Orange Thief
Page 3
"Let him in, Keelan," Father murmured. "Your consort is here."
His Will stabbed at Keelan, prodding him to the door when Keelan raised his chin and glared, tried to grip the magic within him only to have it slide between his fingers yet again. He fought all the way to the door, fought against gripping the gilded crystal handle, fought not to open it but the pain of Father's Will shattered his control and the door opened.
To a vision of beauty.
Not the face, the body, even the hair. No, Keelan's so undesired consort was covered head to toe in veils. A thick tan scarf embroidered with scarlet and sapphire designs twisted to incomprehensibility wrapped around the consort's head. A turban. Why a turban? Heavy tan robes hung from the consort's shoulders, obscuring their body from neck to fingertip to toe. That was embroidered with vivid flowers the size of Keelan's head, all arranged along a vine that twisted and twirled around their body. And the veil, the last veil, most important veil, tan with blue lines, yellow rays, a red and purple sun over the nose and mouth, hid everything other than the consort's eyes.
Which were the blue of a fresh spring lake despite the anger snapping in the consort's eyes.
He'd never seen eyes like that, never felt anything like the echo that sounded between them as though a gigantic bell had been run and they were the clapper, striking and shaken at the same time. The consort's eyes, long dark lashes so lush that it looked like makeup but clearly wasn't, widened. They inhaled, hands jerking enough that the voluminous sleeves billowed for a second.
"You…" Keelan whispered.
"Move…" the consort replied in a low voice that wasn't a whisper but somehow felt quieter, more threatening.
Keelan moved.
He held the door open, distantly aware that his magic had swirled out of his body, shoving Father's Will aside, driving it back into Father who snarled and glared at Keelan as if he intended to beat Keelan for it later. Then Father turned to the consort who stood calmly in the middle of the room as though the magic swirling around them meant absolutely nothing.
"You will remove that," Father said with a wave to the consort's veils, "immediately."
"No."
The consort's voice was deeper than Keelan expected, a tenor, yes, but rumbling like war drums in the distance. Keelan let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and carefully, slowly, gently shut the door.
His hands didn't hurt. Keelan looked down at them and realized that his hands were relaxed, as soft as Mother's palms when she traced the curves of his cheeks, eyes wrinkling with pleasure over the face she could feel but never see. The consort… did that. When Keelan turned back to the consort and Father, Father's Will raged on the far side of the room but none of it touched the consort.
Shining white magic stood like a wall between the consort and Father. It had curled to enclose Father, to pen him in. Keelan blinked, smiled and then laughed as joy so strong he felt like dancing bubbled up inside of him.
"Keelan!" Padma hissed from her chair. Her fingernails dug into the arms of the chair. Her face was white with fear. "Stop them! They'll be hurt."
"No," Keelan said and the sheer relief of saying that word that Father hated so much made him grin. "No, they won't be hurt. Will they, Father? You can't break through. Your Will isn't strong enough to break their power, is it?"
The grill behind father rattled sharply, delicate wood crackling as if it was about to explode into the room. Morgan grabbed Padma, hauled her over to the door with Keelan. Alex sidled sideways until he could bolt for the door, too. They all looked terrified, so very terrified, which made no sense at all to Keelan. They were safe, safe for the first time in their lives and he wanted to sing, to dance, to shout with joy because finally, finally, at long last someone was able to challenge Father the way Keelan had never been able to.
Through it all, Father's grunts and flailing efforts to break the shining wall, through Keelan's siblings terrified whimpers, the consort stood in the center of the room. Keelan stepped forward, pulled Morgan's hand from his sleeve so that he could stand behind the consort.
The consort held out his hand, palm up at shoulder height. Their sleeve slid downwards exposing a strong brown arm the shade of highly polished oak. Father's crest sat midway between wrist and elbow like a blot of tar on an otherwise perfect desk.
"Don't!" Father shouted at Keelan. "Don't you dare, boy!"
"Don't what?" Keelan asked as he laid his hand in the Consort's. "They're my consort. You made it so yourself, Father."
The magic swirled around them the instant their palms touched but oddly Keelan didn't feel as though there was anything draining from him. It was more as though there was a river flowing out of his body that channeled straight through the consort. Light and bright and beautiful in ways that made Keelan's head tilt back and his breath stutter in his chest, the magic felt of love and joy and worship and all the tiny pleasures of life that had given Keelan the ability to keep going day after day after day under Father's dominion.
Morgan shouted. When Keelan managed to open his eyes he saw Padma's overstuffed chair, dark and plain but at least comfortable, drift across the room. It smashed into the fireplace spraying wooly white stuffing into the flames. The picture of Father that had loomed directly opposite the fire burst into smoke, then flame, then guttered out moments later as if the magic was so strong that even fire could not touch it.
It wasn't just Morgan screaming. He heard Padma, Alex, then voices outside in the courtyard. Father's face had gone bone-white, moonlight-white against the inky darkness of his Will that shrank and shrank and shrank until the shining white magic completely surrounded Father. Then he screamed as well, loud and pained.
"Will he die?" Keelan asked. His voice carried oddly, echoing as though they were on the shore of a lake where sound traveled with wings to every ear.
"Do you wish it?" the consort asked and there was honest curiosity in their voice.
Did he? Keelan stared at Father. There was blood coming from his nose, his mouth, falling like tears from the corners of his eyes. Bruises bloomed as Keelan watched, Father's throat first, then his cheeks, then the hands that had beaten all of them so many times when Will alone was insufficient for the needs of discipline in Father's heart.
"No," Keelan said before he realized that the desire was in his heart. "But he cannot touch us, Mother, anyone again. He cannot speak out of turn. And he will not rule here any longer. That belongs to Morgan and no one else."
"Mother," Padma gasped, whispered, prayed and Keelan could have sworn that he felt the hope spring in her heart.
"Yes," Keelan agreed. "He can never speak to, touch or harm mother again on pain of death, the most painful death possible."
"As you wish it," the consort replied.
The magic enveloped Father, coated him in shimmering white that made him jerk and scream and stare towards Keelan with eyes as unseeing as Mother's white pupils. Then the magic stopped, disappeared, settled back into Keelan with a slosh and swirl that made his legs go out from under him.
The consort caught Keelan, eased him down to the floor where they set Keelan's head on their shoulder. Father fell, too, but no one caught him. He flopped to the floor and whimpered like the puppy that Father had kicked when Keelan was just a child.
"Keelan?" Morgan asked. His voice sounded very far away.
"He will live," the consort replied. "He overextended himself badly, though. He gave me all his magic, his entire soul, to do battle with. He will sleep and dream of pain, no doubt. I would suggest bringing a healer. Both of them will need it."
"To the Deepest Hell with Father!" Morgan snapped. "He can suffer. Alex, run. Go get the healer. Keelan needs her."
Keelan's eyes slid shut even though he wanted to turn his head, protest that he wasn't hurt. But his eyes didn't open. His body didn't respond. And then darkness welled up, warm and welcoming. Something danced in that darkness, singing softly of baby rabbits eating clover and pansies. He smiled. When he woke
he's ask the consort to sing it for real. It felt like home and love and safety and there was far too little of that in Keelan's life.
Consort is now available at all major retailers in ebook and TPB format.
Afterword
Ah, happy endings. They're such joy to write.
I've read entirely too many stories where the couple in question isn't straight and they don't get their happy ending. I suppose that's why I keep on writing until I find one for all my stories. It's a joyful thing, something that makes me smile, when I can find a good ending for my characters.
I hope that you enjoyed the story, Alinnafe and Garnet and their magical orange. Thank you for reading!
Meyari McFarland
February, 2016
http://meyari.wordpress.com/