that.” He looked over to her, never able to stay mad at her for long.
She had dried herself and pulled on a filmy gown as she began to comb the knots and tangles from her hair. He wished she had just left herself naked, it was less tantalizing than the shifting material. He realized in the sudden silence she had been talking to him while he had been fantasizing tearing the gown off.
He forced himself to look in her eyes. “Sorry, I was trying to figure out what the boy got into. What he uncovered that lets him change his age and still remain alive and an immortal if what you say is true.” He wondered if he were fooling her, then recalled she couldn’t read the minds of immortals without drinking from them.
Her brow arched up, a sure sign she thought he was lying. “I do not lie, Eron, and I see nothing to admire in it. I’m telling you, he tastes and smells...”
He wearily waved a hand to cut her off. “I don’t like him either, but he’s been able to do things none of the other Immortals could do. That’s damn genius no matter how you feel about him.” He fell backwards onto the feather bed and let his eyes drift closed as it gently swayed on its supporting ropes.
He heard the knock on the door, her voice as she spoke with her slaves but couldn’t make out what she said. The door closed, and he forced his eyes open long enough to see her sit before the fireplace as she finished with her hair. So she was going to continue their conversation after all. “Fine, explain it to me then. Our scent.”
It took a moment and her voice began, “I have noticed all immortals share the same scent and taste in their blood, one exception being Nicky. You are cinnamon and ambrosia. He is both of those things, and another one I can only describe as being close to sulfur.”
“Was that the only reason why you pursued us back then? Because we smelled different and you had to know why?”
After a bit, she said, “Yes,” and he could hear how unapologetic she was over it.
He laughed to himself at the absurdity of it all and forced his eyes open even though he was exhausted. “He’s gone, the advisor. We lost our only link to Mica and Colin. Do you know what could happen if it’s found out he's not mortal by those who hold him?”
Eron watched as she walked toward the bed, the firelight outlining her body, her hair a rippling mass over her shoulders and back. “Are you sure the boy would entrust another immortal who is his sworn enemy to a mere mortal?”
“The boy may have found a way to change his appearance, but I doubt his core nature is any different. He’s an angry, jealous, covetous, distrustful and manipulative kid. He loved conning grown men and women while he enjoyed the fruits of their labor.”
She perched on the edge of the bed and looked at him with her unblinking gaze as he talked.
“He will want his enemies where he can strike at them, but not so close they could bring him harm, and still maintain a reasonable eye on those he’s conned into doing the dirty work.”
Eron watched as her eyes dimmed a bit as she mulled over all he had said. “He knew those two men. He called one his slave.”
“So they tried to ambush and betray him—they cannot know what he is.”
“He might not be gone. They might have hurt him enough he’s hiding, waiting to heal. If we can discover whom the other person was...they might know where the brothers are.”
“No, they might think we are dead or seriously wounded. We don’t know what the thing was supposed to do. Do you want to tip them off we’re immortal? Let the kid be ignorant.”
Her smile was wicked. “Who said I would let them live?”
His rage brightly flared, and he leapt up. “I’ve heard this line before. Look what it got us. There will be no more Donnys.”
“Not even to save your friends?”
“Don’t you dare...you bitch. If Mica gets killed because of you and your schemes...When Nicky comes back, you will let me know at once so I can take care of him. Double-cross me and you can kiss your ass goodbye.” He stormed from the room, more upset than he remembered being in a long time.
Chapter Four
“Are you sure you are well, Your Grace?” Susafan asked while she unfurled my parasol as I stood silently inside the door—Mary Elana’s weeping over her dead, abusive father a tiresome background noise.
It was with great effort I roused myself from my stupor. “Yes. I am fine.”
“Your Grace, we should leave now. His Majesty will not wait much longer.” Saizar was looking at me with something close to pity. I realized.
He had been commanded, along with his men, and the earl, to bring Eron and me to him as he still had questions about the night of the Harvest Ball. My carriage was waiting, the sun shone in a rare, cloudless day. I dreaded walking out in it, my powers already lessened; thus my choice of dress which would have made even the countess proud.
“Very well, let us get this over with,” I replied crossly as I brought the hood of my cloak up over my head. Susafan stepped out first, holding the shade up. My personal guards were waiting, Jax sitting next to the coachman on the box, Jareth with the footman on the rumble behind and Criton inside.
Aranthus was waiting outside the palace for us when my escort and I pulled up. I caught the worry he hid behind his smiles as he escorted us to the king’s private apartments. I noticed there was a man posted at each doorway, even one at the bottom of the stairs. The men had deep-sunken eyes, gray faces, heavy stubble. Their uniforms were dirty, and the odor of dried sweat and sour fear rose off them. They must have been up all night, guarding the king. It didn’t look as if they would be able to stay awake much longer.
Aranthus announced us, telling Susafan to wait outside as he took us inside. His Majesty was pacing nervously, demanding of his men what could be taking me so long. Every window had a guard, as did the doors into the room.
“Majesty.”
He rounded on me. “I trust you have thought long and hard on what you believe my advisor said?” he demanded.
I could feel the tension in the room ratchet up a notch, and despite the bone-deep exhaustion of his men, they were keyed up, on edge. I wondered what had happened, but could get nothing coherent from their minds. I hoped he would remember. What he said and did next would let me know.
“Yes, Sire. My answer is the same. He called out DiJinn’s name, saying that DiJinn and the other man would pay for their betrayal. Ask my freed-man, he heard the name as well as I.”
“Well?” The king turned toward Eron.
He bowed elegantly, replying, “Her Grace speaks truth. Lord Nicky did call out DiJinn, and seemed to think they had betrayed him. The whole attack had the characteristics of an ambush.”
“It wasn’t an attack aimed at me, but slaves rebelling against their rightful master.” He slammed his fist on his chair arm in vindication. “And this is why slaves who rebel should be put to death at once!”
I saw the faint wince Eron gave, hoping no one remembered he had once been enslaved, however mistakenly.
The king moved onto other matters. “As for those now-dead men Sydney claims attacked you, I am told one of them was the owner of the Bloody Knuckles.”
“I believe that is correct. I recently purchased his daughter for a house slave,” I offered.
“His widow is claiming you stole the girl, and lied about it to the former sheriff when he tried to question you. That is why you hounded the man, to hide your own crimes.”
“I have a purchase agreement signed by both the late tavern owner and myself, witnessed by none other than Jake himself. A notarized copy was duly filed with the royal tax office, and all fees and taxes paid. Shall I
send for my receipts?” I inquired coolly.
He waved a hand negligently. “Aranthus will see to it. We must find Lord Nicky! Those traitors might even now be hurting my advisor, hoping to gain a writ of freedom.”
Or already dead and re-animated, I know the immortal and I were thinking, and just waiting to make his way back to the palace. We had to get out of here, and search every place belonging to the advisor for Mica and Colin while the boy was in hiding.
“What would you have us do, Majesty?” Saizar asked.
The king brooded. “You know what goes on in my kingdom?”
He hesitated before carefully replying, “I know as much as any man can, I suppose, Majesty. What do you want to know?”
“Those traitors! How can I sleep when they are still on the loose? I must know where they went, and that they are not fomenting more rebellion among the slaves. I need my advisor!”
“Shall I send out my men to make inquiries?”
“No, you must get them trained! We must have men to guard the town. We wouldn’t be having this problem if it weren’t for that damn corrupt sheriff! I will order the slavers to give you and the earl more men. I want them trained as quickly as possible.”
“You are most generous Sire. I hesitate to point out…”
“Then don’t! Just do what I say!”
He bowed again, but it was the earl who spoke.
“Majesty, the current budget of the town guards will be insufficient to support such a rise in numbers. We will not be able to equip the men, much less feed or clothe them.”
“Have the bills sent to the royal treasurer. I will authorize the expenses only so long as I see results. Now go, all of you!”
The moment we stepped out into the hall, Saizar turned to me. “Forgive me, Your Grace. I am sorry you underwent questioning, or that your loyalty to the crown was ever in doubt.”
Eron gave a strangled cough behind me as I replied, “I thank you for instructing your men to not take advantage of my slaves, or property or person while I was under suspicion.”
He bowed, a faint smile on his lips. “I would not want my men or myself to be regarded as another Sheriff Jake and company.”
“After last night, I have no qualms on the subject.” I hesitated a moment. “Perhaps Lord Nicky has gone to another of his properties to get what supplies he’d need if preparing to flee.”
The Earl stirred beside me. “I know some of his properties, Duchess. We can take our men out to check. You should go home, and finish recovering from your ordeal.”
I fumed as we strolled toward the front hall. “Very well. I doubt the kingdom could stand to lose any more of her brave men.”
Saizar and the Earl both colored in embarrassment.
Sydney’s smile was rigid, more of pain than happiness. It’s your fault our daughter is ruined! You just had to visit those whores! Well, the foreign slut can forget about what the king says! When I tell him how his advisor ruined Sally, he will have to see they are married, and forget about the duchess!
“It would not be right leaving you without guards,” Sydney replied aloud. “The kidnappers might try for you, as the king values you so.”
“I have sufficient men for protection and will no doubt be staying close to home tonight.” I waved his concern away.
“Yes, well. If you will excuse us, Duchess, there is work we must do.” The earl bowed to me, his eyes intent on mine.
Saizar bowed as well, a speculative look in his eyes masked before both men took their leave.
Eron sniffed, leaned in close to me and sniffed again. He lifted his feet up to inspect the soles one by one.
“Dare I ask what you are doing?”
“Just making sure I didn’t step into a big pile of shit.”
Susafan seemed mildly horrified by the familiar tone he took with me and I shook my head at him as we continued to my carriage.
Chapter Five
Eron rode, trotting behind Illyria’s mount, knowing she was made to see in the dark. Long experience had taught him that requests for midnight meetings from people who had tried killing you never worked out nicely. The immortal was also leery of what the one man had done; Eron was unfamiliar with the weapon the stranger had used, and it smacked of the irrational. He had never given credence to tales of supernatural entities, thinking there was a simple mundane explanation, and for the most part he had been correct. Though his mother had claimed to have “powers”; his mind drifted back to the day his father had confronted her.
* * *
“Woman!” The roar filled the spacious tent as Eron and his father charged up to the altar and the lady behind it. “How many times have I told you not to practice your obscene religion?”
The woman faced the warrior calmly. “It is my ‘obscene religion’ which has allowed you to rule so well for so long. Without my power, you would have been dead ten times over.”
The man snarled, slamming his hands on either side of the small altar, “I am the only reason I survive. Me. My cunning, my brains, my skill, my might. I warned you I would not tolerate any more!”
A movement behind her had the man striding around her as she shrieked, “No!”
With a casual backhand, the enraged warrior sent the woman flying into her altar and catapulted the craven knave cowering behind her skirts to the dirt. Eron backed up a few steps so the noxious brews atop the antimins didn’t splatter his fine sandals. The young man was pleading with his father, struggling to get free of the man’s grip.
“What did I promise you if you disobeyed me and continued this foolishness?”
“Da, no! I can prove she speaks the truth!”
The big, muscled man slammed his fist into his younger son’s jaw. The howl of pain caused the woman on the floor to look up at her oldest in disbelief, “Eron! He is your brother! Help him!”
Eron hesitated, giving his father time to drag his youngest around by his hair, and to nail his oldest with a fierce look. “Are you my warrior son who’ll rule after me? Or are you as useless as a tit on a male camel like your brother?” He shook the boy’s hair.
“No, my son, no!” his mother wailed, clutching at Eron’s legs. She ululated in her native tongue and began a sing-song chant.
A growl of rage culminating in a scream cut through the tent. In a maddened rage, the big warrior let his youngest drop to the floor and charged the woman groveling on the ground. He gave her a solid kick in the ribs which did nothing to dislodge her, but had her clutching tighter as she fought for breath.
He ordered his sons, “Go tell the other warriors to gather for a judgment.”
“So it finally comes,” the young warrior thought and with some difficulty extracted himself from his mother’s grasp to do his father’s bidding.
* * *
On the night of his mother’s death, she had cursed him with her foresight, thinking it would help teach him compassion; at odd times, he heard her in his head and felt compelled to obey. It annoyed and angered him until he began to see the wisdom in following through with the nudges. They had ofttimes saved him, and helped him get closer to his goals, though he was not sure his mother would have appreciated the precise methods required. As time went on, her presence faded, but not the instinctual nudges.
On the two rode, the miles flowing behind them.
“Illyria!” Eron hissed. “Do you even know where you’re going?”
Her eyes flashed and gleamed in the moonlight, and he was reminded once again how other-worldly she was. “You know of what I am, and you ask?” She nudged her horse into a canter, and he was forced to follow or be left behind.
* * *
Lightning flashed across the sky, the small park before him luminescent in the glow as thunder growled through the dark, angry clouds. Eron peeked between the boughs of the tree he hid behind. He couldn’t understand what he was seeing. Four very tall men and one equally tall woman, all cloaked, arguing with another woman in tight black leather. Her curling mane glowed softly, b
ut much brighter when the lightning flared and flashed. He looked across to the other grove of trees where his friend was hidden, and turned his gaze back to the group.
The leather-clad woman made a gesture of frustration, though Eron heard nothing of their speech. After a few more minutes, it seemed they came to an agreement. The cloaked group walked off, out of the park, and the man knew his friend would follow them. He stayed, waiting for the woman to leave. She gazed after the departing group until they had moved out of sight, strode down the path which would take her past his hiding place. She disappeared into the shadows, almost as if she flitted between them. Eron hurried to keep her in sight. She passed statues of unidentifiable eighteenth-century men mounted on implausibly deep-chested high-prancing steeds, brandishing swords at or gesticulating toward now-invisible foes. On the street beside the curb rested a gleaming red crotch rocket. She mounted, turned the ignition and the bike roared to life, though the engine noise was drowned out by a growl of thunder. She eschewed any helmet, gunned the bike out into traffic, hair streaming behind her. The Immortal sprinted to his SUV, but she rapidly shifted gears and was out of sight, only the fading roar of the bike remaining. He knew his friend was not going to like that development. Eron drove to the pre-arranged meeting spot.
* * *
Eron blinked in shock, the scene fading before his eyes. How many more memories of her had he? How long had they known each other before the curse? He was so lost in his thoughts, he almost rode upon her. Hurriedly he stopped his mount as she dismounted and let her stallion browse. Eron watched her hide behind a rock outcropping. He thought he heard voices, so he dismounted, tied his horse to a low-hanging branch and gave the animal an absentminded pat. When he looked back, she had disappeared.