The Broken God (Legends of Fyrsta Book 3)

by Sabrina Flynn

  “When your bruises were still fresh? When we had only just bonded? Or should I have revealed your lineage moments before the duel?”

  “We walked through Vaylin for nearly a month,” she pointed out.

  “It wasn’t my place.”

  She sighed. “You’re right—Oen should have told me.”

  “I’m sure he had his reasons, Isiilde. It was hard enough on you, being a nymph, let alone the daughter of the Sylph. Would knowing have made a difference?”

  “It might have. I don’t know. It’s not as if I can go back and change anything.”

  “Such is time,” he sighed. “It’s why I’m so hesitant to rekindle our bond. If anyone of power were to discover you—”

  She snorted, and took a step back. “I’m surprised you don’t bond with me so you can order me about and lock me in some faraway tower for my own good.”

  “I would not do that.”

  “Not even for the good of the realm?” she asked.

  “No, not even for that. But my presence will eventually draw attention to you.”

  “As if I won’t manage that on my own.”

  Marsais shifted on his feet. “Point taken,” he conceded. “All I’m asking is that you flee when the powers that be come hunting for me.”

  “That’s not how love works, Marsais.”

  “If our situations were reversed, would you wish for me to stay and die with you?”

  “I’d have a better chance of surviving with you at my side,” she growled. “Why are you being so... stubborn about this?”

  Marsais sat on the bed, ran a tired hand over his face, and hung his head. He did not raise his eyes. The answer came to her like a spark. Understanding melted her heart, and she quickly moved to his side.

  “You’re blind,” she realized softly. “Have you ever been without your foresight?”

  The muscles in his shoulders tensed. He shook his head. “When I finally get what I want, I fear the unknown.”

  The back of his neck looked so vulnerable without his long hair. She moved between his legs, and hugged his head to her breast, idly toying with the soft curls that touched his nape. “A very wise man once told me that fear makes us human,” she whispered into his hair.

  “That man is a fool.” She could feel his breath against the fabric of her shirt, feel the sigh that traveled through his body.

  “He’s my fool.”

  Marsais drew slightly back and looked up to her, his grey eyes misty with emotion. She smiled down at him. “I have a proposition,” she said.

  “Hmm?”

  “Since you are blind to the pathways of Time, we will play for our course.”

  His brows drew together. In answer to his confusion, she brought out her pouch of runestones and dropped them on the bed. “If I win this game of King’s Folly, then we will bond without any strings attached; if you win, I’ll accept your ultimatum. When you tell me to run, I will run. For you.”

  He considered her for a long moment, eyes piercing her own. She stared unflinchingly back. Slowly, he dipped his head, and she held out a hand. With an amused tilt of his lips, he shook it.

  While he arranged the runes, she shed her cloak, and removed her boots, sitting on the bed opposite him. “Would you like to rest first? Food, water, more sleep? I wouldn’t want you saying that you were at a disadvantage due to your injuries.”

  “My mind has not been this clear since the Shattering.”

  “Very well,” she said, tucking her legs on the bed.

  The game commenced, a blur of cycling runes, and counter attacks; a swirl of destruction and strategy. Soon, she settled into the rhythm of the game, and decided that distraction was needed, but it did not manifest in its usual form. Rather, her thoughts took a more serious turn.

  “Marsais?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Have you ever become used to taking a life?”

  He paused, fingers poised over a death rune. After a moment, Marsais sat back, running a hand over his chin. “In war, or during a battle of any kind, I have no regrets. Kill or be killed. It’s a simple matter of survival.”

  “You don’t feel... tainted? As if there were blood on your hands?”

  “I do, but only for the lives that were lost due to my failures: a trap that I failed to see; an error in judgment; troops sent to the slaughter for the sake of a victory; people I could not save, like my own daughter so long ago. That blood never comes off, and quite frankly I would worry if it did.” He moved the death rune into his shadow rune, and death slipped through, emerging from another shadow into the inner cycle, obliterating her sun rune.

  “I don’t know what else I could have done with Zianna.”

  “You defended yourself.”

  “But then I killed her.”

  “You showed her mercy in the only way in which you could. A clean death is not a bad thing.”

  Isiilde frowned at the death rune. Something about the runes pricked her instincts, but she failed to find a dire threat. Feeling as if she were walking into a trap, she moved her water rune onto his stone. The runes flared, water seeping into stone. Unless he moved his sun rune over the combination in three rounds, it would crack his stone.

  “I tried to save Rivan...” Her voice caught, but she forced herself to speak through the lump. “I think I would feel worse if I hadn’t tried to heal him. The same goes for Zianna. Watching her die like that might have been worse than plunging my sword through her heart. But I’ll never know.”

  “All my life, I’ve been able to glimpse every possible path taken, but seeing is quite different from knowing. Foresight does not make me privy to emotional consequence. Regret is a persistent enemy of mine.”

  As she mulled over this revelation, Marsais moved an air rune, blowing her fire off course. The fire rune swept over two cycles, decimating Marsais’ knight, heating an iron rune, and burning the life rune to a crisp. The backlash took out three of his own runes, and one of hers, but threw the air into the innermost cycle. Air and death surrounded her queen rune. Her fire and earth rune were within striking distance, but death was impervious to fire and air might blow it in another direction entirely, or destroy her own queen.

  There was the trap she had failed to catch. Isiilde frowned. She could leave things up to chance, or plant her earth rune in front of the queen. Both options would put her on the run. The game no longer held her interest. Her thoughts turned towards the past month, and her heart filled with grief.

  “You asked me why I denied Pyrderi, but I didn’t tell you the whole truth. When I was on that throne, I was so very tempted to accept his offer, but then I remembered that day on the beach with you.” She looked up, meeting his gaze. “The love in your eyes and the warmth in your voice was everything opposite of the Fey. I’m not sure I would have said no to Pyrderi otherwise.”

  Isiilde moved her hand towards the fire rune. It seemed fitting to leave their path up to chance. But when she started to move her fire towards his air rune, he reached out, gently grabbing her wrist. Marsais looked into her eyes, and he lingered there, caught in a moment. With a decisive hand, he swept the runes off the bed. Stone clattered on stone.

  Isiilde blinked with surprise. “Why did you do that?”

  “You win,” he said simply.

  “But you were on the verge of winning.”

  “I surrender.” Marsais leaned forward, and tilted her chin upwards. His lips came down on her own, and for a long minute she was lost in that kiss. He pulled away, holding her head, burying his hands in her hair, catching her eyes with his own.

  “I won’t run away,” she said, breathlessly.

  “I know.”

  “I could lie,” she offered.

  “It would make me feel better.”

  “I’ll do whatever you say, Marsais.”

  His eyes danced. Careful of his arm, she tugged his shirt over his head, and pressed her lips gently to a bruise on his chest. His skin was warm and familiar. She arched her neck, and
kissed his throat, hands sliding down his ribs, following those delicious twin lines that dropped below his trousers.

  Marsais’ breath caught. As she teased laces loose, she could feel him tense, feel the spark that sent a shiver through his body, making him hard. She freed his arousal and caressed the length of it. His eyes lost focus.

  The two fell back on the bed. Marsais touched his lips to the pulse under her jaw, and heat flooded her body, settling between her legs. She ached for more. A warm hand slid under her shirt, teasing her nipples to life. A gasp, a soft moan, and she lost all sense of time.

  Frantic moments followed where clothes were tugged and tossed to the far corners of the world. Cold air brushed her skin. He trailed fire between her breasts and down her stomach. Isiilde buried her fingers in his hair as he pressed his lips to one stark hipbone, and then the other, and finally to the triangle of soft curls at the juncture of her thighs.

  Marsais breathed in her scent. “In all of time, I have never tasted anything more exquisite than you.” His voice was deep and it sent gentle vibrations through her body. It made her head swim, and her legs part. She was heavy and aching and so very ready. Warm breath swirled against her desire, and when he touched her with a soft, teasing caress, every nerve in her body lit up with pleasure. Muscles tensed, body arched, and a soft gasp escaped her lips. Fire surged from her skin.

  Marsais threw himself back, and rolled off the bed. When the wash of pleasure released her body, she drifted, and her fire dimmed. Isiilde stretched with languid pleasure and looked over at him. Flames danced over her flesh in soft waves, and his eyes were wide, and full of desire.

  “I’m not done with you yet,” she breathed.

  Marsais cleared his throat. “Perhaps a Weave of Silence is in order.”

  Chapter Seventy-One

  Marsais drifted in a dream. Fiery-curls spilled over his skin and a sleek body twined with his own. Isiilde idly traced the mark on his chest. Not that dreadful scar, but another mark: her bond. The fiery serpent had its tail wrapped around his upper spine, while its body draped over his shoulder and crossed his collarbone. Its head, with emerald eyes that were ever watchful and protective, rested over his heart.

  He ran his hand down a cascade of fire, and brushed aside her hair, tracing the ouroboros serpent on her back. It had not moved. The head still ate the tail in an endless cycle of flame. And he was glad for it. That he was no longer an intrusion, no longer a pillar on which she leaned.

  Isiilde had changed since they’d first bonded in the Spine. Her spirit no longer flickered weakly; it burned so bright that it filled his heart, his mind, the very marrow of his bones. The strength of her spirit gave him hope.

  A breeze slipped through a crack, and he felt it touch her back—felt a shiver zipping up her spine. Shifting, Marsais reached over the edge of the bed and dragged the blanket over her. She smiled against his shoulder.

  “I’ve missed you,” she moaned. “You still feel like the sun.”

  “So do you.”

  Isiilde half rose, staring down at him with a quizzical tilt to her ears. “I do?”

  “Hmm,” he said, caressing her cheek. “And everything wonderful.”

  She smiled, free and easy, and tasted his lips. Not with need, but a slow, savoring kiss. “You were right,” she whispered.

  “Aren’t I always?” he said grandly.

  Isiilde snorted and settled in the crook of his arm. “Nymphs are meant for gods.”

  “It’s a good fit,” he agreed.

  Heat spread across her breasts. He rolled on his side, gently taking the edge of her ear between his lips. A soft scrape of teeth sent a wave of sensation rippling through their bond. Her skin tingled with pleasure, amplified by his own, one feeding off the other.

  “I don’t think we will ever leave this bed,” she breathed.

  “I don’t plan on it.” He twined a strand of silken hair around his fingers. “I forgot to tell you something.”

  “Hmm?”

  “I’m a pauper,” he admitted. “I have no land, no home—not even a copper to my name. I can’t settle my debt with you from our wagers.”

  “That’s all right, Marsais. I’ll only charge you ten percent interest per month until you hand over the coin,” she said generously.

  He frowned at her. “Or what?”

  The edge of her lip quirked. “You’re imaginative. I think you’ll find some way to work off your debt.”

  “You think?” Gentle fingers brushed a pink bud of flesh. Her nipple hardened, and he trailed his touch between her breasts, painting soft swirls of heat over her skin.

  “I know,” she corrected. “For that matter, I’m a pauper, too. How does one make money?”

  That gave the seer pause. His brows drew together in thought. “From what I recall, it takes work. Tedious, back-breaking, work.”

  She wrinkled her nose.

  Marsais lifted his hand, looking at his palm. “I’ll get callouses,” he sighed.

  “The horror,” she said dryly, nudging his hand back down.

  “Indeed.”

  “Oenghus says that hard work builds character.”

  “My dear, I have over two thousand years of character, and then some, do I really need any more?”

  She smiled. “I like you just the way you are. Any more and the realm would not fit the both of us. But still, do we really need to work? I am a horrible cook, and I can’t make potions. I could work at the bellows, I suppose.”

  “You could.”

  “What will you do?”

  He thought a moment. “Juggle?”

  “You could make water runes.”

  “There is always that,” he said without relish.

  “How did you make your fortune before?”

  “You mean the one that Witman stole?”

  “He did make a deal.”

  Marsais grunted.

  Isiilde turned towards him, slipping a leg between his own. “Piracy?”

  “Rogues are irresistible, but I’m not your pirate.” He ran a hand over her thigh, and pulled her closer. “I may, however, have plundered a tomb or two in my time.”

  Her eyes lit with wonder. “That sounds splendid.” The nymph pushed him on his back, and rolled with him, straddling his hips. She was flush with excitement. “When do we start?”

  “There is danger, and threat, and death.”

  “When is there not?”

  “Never.”

  “Where will we go?” she asked.

  “Wherever your whim takes us, my dear.”

  “I like that. I like that very much.”

  “I thought you would.”

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  Acknowledgments

  While writing is mostly a solitary venture, I had a lot of help in the final stages. So a huge thank you to the usual cast of manuscript polishers: Annelie Wendeberg for reading the first draft. My editor, Merrily Taylor, for her endless patience and support. Tom Welch for his eagle eyes. And a long list of beta-readers whose enthusiasm for the book made me think that I might have actually wrote something good: Selena Compton, Alice Wright, Caleb, Chaparral, and Lorene Herrera.

  To my husband, Ben, who supports me every step of every way I have ever walked. And rather than thank my daughters, I should probably offer an apology. They were the ones who had to put up with a distracted mother muttering to herself for six months.

  And finally, to Marsais, Isiilde, and Oenghus—I’m honored that you told me your tale. To my readers, I’m shocked and full of gratitude that you read this clumsy interpretation of their journey. But don’t worry, these three haven’t finished with me yet...

  About the Author

  Sabrina lives in perpetual fog and sunshine with a rock troll
and two crazy imps. She spent her youth trailing after insanity, jumping off bridges, climbing towers, and riding down waterfalls in barrels. After spending fifteen years wrestling giant hounds and battling pint-sized tigers, she now travels everywhere via watery portals leading to anywhere.

  Feel free to follow and befriend me on various social media sites:

  @2crazyimps

  AndRealmsUnknown

  www.sabrinaflynn.com

  info@sabrinaflynn.com

  Also by Sabrina Flynn

  LEGENDS OF FYRSTA

  Untold Tales

  A Thread in the Tangle

  King’s Folly

  The Broken God

  RAVENWOOD MYSTERIES

  From the Ashes

  A Bitter Draught

  Record of Blood (TBR July 2017)

  www.sabrinaflynn.com

  Appendix

  Acacia Mael - Knight Captain of the Blessed Order on the Isle of the Wise Ones.

  Afarim - Winged race of the Isle of Winds

  Ardmoor - Savage, Void-worshipping barbarians in Vaylin.

  Asmara - A Guardian of Iilenshar, or the Guardian of Love, also known as the Everchild. Asmara was six when the Orb shattered, and has not aged a day since. Daughter of Zahra, sister of Chaim.

  Assumer - A race that can assume any shape.

  Auroch - A massive bull-type creature found in Nuthaan and the Fell Wastes

  Bastardlands - The continent that lies between the west and east. Separated by two chasms on either side, it is commonly believed that the Keeper erected the Gates (chasms) to trap the Guardians of Morchaint.

  Berserker’s Rite - Some Nuthaanian warriors risk drinking Brimgrog on the eve of the Reddened Month. Some die, and the ones who survive have a reputation for being volatile and lethal.

  Blessed Order - An Order that reveres and worships the Guardians of Iilenshar.

  Blood Moon - A day and a night of light. All three moons are visible in the summer sky. The Dark One’s moon is closest, playing havoc on coastal areas.