The Rage of Princes: A Portal Fantasy Adventure (The Chronicles of Otherwhere Book 2)

by Cassia Meare

  Perhaps she wasn't expressing herself in modern language, as they kept looking at each other. Yet her story was comprehensible, and men still killed other men and got praise for it, so they could not take issue with any of that.

  "Did he seduce you, then, in your father's house?" Carol asked. "Abused that hospitality?"

  "He asked me whether I'd have courage for the life I wanted. And I said yes. And then he kissed me, and ... it was like nothing else on earth."

  Again she got lost in memories. No kiss would ever be like his again. Live in the shadow of the Prince of the Morning.

  "That, right there, is an awful breach of trust," a middle-aged woman stated. "An older man, in a position of authority, seducing a sheltered girl, promising her the world."

  "We've heard this pattern before," Carol agreed, nodding again at the group, "even through different stories. And we've talked about how good the bad boy can feel."

  "What happened then?" Carol asked.

  "He abducted me. Brought me here. Then he left me with his brothers. And I found out my father had died of grief some time after I left."

  Now she had really shocked them. But what was the point of being asked the truth and then scowled at for it?

  "Did you go to the police?"

  "Why would I do that? I can take care of myself."

  "You just ... accepted it?" a younger woman asked with a grimace.

  "No, I betrayed him and delivered him unto his enemies. And then I regretted it, and helped free him." She sighed. "And then he quite banished me."

  "You seem to be expressing very different feelings here," Carol pointed out, looking bewildered.

  "Yes, I was angry, and then I was confused by his sisters, and did not mean to betray him. I wish for his good, and his brothers'. And his people's. He's really the only person who has cared enough to save this world."

  Carol leaned forward earnestly. "He wants you to believe that. It's Stockholm Syndrome, don't you see? That's how toxic he is for you."

  Stockholm…

  "You need to understand that you're strong," the younger woman said, brandishing a fist. "You're stronger than he is."

  "That is quite a mad assertion," Elinor scoffed. "I may do much now, after getting some powers, but he has killed a god with one arm."

  Once more, the looking at each other — but she had gone a little too far in her confession. Let them take it as they willed.

  "Although I am no weakling, I agree," she went on quickly. "And I may yet play an important part in things, whether or not I ever see him again." She stopped and collected herself, smoothing her skirt. "You see, he's getting married even now."

  Clicking of tongues, rustling, shaking of heads. General outrage.

  "You don't want to see him, dear," Carol said. "You don't want to see him with his new wife, it will hurt. If he's a public figure, stay off Internet and social media. Don't look him up."

  But Elinor had no need of looking Nemours up — because from the door came a blinding light, and he stepped into the room.

  All heads turned toward him, and all mouths fell open, including hers, as he crossed the circle and stretched his hand to her.

  "I need you," he said. "She is dying."

  Elinor jumped to her feet. His bride, dying? It can only be through vile treachery.

  As she moved to take his hand, the ladies stood, jostling her.

  "Don't go with him."

  One of them grabbed her, urging, "Resist!"

  "Stand aside, woman!" Elinor thundered — and then her hand was in Nemours', and he pulled her through the light.

  They arrived in a chamber where a dark-haired girl lay in bed, convulsing. Elinor rushed to her.

  "Is it magic?" she asked.

  "Poison," he said. "Through a pinprick. I've tried the incantation, but it didn't help."

  His bride's face was dark purple, her eyes bloodshot and swelling like ripe fruit. The veins in her neck were dark and big as ropes, and foam fell from her clenched lips. She was too far gone, or the poison was too strong for the incantation alone.

  But Elinor could draw some of the poison to her. She could dilute its effect. The lady must not die, that was certain — the fate of Otherwhere depended on the marriage.

  Grabbing her hand, Elinor began a slightly different incantation. Almost at once, the poison traveled through the girl's veins and she stopped arching her back in pain. Before the poison reached Elinor, however, she was pushed aside, her hold on the lady broken.

  Elinor fell to the floor, and Nemours fell with her.

  "What were you doing?" he asked, wild-eyed.

  "It might save her," Elinor cried, trying to rise.

  He kept her down. "Drawing the poison into you? Are you mad?"

  "Sharing it."

  "Stop," he said quietly, holding her. "Stay still."

  The retching on the bed had resumed. It was a terrible noise — a noise of desperation, agony and fear. Again, Elinor sought to rise, and again Nemours pulled her down. He shook his head — she covered her ears. It was horrible, horrible. Until it ceased.

  When Elinor looked up, she knew the lady was dead. Her hand had stopped flailing and hung limp off the edge of the bed. Her eyes stared at the ceiling, blood running from them.

  Nemours said nothing for a while, and she kept him company on the floor. Finally, he let her go and leaned his head against the wall.

  "You could have died," he said, and it almost sounded like an accusation.

  "I might have saved her," Elinor repeated.

  "You would give your life for a stranger?"

  "Such a great deal depended on your marriage—"

  "I would never want that," he said softly.

  "I could not help her, then."

  "No. It was black magic." Nemours rose from the floor to look at his wife. "She's gone."

  After a moment Elinor rose too, and moved to the bed. Using a cloth, he had begun to clean the dead woman, and Elinor composed her limbs, covering her with the nightgown. It was not stained.

  Slowly, the girl's face lost its terrible purple hue and relaxed. She had been beautiful. Elinor arranged her dark hair on the pillow and felt sorry for her — dead on her wedding day.

  Nemours regarded the body somberly, although with no grief. Whether or not he had loved or even liked the girl, she was now the casualty of his quarrel against his sisters. Dead by treachery and magic because they could not hurt him and didn't dare try. He was hard to kill, but mortals were easy.

  "What will happen?' Elinor asked.

  "I must tell her father. It will pain him greatly."

  "What terrible news…" Elinor whispered. A father's heart would break.

  "Things will get very ugly now," he said through lips thinned by anger.

  A great dread settled in Elinor. War could not be avoided now, except by a miracle.

  "I must not take you to Earth," he said, looking at her. "They would hurt you to spite me or to steal the hekas. You're no longer safe there."

  Elinor looked at the dead girl lying between them.

  "I know I banished you," he continued, "but now I beg you to stay."

  "Yes." She nodded. "Yes, I will stay."

  15

  A father's cry. No, no, no. It can't be true.

  Hard, fast steps outside.

  A father's long wail.

  A father's anger. Indignation. The swearing of revenge.

  Silence and muffled steps, muffled voices.

  More steps; softer steps. Whispering of cloth. Women's voices.

  All this until morning came.

  Elinor had been given a lavish room, but she didn't sleep. She sat listening to the noises — and the quiet that followed was almost worse.

  Then the noise of metal made her close her eyes. Boots, hard on hard stone. Metal hissing, ringing. Horses neighing.

  It was the noise of war, and she knew it well.

  By the time she moved to the balcony, where a breakfast of large, colorful fruits, war
m breads, and a spicy drink had been laid out for her, the sun was warm but not hot on her skin. The city was called Highmere, and the Hall was way above it. She had not seen much of it the two times she had been there, and now she realized she had never been in such a large castle. The rock had not been split in parts — it was whole. It was meant to last forever.

  The city below was so beautiful that on Earth it would have been the stuff of fables. It looked prosperous and clean, though gently worn. The buildings were white or golden with domes, towers and spirals of red or of blue. A temple below was silver, and men and women, clad in black and white, turned around a shining figure that must be Aya.

  The streets twisted and undulated all the way to the sea, where a great iron and gold gate guarded the docks. The water was a clear aquamarine. Ships sailed away to and from the port, propelled by bold sails with fat bellies.

  They hadn’t had to travel faster than this, or build industries spewing dirt into the air, or create a cacophony of noises. It was an elegant world; a perfect world, except that there were cracks in the sky. Elinor could see them since she was searching. They were like the hairline cracks you didn't even notice on a bowl, until one day it fell apart in your hands.

  Ahn had done a terrible thing, or her priest had. But for a moment Elinor thought that if she had been of such a perfect world, she might have desperately wanted to protect it as well.

  Ty had pointed out that Elinor never said "Britain" or much less "United Kingdom." Always England. He had pointed out, as had Delian, that she struggled with the idea of diversity. Medieval people like her were bigots, as Ty had explained. Xenophobes. They hated what was foreign, what was different.

  There had been so much war for so long, that at her time her people had hated anyone coming from outside. Distrusted them. Disliked their ways. Wanted to keep to themselves and forswear foreign luxuries and wiles.

  So how could she not understand Ahn a little, when she looked at the city and thought that she would once have wanted to defend England, only England, the way Ahn wanted to defend Otherwhere?

  What would Elinor have thought then, before she met others and went to their lands, if she had seen cracks in the sky and a sun turning dark, and if she had known she could cut off all the rest to survive and thrive?

  Except that Nemours had come and shown Elinor it was small and petty to think that way. That lives had to be great and splendid, more than she had even imagined. That you couldn't feel true wonder if you did not move beyond what you knew. That everything should be discovered — even things half ugly and ugly.

  Yes, Nemours and his brothers, each in his way, had shown her all that — and now she did not agree with Ahn at all.

  But she wondered whether Lord Tayne, having lost a daughter, thought that Elinor's world was worth saving. Would you not give up everything, as long as you might keep those you loved safe?

  She could not whisper an incantation to comfort him or make him forget. It was not natural to lose what you loved the most and not grieve.

  Grief would always catch up with you, in any case.

  Elinor didn't even know she had closed her eyes until something bumped against her leg and they flew open. It was the panther; it had come in silently. She did not dare blink, remembering her last meeting with Azure, when she had not been eaten by miracle. But Azure only glanced at Elinor and lay down at her feet as if she were a house cat.

  Still, Elinor remained in the same position for a long time, until there were more steps outside. She knew they were Nemours'.

  "How is he?" she asked as he joined her.

  "Clamoring for the head of whoever did this," he said. "I had to talk him out of ordering his army to march south today."

  "So he knows it was your sister?"

  "Assumes. Who else could it have been?"

  "You said that Ahn was wise and good. How could she order such a thing?" Elinor remembered the girl, retching and agonizing on the bed. "Such cruel poison."

  Nemours moved into the sun, closing his eyes as if he were soothed by its light for a moment. "I feared this about my sister — that she might let that pet priest of hers use magic on her behalf. She will convince herself she did not ask for this or did not know. She will wash her hands and reap the benefits of dreadful acts."

  "A war in a family," Elinor said gravely. "Can you truly not turn back?"

  Nemours sat by her, and caressed Azure’s head when the panther went to him. "I know. It's what you saw most of your life. A war among cousins." After a moment of silence, he repeated, "I know. And yet, what should I do?"

  She said nothing, wondering what the answer ought to be. He stood again, restless. The air had salt in it, and it stirred his hair. He indicated a lone star still shining in the sky.

  "We call it the White Lady. It's like your Venus, close to our sun. Some call her the Hope Star. She's still bright — as far as I'm concerned, that means there's still hope." He turned to give her a grim smile. "But I'm too stubborn sometimes."

  Elinor scoffed. "It is not as if I weren't."

  "True." He laughed, then observed quietly, "We are meant to be like gods, but we aren't. A proper god should not want anything. Whereas I want things." His eyes fell on her lips, on her hands, then on the ground between them. "And I wonder how I can just watch everything fall apart and not want to fix it."

  "Ahn also wants to fix things," she pointed out.

  "Yes. But the opposite way. So we'll fight."

  His voice had hardened, and it made Elinor's hair stand in the back of her neck. War. It was going to be war.

  "Is it inevitable, then?"

  "She has poisoned an innocent woman. I may not have felt any special fondness for the lady who was my wife a few hours, but Ahn crossed a terrible line. There is hardly any crossing back."

  "But more people will be killed — how is that right?"

  "How is it right for her to be ruthless? I now believe that she does not want the good of most, she only wants to win, so I must stop her. Tayne's on my side and furious at her, and she would have to use a very great amount of magic in a battle. I don't think this power is available to her mage or to her."

  Elinor could do nothing but sigh.

  "In any case, Elinor," he said, "forgive me for what I said before, when I banished you. It was unjust. You are always welcome here. You are ... most cherished by my brothers." His gaze and his voice were soft as he added, "And by me."

  Azure turned to look at her as Elinor controlled her sudden emotion.

  "How did you find me?"

  "Through something of yours."

  "Ah. There is such a spell?"

  "An easy one."

  "I should study," she said. "Be on Earth and find the hekas. If we found them—"

  He shook his head. "No time for hekas now. And I wouldn't want Ahn to get hold of them, or hurt you trying. The next ones are too strong. No one should have them. Not until the conflict is over and we can fix the cracks."

  "Nemours," she said, rising to touch his arm. "There is no fight as bitter as in a family. You can forgive strangers, or forget them — they are nothing to you. But it becomes impossible to forgive those who are close."

  "It's too late," he insisted.

  Taking her hand, he kissed it — then let go and strode out, followed by Azure. And Elinor remembered what he had said ages ago, it seemed, as they stood beneath a tower in her father's castle that had been blackened by the fires of war.

  I see the necessity of things, and then I don't doubt them.

  16

  "Ahn's sleeping with Serle," Sefira said. "And that Set-Tuii knows and doesn't like it."

  Thady pensively distributed leaves along a brazier and fanned the embers beneath. The smell of kona rose, mixing with the mist. Using kona in the bathhouse, in the humid heat, was the best way to get high.

  "Could that cause the priest to abandon her?" Thady asked.

  Sefira grabbed the end of her own hair and twisted the water out of it. The warmth o
f the quartz was comforting beneath her naked body, but she reached for a towel and wrapped it around herself. She was beginning to feel the effects of the drug — her senses were heightened, but there was always, always an unpleasant part to get through first. A part of too much thinking.

  The bathhouse was empty except for her and Thady. Sefira had ordered everyone else to leave, including the attendants. It was one of her favorite haunts, and they were honored to have her there. She didn't mind paying for privacy. The room was oval and simple, no fuss — just gray stone and a dome full of holes with shafts of light shining down on them. The quartz that served as a bench had red and blue veins, like Crystal Hold. Sefira watched the water they had used to bathe spiraling toward the hole in the basin below.

  "No," she finally said. "I think he likes to suffer. Pine for Ahn. I wouldn't put it past him to be watching them do it through some hole in the wall."

  "Slaves to that whole sex thing." Thady settled across from Sefira, raking long hands through her dark hair. Her eyes narrowed as she wrinkled her nose. "I don't like him."

  "No one does," Sefira said. "And you know my feeling. I'd rather just have a clean fight than all this skulking about."

  "It was very stupid to kill Tayne's daughter," Thady pointed out.

  Sefira looked away. Tayne had been on Nemours' side, anyway, and she suspected the priest had further plans for that. She could see it in the way Ahn paced back and forth in her rooms, waiting for it to happen. Ahn pretended not to know anything was afoot, but it was going to be something ugly.

  The Blood Knights had fought to get rid of what was left of magic — Virso’s disgusting, twisted creatures. Sefira had fought with them. She had learned honor from them. Warriors faced things squarely; you let your enemies see you coming, even when it seemed stupid. And you still won.

  Maybe she had learned that from Nemours.

  The thought, as usual, made her almost snarl. Thady stepped on her foot softly, and Sefira pushed her away. At least Thady knew to leave her alone. It was the only thing to do, when Sefira's head began to spin — not like her family, her sisters, asking her, what, what, what are you thinking?