by Tara West
“Yes, Your Grace,” a guard said and lifted Kyria into his arms.
Still struggling to catch her breath, she had no strength to fight him. When Demendia smirked, she wanted to punch the mage in the face.
“You might be his bride in name,” Demendia said, “but I am his in every other way.”
“You can keep him,” Kyria grumbled, more to herself than the mage.
She had no wish to go against Demendia again, at least not until she regained her strength. Then she’d find a way to pay back the evil mage for her cruelty. The mage walked away, her hand in her pocket, and she realized where Demendia kept her life water. A plan for revenge unraveled in her mind.
NURSING A HOT CUP OF tea, Kyria sat in bed, praying to the goddess that she’d be able to enact her revenge. Though she’d drunk tea all day, there wasn’t enough lemon and honey to soothe her burning throat. Maybe the dark magic Demendia had used to choke her had done permanent damage. She gazed at the waning moon through sheer curtains that blew like billowing sails through the open door that led to her balcony, wishing she could sail away from this evil place.
An imposing shadow appeared on the balcony and gracefully slipped in through the open door. She clutched her heavy mug, wishing she had a better weapon, but all mirrors and glass had been removed from the chamber. Only when Evander emerged from the shadows did she expel a breath of relief.
“I was hoping you’d come,” she whispered, her burning throat reminding her she couldn’t raise her voice even if she wanted to.
“I can’t stay long.” He sat on the bed and looked at her neck. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll live.” She didn’t have a mirror in her room, but she’d seen her reflection in the bathing pool. A long, dark bruise was wrapped around her neck like a noose, a grim reminder of the strength of Demendia’s magic.
“The king is sending you to Periculi at the break of dawn.”
Her heart caught in her throat. “I’ll be ready,” she rasped, hopeful but cautious, for the king might change his mind. She longed to go to Periculi to be with her uncle, and more importantly, to see Titus, Quin, and Theron.
His expression remained grim. “He expects you to fail so he can declare war on the defenders.”
“Then I cannot fail.” Though she didn’t want the defenders to surrender to the king, she saw no other way if she wished to keep Lea alive. Besides, their allegiance to him would be only temporary. He would run out of life water soon, and then he’d hopefully die. If not, she’d put a blade through his heart.
“They won’t bow to him,” he said. “You’ll be safer if you remain there.”
“He’ll kill Lea.” And she’d never forgive herself if she let that happen.
“I’m working on getting her out of here.”
A seed of hope took root in her heart, though she feared his plan would fail. And then there were the other girls she’d seen in the dungeon. What were they doing there and how could she save them? “What about the other slave girls?”
His shoulders sagged. “I can’t save them all.”
“Why does he keep them?”
He grimaced. “They belong to Demendia.”
Great goddess! She remembered how the girls hid when they’d heard her voice. “What for?”
Dragging a hand down his face, he released a slow sigh. “It’s best you don’t know.”
She took his hand, loving the heat radiating from his skin, a sharp contrast to her cold king. “Tell me.”
Deep lines drew down his mouth and eyes, making him look older than she’d first thought. “Rumor is she uses them for experiments.”
Her hatred of Demendia solidified into a heavy weight pressing down on her neck and shoulders. Never had she loathed anyone so much. “She needs to be killed, and so does the king.”
Evander recoiled from her as if she had the plague. “Only a fool would try to kill her. You underestimate her magic.”
“I don’t.” She rubbed her sore neck. “Believe me, I’ve felt it.”
Chapter Ten
AFTER A FITFUL NIGHT’S sleep, her throat, though slightly sore, felt much better, and she could speak for short durations without it hurting too much. Checking her reflection in the pool, she adjusted the scarf on her neck, making sure it covered the bruises left by Demendia. She’d already sent the servants away, not liking the way they looked at her while combing her hair. No doubt they answered to Demendia, and she had no wish to spend any more time in their company.
She recognized the familiar clicks of Demendia’s boots striking the marble floor drawing near and steeled herself.
Without waiting for an invite, the mage threw open the chamber door, standing in the hall with her arms crossed. “Come, My Queen,” she said with a condescending drawl. “The carriage for Periculi awaits. It’s time for you to disappoint your king yet again.”
Bracing herself, she faced her nemesis, turning up her chin. “What makes you so sure I’ll disappoint him?”
One hand tucked in her pocket, Demendia laughed. “Because you’re an ignorant fool, that’s why.”
Kyria bristled, but restrained herself. The bitch was waiting for her to lose her temper again. But it was Kyria’s turn to infuriate the mage. She absently picked at her fingernails. “It must make you very angry that he didn’t think you worthy of marriage.”
When Demendia eyed her, Kyria swore the temperature in the room dropped.
The mage’s face hardened. “I’m married to him in all ways but one.”
“The most important one.” She chuckled.
“Bite your tongue, bitch, before I burn it off.” The mage raised her wand, aiming it at Kyria.
Kyria refused to cower. Her plan couldn’t fail. “You don’t have the strength to best me in a fair fight. You’re nothing without that wand, and you know it.”
As Kyria had hoped, the mage threw down the piece of wood and charged her, screaming in fury, hands raised like claws, and black smoke pouring from her fingers.
Kyria almost faltered. She’d had no idea the mage could propel magic without her wand. But this was no time for cowardice. With her superior Fae speed, she ducked under the smoke rings that curled out of her fingers like charred worms, knocking the mage to the ground.
Demendia flew on her back, her head making a loud crack when it hit the marble floor. Straddling Demendia’s waist, Kyria took advantage of her momentary disorientation to slip the vial out of the mage’s pocket and tuck it away in the bodice of her gown. Then she slapped Demendia hard, not caring that it made her hand sting.
Pounding boots echoed down the hall, and Evander rushed in. “Your Highness!” He pulled Kyria off the fallen mage. “Please! The king will be displeased if you are sent to the defenders with cuts and bruises.”
He quickly dragged her toward the doorway just as Demendia lifted her head, pointing at her while mumbling something unintelligible.
She felt a strange jolt in her feet, but brushed it off as nerves. “It’s okay,” she said as they crossed into the hall, patting her bodice where the life water was securely tucked inside. “I’m finished with her.”
Evander’s eyes widened, but he said not a word as one corner of his mouth hitched up in a subtle smile. “Clever girl,” he whispered and led her down the hall.
She had her brother to thank for teaching her at an early age how to pick their cook’s pockets, for she always kept the sweetest dates and candied apple slices for herself. And now Kyria had the greatest treasure of all, the source of Demendia’s sustenance. With only one vial of life water between the mage and the king, she hoped they slit each other’s throats fighting over it.
They were about to turn the corner and descend the stairs leading to the grand entrance when he pulled her to a stop. “I pray you don’t need to use this.” He pressed something hard and cold into her hand.
The thin blade was small enough to fit in the palm of her hand but sharp enough to gouge a man’s eyes out. “Thank you.” She slipped it i
nto her pocket. She wouldn’t hesitate to use it if she needed to protect herself. Goddess save the next person who tried to do her harm. “Please don’t fail Lea.”
He placed two fingers over his heart. “I will do my best, Your Highness.”
She prayed his best was good enough.
KYRIA SAT BESIDE EVANDER, ignoring the king as their carriage rolled down the cobblestone street. He’d placed Evander next to her to intimidate her, but Evander had the opposite effect. She was emboldened by his presence, unable to contain her smile as she waved to the citizens lining the streets.
The king wanted to make a grand spectacle of Kyria’s departure. No doubt, he expected her to fail in bringing the defenders to heel, which meant he’d have more justification for waging war against them. He’d lose, for the defenders were more battle-hardened than any of his soldiers. Kyria hoped he’d run out of life water and die before he declared war, which would make her ruler by default. Hope sprang up like a well in her chest. She could change the laws if she ruled Delfi. Her first order would be to free all slaves. Her second would be to stop the execution of those citizens suspected of having Fae blood. Her third task would be to make peace with the defenders by giving them what they wanted: a fair wage, decent food, and a pension. She didn’t think their nation’s heroes were asking too much.
When they reached the edge of the city, she hung out the window, breathing in air that smelled of fresh grass as opposed to the filth and sweat of the city. Their carriage halted in a vast green meadow. Beyond it, at the top of a hill, she recognized the long, dirt open arena where they conducted the chariot races during the summer. It was bare, save for another carriage guarded by rows of soldiers.
After disembarking, the king held her hand so tightly, her bones ached as he led her between rows of cheering citizens and up the hill to the second carriage. She stumbled when she recognized Brutus, the one-eyed bastard, sitting on a large gray stallion in front of the carriage.
If it hadn’t been for her husband, she’d have fallen on her face.
He hauled her upright, hissing in her ear. “You’re clumsy for a Fae.”
She stiffened, digging her heels into the grass. “I will not go with that monster leading my guard,” she whispered heatedly. Brutus looked at her like he was a starving man, and she was a leg of roasted mutton.
“You will,” he said. Latching onto her elbow with a bruising grip, he dragged her to the carriage. “He’s my most trusted general.”
She dug her heels in again, struggling against her king’s tightening grip. “He intends to rape me.”
He brushed a kiss across her cheek and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. His cool aura caused a shiver to steal up her spine.
“As if I care.” He spoke into her hair. “Now smile for our citizens. The slave girl’s life depends on your cooperation.”
Though Kyria’s blood boiled, she waved and smiled while they cheered and chanted “Goddess save the queen.”
Evander trailed them, his big hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Though she gave him a pleading look, he kept his attention centered on the back of the king’s head.
Her husband stopped beside her carriage and looked down the hill at the citizens who stood behind a row of armed guards. When he raised his hands, they went quiet.
“Good citizens of Delfi,” her husband said loudly, his voice echoing down the hillside. “I ask you to pray for the protection of our queen as I send her to the defenders to hopefully bring an end to this unnecessary and bitter feud between us. My father was a greedy man, a mad king, who didn’t value the defenders as I do.” He pulled her tight against him. “I pray they will see my sincerity and embrace and love our queen as I have. As we all do.”
When they broke into cheers, she wanted to vomit. Before she could think up a way out, he nudged her toward the carriage.
She threw her arms around his shoulders. “Oh, my dear husband!” she cried. “How I will miss you!”
The crowd “oohed” and “aahed” as she held him, one hand around his neck, the other on his breastplate. It was hard and unyielding, and it stretched too far up his chest for her to get her hand under it and steal his life water. She backed up and stumbled, hoping she could pull him down and get to his secret elixir at a different angle.
He twisted her elbow so hard, she cried out. “What are you about, My Queen?” he murmured in her ear.
She feigned innocence. “Putting on a show, my dear husband.” When his eyes narrowed, she knew he’d grown suspicious. She swore under her breath. There was nothing else to be done. Hopefully Evander would find a way to steal it. Better yet, maybe he’d thrust a dagger through the king’s heart.
“Get in the damn carriage.” He sneered, then smiled and waved at the crowd.
She cupped his cheek, looking deeply into his eyes as if she didn’t think he was a vile monster. “There is a wrinkle beside your mouth I hadn’t noticed before.” She kept her smile in place while she spoke, feeling as if it had frozen. “The stress of ruling a kingdom can quickly age you. Be careful,” she taunted, “or you will be an old man before you know it.”
Grabbing onto her wrist, he squeezed until her bones ached. “You be careful, my lovely queen.” One corner of his mouth hitched up in a snarl, making him look like a wild animal caught in a trapper’s snare. “Or you will find a dagger in your heart before you know it.” He leaned into her. “You will put on a similar show for your defenders. Not a word of our farce of a marriage or of the winged dragon, or I will know. I’ll be sure to send updates from your lover and your pet slave while you’re gone.”
He released her and walked down the hill without a backward glance. Evander followed the king, and her spirits plummeted.
“Your carriage awaits, My Queen,” Brutus hissed like a serpent.
“How’s your groin?” she asked, fingering the blade in her pocket.
His tongue darted out to lick his lips. “Ready for tonight.”
She matched his glare with one of her own and snapped her jaw like a hungry turtle. “So am I.” She laughed when he flinched. Let him be afraid. If he came at her, she’d be ready, and this time she’d do more harm than a knee to the groin.
Chapter Eleven
WATCHING THE COUNTRYSIDE change from rolling hills to a steep incline, Kyria fingered the knife in her pocket while waiting for her servant to doze off. During their short ascent up the mountain, Kyria’s servant, a girl who had to be younger than Kyria, had hardly spoken, other than to tell her that her name was Nadia, and she was terrified of heights. The girl had drunk two goblets of wine to calm her nerves, so Kyria knew it wouldn’t be much longer. When Nadia’s eyes shut, and she could hear her gentle snores, she pulled the small vial from her bodice, trying her best to gather the courage to test it.
One drop heals you.
Her throat still ached, though only a little, but her sore neck was worse. She checked her reflection in her travel mirror once more, pulling down the scarf with a grimace. The bruises were spreading in colors from black to deep purple. She couldn’t let the defenders see what Demendia had done. They would ask questions she wasn’t prepared to answer.
She unscrewed the top of the vial. The funnel tapered to a fine point so that only one drop at a time could come out.
Her maid let out a snort, and she jerked. She had to do this now. She let one drop fall on her finger, and after several tense breaths, dabbed it on the center of the most painful bruise. Without waiting to see if it worked, she quickly screwed the cap back on and put it away. She lifted the mirror. The bruise was gone. Amazed, she turned her head from side to side. Nothing.
She cleared her throat and was pleased when she no longer felt the burning sting. It was as if Demendia’s abuse had never happened. Smiling, she patted her bodice, thinking of all the good she could do with such an elixir and cursing herself for not stealing from the barrel before dumping it out.
She patted her bodice again, nervous she could lose the vial or the ca
p would come loose and spill the contents.
A thought struck her. If she already obsessed and worried over a small vial, what must her husband and his mage have experienced for decades? No wonder they’d gone mad.
She thanked the goddess for her gift of life water. She would put it to good use for as long as she had it, but she refused to let it destroy her sanity. She told herself this as she patted the vial one more time.
KYRIA RUBBED NADIA’S back as she leaned out the window and vomited again. Their stomachs turned over every time the carriage hit a bump. If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought Brutus had taken the most treacherous route just to unnerve her. The road to Periculi was dangerous, though, for Mt. Olion’s great volcano hovered above them. This mountain served as a barrier to the water dragons, keeping her island nation safe from their voracious jaws. One narrow pass led to the fortress known as Periculi, designed to ensure the dragons had no other way to reach the citizens of Delfi in the unlikely event that Periculi fell.
The sun was setting when the carriage stopped. Scooting to the other side of the bench, she stuck her head out and wished she hadn’t. They were precariously close to a steep ledge, and the back wheel appeared to be hanging off it.
She quickly slid back and pressed into Nadia, whose complexion had taken on a gray pallor. She called to a random guard, “You there! Why have we stopped?”
He turned, and she saw a tall and handsome young man with fair hair, amber eyes, and a cleft in his chin. Had they met in another life, she might have flirted with him.
“We’re camping for the night, Your Highness.” Clicking his heels together, he bowed. “Marcello, at your service.”
Alarm bells went off in her head. She didn’t want to spend the night on the side of a cliff, certainly not with Brutus in command. “Thank you, Marcello, but we should keep going. We could reach Periculi by nightfall.”