by K. A. Tucker
I flinch at the visual. “And you still feel remorse for it.”
“Every day,” he admits softly. “Your lady maids were both sent to the rift. I do not know if they still live.”
Punished accordingly, Elisaf had said.
“I am also enacting a new law that states any mortal who poisons an immortal through the act of repast will be sentenced to death, and any mortal who delivers a vial of this poison to the royal court will receive one hundred gold coins and absolution of any crime for possession.”
“That’s smart. The gold coins, I mean.”
“It’ll sway some, but not all. Ybaris has given the mortals a gift and a weapon, and once they realize what it is, there are those who will seek it out and make the best use of it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The tributaries who poisoned my parents are in the sanctum. We don’t have an alchemist caster, but Wendeline has been testing them regularly. It has been many weeks since that night, and yet the merth still hums in their veins.”
“So anyone who feeds off them would die, even now.”
He nods somberly, his jaw tensing.
I process what he’s saying. Oh my God. “It’s like having an immunity,” I say, more to myself. Or a vaccine. A thought strikes me. “Do you think that’s why the daaknar died when it bit me?” Did Princess Romeria drink this poison?
“We cannot ingest it. Wendeline tested that too, on an immortal sentenced to death for his crimes. He died just as dreadfully as my parents and Lord Quill. And merth is as toxic to Ybarisans as it is to us, so I have to assume you did not consume it. Then again, you freed Annika from raw merth cord with your bare hands, which is an impossibility, so you tell me, Romeria.”
I shake my head. I don’t know. What I do know is that there are a lot of mortals who would want to get their hands on this poison, for revenge or protection, or both.
“With regard to these prisoners, I cannot give them to the soldiers or the children. There is no other way to punish them, and we do not keep people in the dungeon that don’t serve a purpose.”
“Who knows about this immunity?”
“No one but Wendeline and us, but that will change soon.”
And when it does … fear will take over, above any moral decency among these Islorian immortals. The keepers will put them all in chains. “How many vials of this stuff do you think they brought over?”
“You came with five hundred soldiers. Each could have carried several vials, but we did not find any on them. There were also the supply wagons.” He shakes his head. “Who knows how many were in there?”
“But she thought she could seize the throne and then kill off the immortals by inoculating as many humans as possible with this poison? She thought she could do all that with five hundred men?”
“Plus whatever help she”—Zander casts a look my way—“corralled from within. It was a bold plan, I will admit, and perhaps it wasn’t to seize the throne but rather simply to remove Ailill’s heirs, so we would be a weaker target for Neilina to overtake. Your men remained camped outside the city wall before the wedding. During the night, they could have shuttled the wagons for safekeeping up in the mountains, until Neilina attacked with her army. We may never fully understand those plans.
“But even a handful of vials here and there has the potential to cause considerable strife within Islor, as we’re seeing. It will stir panic, and keepers will strip away what few rights the mortals have in a bid to keep themselves safe.”
“What about Adley? He can’t appreciate the idea of this threat of poison any more than the others.”
Zander scowls. “The worm tongue is still busy, poisoning the water and swaying people from within. I do not wish to think about him tonight.” After a moment’s pause, Zander reaches over and curls his fingers over my wrists. The smooth obsidian cuffs that have no visible seam click open.
My mouth gapes.
“I put them on you. I can take them off.” Zander slips the cuffs into an unseen pocket. He watches me intently. “What do you feel?”
I slide my hands over my bare skin. They’re naked without them on. “What should I feel?” According to Wendeline, nothing of my caster magic while I wear this ring.
“A pull. Deep inside here.” His fingertips press against my chest, just above the swell of my breasts. It’s an intimate gesture, especially with the flash that stirs of his mouth on my body, but he doesn’t take it any further.
I search for something—anything—that might resemble this pull he describes. “I don’t feel anything.”
He frowns. “Perhaps it has something to do with being brought back to life by Malachi. Maybe he somehow severed your ties to Aoife. I will admit, I do not understand the workings of the fates.”
That can’t be true. Wendeline tested me and found all four caster elements and my elven affinity. It must have to do with the ring, but that is not something I want to test now, in front of Zander.
I hesitate, smoothing my palms over my wrists again. “Why did you take the cuffs off?”
His shoulders sag, and his attention drifts toward the sea. “What am I to do with you, Romeria?”
He asked that exact question once not so long ago—though it feels like an eternity—when I lay in bed, recovering from the daaknar attack.
I don’t understand why he’s asking it again now. “Have I done something wrong?” Again? Is this about climbing into the tub yesterday?
“You’ve done everything wrong. You are hotheaded, you speak out of turn and do the opposite of what we agreed to, you antagonize me as if you have no fear of consequence. You continue to lie and deceive me. Your heart bleeds too much for the plight of mortals, and you seem willing to challenge anyone who doesn’t bleed the same.” He sighs, his hazel eyes settling on me, a brilliant kaleidoscope of gold in the setting sun. “You do everything wrong, and yet everything right.”
My blood rushes to my ears as I process his raw words, as he reaches for my wrists, collecting them within his hands.
“I took these off because, for all the threats to me and to my throne, I do not believe you are one anymore.” His fingertip pushes back a stray hair that flutters in the wind. In his stare, I see vulnerability and pleading. The same look I saw that night when he begged me to tell him it was all a mistake. “Please do not prove me a fool again.”
The knots in my stomach coil tighter, threatening to cut off my ability to think. I could be the biggest threat of all. To him, to Islor, to everyone.
The urge to tell him, to unload this burden that grows heavier with each day, rushes me in an overwhelming wave.
I need to tell him. Before I let this go any further, he needs to know what I am.
I open my mouth, willing the words to come out.
I am a key caster, and Malachi sent me here to unlock the nymphaeum.
“Boaz is likely cursing every fate under the sun. We should head back.” Zander guides me to our horse.
My burning confession gets lost somewhere along the ride home, curled within Zander’s arms.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The lantern flames dance as if with a renewed spark tonight. Perhaps it is the swell of patrons circulating through the royal grounds, their worries of poisoned tributaries seemingly far from their minds as they laugh and converse and disappear into the depths of the gardens.
I feel the seduction in the air, too, as I lean against my terrace’s stone railing, a heady anticipation thrumming through my limbs. A quick glance over my shoulder ensures Zander isn’t sneaking up behind me.
With shaky fingers, I slip my ring off.
And hold my breath.
Nothing happens.
I frown with dismay. Wendeline was wrong. I don’t feel any— A twinge stirs somewhere deep in my chest. At first, I think I’m imagining it, but then it grows, radiating outward, expanding along my arms and legs, crawling up my neck and along my spine, until my entire body vibrates with this energy that is bot
h foreign and familiar, like the adrenaline rush I’d feel when reaching for a necklace or slipping a watch off a wrist—except magnified by a thousand.
It's distracting and uncomfortable.
And exhilarating.
Wendeline was right. I can feel my affinities now.
I shove the ring back on my finger and the odd surge quells almost instantly. Relief overwhelms me and I laugh as I peer down at the ring in my hand. If I had to feel that all day, every day, I might lose my mind. Sofie knew what she was doing when she bound whatever spells she cast to this body.
What will I be able to do with these powers?
“The gold is said to be a gift from Aoife to an elemental, a piece of her antler.” Zander’s footsteps against the stone rouse my pulse for an entirely different reason.
I keep my eyes forward as I struggle to calm my racing heart. “I read about it yesterday. It’s sentient.” Whatever that means.
He comes up behind me, his height looming as he settles his arms on the railing, caging me in. “I heard you plan to drag Elisaf to the library again tomorrow. He hates the library.”
I love the library. I’m becoming more adept at guarding my words, and yet it’s harder to keep them in. I want Zander to know who I am, to get to know the real me.
His breath skates across my neck, stirring gooseflesh over my bare, sensitive skin. “My mother gave the ring to me to give to you. It’s supposed to help you channel your affinity to water. I suppose you sensed its importance that night in the tower, even if you didn’t remember why.” Zander pinches the lace on the lapel of my robe between his thumb and index finger, as if testing the material. His fingernail drags along my skin, sending another shiver skittering through me. “But if you’ve somehow lost your affinity, then it is nothing more than a trinket.”
The tie on my robe unravels with Zander’s soft tug, and it distracts me from thoughts of my deception. He slips one side off, revealing my nightgown and the scars across my shoulder.
A prick of self-consciousness goads me to shrink from Zander’s inspection.
“Don’t,” he whispers, leaning in.
I close my eyes and revel in the feel of his lips against my injured skin as he traces each unsightly claw mark as if it’s the most beautiful part of my body. “What is happening?” I hear myself ask.
He pauses mid kiss. “Wendeline believes there is a reason you returned the way you did. She said that perhaps what Malachi did to your memory was a blessing to us all, that it’s a second chance.”
“A second chance for what?”
“For me to forget the Romeria of yesterday, along with all her cruelty. And for the Romeria of yesterday to forget her hatred for what she does not understand. And even though I know there is something you continue to hide, I am fighting against this constant aching pull I feel toward you.” He adds quietly, “Fighting and losing. So let us not play this game of pretend anymore. At least not for tonight.”
My robe slips off to pool on the cool stone terrace floor. He cradles my chin in his hands. “And let me see if I can find that affinity of yours, wherever you’ve buried it deep inside.” His kiss is soft but assured this time—unlike the hesitant and the frenzied ones of the past—and I allow myself to melt into it, my core thrumming with eagerness as I press into the hard planes of his body.
He slips a hand over the small of my back and directs me through my terrace door toward my bed. Halfway there, his hands gently slide the straps of my nightgown off my shoulders. I pause long enough to allow the material to fall to the floor. I hadn’t bothered with undergarments since I was preparing for bed, and my heart shudders with nervousness at the feeling of being bare in front of Zander.
But the rustle of his clothing comforts me. I won’t be alone in this for long.
Steeling my courage, I turn and settle on the edge of the mattress in time to watch him kick off his boots and shuck his pants. His tunic has already been cast aside.
“Son of Malachi, indeed,” I murmur, taking in his impressive size.
He smirks. “Where did you hear that? Son of Malachi?”
“Not important at the moment.”
“I suppose not.” He sets his dagger and sword on my nightstand, within easy reach.
I frown at them. “Do I have something to worry about?”
“From me? No.” He moves closer, and I prepare for his weight, but he surprises me by dropping to his knees. “You have nothing to worry about from me. Ever. I couldn’t hurt you, even if I wanted to.”
“You did—want to, I mean. Have you forgotten? Has Malachi taken your memory too?”
He smirks. “No, though I am suitably distracted.” His palms slide up my thighs, stirring heat in my lower belly, his gaze tracing my face, my neck, my breasts, my abdomen, before moving back up. “But I no longer feel the desire to look backward. I only want to look forward, with you.”
Thick lashes frame eyes that beseech with their honesty. This gentleness is a jarring contrast to the other versions of him I’ve been treated to—everything from loathing to indifference. But now this, a vague professing of what?
I don’t know what I feel for Zander, and our dark past isn’t something that can be easily forgotten, but I don’t want to discuss it at the moment, not while the king of Islor is kneeling before me, plying me with seductive words.
I part my thighs.
His eyes drop and flare with heat as they take me in, and when I weave my fingers through his hair, around the back of his head to guide him forward, his dimpled grin makes the one from the throne room that day seem a frown.
“Not timid indeed,” he murmurs, his shoulders settling in between my thighs, his palms pressing against me.
I gasp at the first swipe of his tongue and fall backward onto the bed, reveling in his skill as he lowers his mouth on me. This isn’t my first time experiencing this, and yet it feels as though it is. My body hums as anticipation builds, my fingers coiled around the soft strands of his hair, my leg hooked around his shoulder and my hips moving against him, striving to get closer.
Vaguely, I fret that my cries might be heard through the open terrace doors, or all the way to Elisaf’s ears on the other side of the sitting-room door, but that worry slips away with all my other thoughts, save for the way my body comes undone beneath Zander’s skilled mouth.
His lids are heavy and his lips swollen as he crawls onto me, dragging my satisfied body up with ease to center me in the bed.
“Did you find my affinity down there?” I tease, my mind sluggish in the afterglow.
“No. But I know where to keep looking.” His teeth scrape across one nipple, then the other, sending shivers through me and down to my sated core. He doesn’t linger long, fitting his hips in between mine. Our foreheads touch. “I think maybe Wendeline was right, and Malachi did give us a gift,” he whispers, pinning my arms above my head.
I absorb the feel of our bodies against each other, no piles of chiffon and silk between us. “I think you might be right.” And despite my anger with Sofie, she saved me from a much different path. I can’t yet find my way to thanking her, though.
I open my mouth to remind him that we need a condom until I remember that his kind can’t reproduce outside of Hudem, and do condoms even exist here? At least I don’t think I have to worry about diseases.
The thought brings a smile to my face as I curl my hips into his, my body amply prepared and craving the fullness of him. Zander slides into me with a smooth, skilled thrust, burying himself deep inside, drawing my moan.
He stalls a moment, holding my gaze as he leans in to press a long, slow kiss against my lips, and then his hips begin moving above mine in a steady rhythm, with the same grace as when he dances with his sword, every muscle beautifully taut with tension and yet appearing to exert little effort.
My body responds, slick and undulating and aching with need, my legs hooking around him as I match his tempo. He leans in to kiss me and doesn’t pull away again until we’re both shu
ddering against each other, our cries surely carrying into the night.
I wake to the feel of someone fumbling with my ring.
My body tenses with panic as I quickly take stock of the situation. Zander is next to me in my bed, his hot, bare skin pressed against mine. He’s merely toying with it, I note with relief, not trying to slide it off. Now that I know what happens when I remove it, I know I can’t function without it.
“Good morning.” His voice is gruff with sleep.
It is a good morning. Sun streams through the windows, promising another bright day. The terrace door still sits wide open, allowing the sound of steel clashing against steel to drift in from below. And I’m lying next to this man—this immortal—who I find myself drawn to in a way I can’t describe.
I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this content in my life.
“I was just thinking about the day I gave this to you,” he murmurs, his finger stroking the white stone.
“Really? Is this what we’re doing? Lying naked in bed and reminiscing about you with another woman? This is fun,” I tease dryly. “You know what would be even more fun to discuss is which male tributary you’ll be using the next time you have a need.”
He rolls onto his back with a groan and a stretch, the sheet sitting precariously low on his taut abdomen, highlighting the rigid length below.
My thighs clenches with anticipation.
“And you assume the act would be strictly platonic because it’s a man?”
My eyebrows arch in surprise.
“My preference is for females.” He slides his head on his pillow to study me. His golden-brown hair is full and mussed and sexy. “And I wouldn’t.” He swallows. “Not if this is real.”