by C B Samet
I found Artemis Stout pacing in one of the sitting rooms. His face held a reddish hue that seemed to have crept up from his neck. He tugged at his neatly combed beard and ran a hand along his bald head. I wondered if rubbing that great, glistening noggin helped him think better. It didn’t seem to calm him down.
“I want that scepter,” he growled.
Minister Tarik cowered before him. “The Queen and Captain of the Guard were the only ones with keys. They are both dead, my lord.”
I narrowed my eyes at Tarik. Was he protecting Coco?
“We’ll have to force it open,” Boyo said.
“I brought the thief so I wouldn’t have to force it open!” Stout bellowed.
I leaned toward Snake Eyes. “It seems Cornelius Kronovsky had a very specific reason for being hauled to Crithos.”
Tarik licked his lip and spoke reluctantly. “It can’t be forced opened. If anyone tries to force it open, it’s rigged to collapse.”
“I’m already aware of that! Find me a new thief!” King Artemis demanded of Boyo.
A soldier stepped into the room—a captain or a general I surmised, based on his fine uniform, distinguished air, and battle-hardened face. “King Artemis, I have confirmation that Crithian soldiers have amassed at the shullby field. Shall we launch an offensive?”
“They have hundreds to our thousands. Let them gather. I need every corner of this castle secured first.” He stroked his beard. “Any inkling as to how Marrington knew we were coming?”
“No, my lord,” the soldier replied. “We think perhaps Waterton sent word by bird. They’ve a roost here near the stables, so they send and receive by fowl.”
“Roost?” Snake Eyes asked.
“A repository for messenger birds. It’s like a big birdhouse,” I explained.
“Oh.”
King Artemis held a troubled expression. He’d apparently thought his surprise attack would be more of a surprise.
He turned a dark gaze on Tarik. “What haven’t you told us, Minister Tarik?”
I walked down corridors and through walls on my way to Orrick’s hideout. I stepped through the last stone wall into their room. Natalie slept as Orrick sat, leaning against one wall several meters from her. The Wizard Oak had bags of weariness beneath his eyes.
“Orrick?”
“Yes, brother, what news?”
“Abigail and Baird have met up with the soldiers of Marrington as well as Kovia. They’ll plan the battle soon. Before the battle, Abigail needs to steal my scepter from the castle vault—and during all this time, you need to be careful here. The King still has soldiers searching every nook and cranny. Does Tarik know of this place?”
Orrick scratched his beard. “I’m not sure. We didn’t tell him of it.”
I glanced at the staff beside him. I was glad he had it with him. He’d carved symbols into the staff, giving it the magical ability of storing kinetic energy. It would make a good defensive tool if he and Natalie were discovered.
“How is Natalie doing?”
“Mostly tired and hungry. We’re trying to conserve rations—and unfortunately, the least perishable foods are also the least filling.”
“Have you enough food and water for two more days?”
“Yes, yes. Tell Abigail not to worry.”
I realized Orrick had grown accustomed to me checking on everyone on Abigail’s behalf. This time, however, I had my own concern for my brother and Natalie.
“Do you think linking Abigail and I with the scepter will work?” I asked. I hoped it would—felt it would—but I wanted more reassurance from my brother.
“I do. We know she has an affinity for magic. We know she had an affinity for you,” he smiled, “by which I mean you can connect with her in a vague, physical way and activate your magic through her, evidenced by the healing you described. Logic would dictate that with the scepter in her grasp, and you merging with her, you could then fully harness the seven Che stones through Abigail.”
“Logically.” I blew a puff of air out of my cheeks.
“Well, all that being said, you should, of course, test my theory first—before charging into battle.”
“Understood.”
34
ABIGAIL
I wrapped myself in a robe and dried my hair with a towel. I needed to make my way to my tent and sleep before daybreak. Tomorrow would be a day of planning, preceding the theft of the scepter.
“Abbey?”
I pulled the tent flap aside to see Goran standing outside. He’d been patiently waiting to have his quarters back, but had been polite enough to let me take a bath here. My small tent had no such accommodations.
“Sorry. I was just finishing.”
He stepped inside the tent—so close I could feel warmth emanating from his large torso. “Don’t go.”
When his gaze turned smoldering, I understood the meaning of his words.
“Goran, I…” I started to protest.
“Stay with me, Abbey.”
My body warmed at the thought. How magnificent would it be to melt in the arms of a compassionate man? I’d been starved for intimacy for so long.
I licked my lips but took a step back, keeping the neck of my robe securely closed. “I can’t.”
“You can.” He moved closer, closing the gap I’d formed between us. He placed a gentle, calloused hand on my cheek.
I shuddered. I closed my eyes against the aching need in my abdomen, and I saw Mal’s face—strong jaw, tapered nose, predatory dark eyes, and long lashes.
My eyes snapped open. “My heart belongs to someone else.”
Goran gave a sad, slightly pitying look, and I suspected he thought I referred to Joshua. His warm touch circled around to my neck. He leaned in and kissed just below my ear. “Then don’t give me your heart. Give me this night.”
His warm breath in my ear sent tingling anticipation down my spine.
I turned my head towards him and our lips met. The kiss began tentative and worked to a deepening fervor. It brought comfort, but it wasn’t passionate.
When we pulled away to take a breath, I took a long moment to look into his deep, green eyes. They brimmed with longing and affection.
I ran my index finger along the scar on his face. He was rugged, and handsome, and wholesome. It wouldn’t be fair of me to take advantage of his feelings, knowing I was thinking of someone else. “I can’t give you what you want.”
“Give me tonight, Abbey. I swear to ask nothing more of you.” A smile lit his eyes. “You may, of course, change your mind in the days, or weeks, or months to come.”
I stepped back and pulled my robe tighter around my body.
His jaw tensed before his chin dropped to his chest. He gave a slight bow. “Then I respect your wishes.” He turned and went deeper into his tent.
I walked quickly past other tents and retreated into the solitude of my own tent. I stood in the silence for a moment, clutching my robe.
“Are you angry with me?” I said into the dim light.
Mal appeared beside me. “For kissing a man? No.”
I glanced side-long at him. He didn’t look angry, only sad.
“I can’t be with anyone else when I have feelings for you.” An overwhelming vulnerability filled me in the seconds of silence as I stood in the dark. My heart pounded in my chest.
When I turned to look at him, Mal smiled—something genuine, warm, and handsome. It filled me with a strong desire to recreate that expression from him as often as I could.
“I think our time apart has only demonstrated how much we need each other, even if we can’t have all of each other,” Mal said.
“I love you, Malakai Dallik.”
“And I you.” He somehow radiated warmth towards me with his words.
Silence settled again for a moment. How could I love someone I couldn’t touch? Couldn’t embrace? I had no way of physically showing my affection. Despite that, I knew what my heart had declared. The longing and ache for Mal was u
ndeniable and seemed to grow over time rather than subside.
He stepped so close I would have been able to feel his breath. “I can’t make love to you, but I’d like to bring you a night of pleasure.”
With a hard swallow, I let go of my robe. The soft fabric fell to the floor.
Mal’s voice turned raspy. “You are so beautiful.” He brought a hand up to my cheek and ran a thumb across my lips.
My heart beat faster with the tingling sensation of his touch and anticipation of what he was scheming. I took several steps backward until I bumped the edge of the bed and let myself fall backward. Mal loomed over me, his eyes dark and heavy with desire.
I groaned in pleasure as he sank his apparition into me. As I closed my eyes and gave myself to the sensation of him, I felt euphorically transported to another world. I was weightless and ethereal in his grasp. The worries of the battle to come melted away as I surrendered to his power. In this moment I knew only the sensation of Mal’s essence coursing through me.
Heat and vibrations hit me in every sensual spot on my body. I lost all sense of time in a delicious climax that seemed to last forever—until I sank into exhaustion. For several long moments, we lay with bodies as one, spent, until peaceful sleep enveloped me.
In the dim light of early morning, Mal guided Corky and I through the pasture lands toward the backside of Marrington Castle. I had traveled through here once before, to the gate that leads to the tunnels, but that had been fifteen years ago, and this had been forest at the time. Not to mention, I was running for my life away from the castle.
With Mal flickering light only I could see, we kept low and kept silent as we approached the gate.
“Son of Muglik!” Corky swore in a whisper. He hastily wiped his shoe against the grass to get the cow dung off of it.
“Keep moving. It’ll come off as you walk.” As a mother of three children who often soiled their shoes, I usually made them go walk in the grass to get dirt and animal feces off.
When we reached the entrance to the tunnel, I could see the wrought iron gate barring the entrance. Instead of a dark tunnel behind it, large boulders blocked the path. I wondered if Coco had placed those or the Bellosians. Coco would have mentioned it if she’d done it.
Corky scratched his head. He craned his neck to look up at the high wall. “Plan B?”
“No. I can move those.”
He gave me a skeptical look before pulling out his lock pick set and working on the gate. I grimaced as the gate opened on squeaking hinges. When the gate stilled, Corky and I held our breaths as we listened. We heard no sounds of guards alerted to the creaking of the iron gate.
I set to work moving the large boulders out of our way. Even with the Warrior Stone, the work was taxing. I finished making a hole large enough to crawl through. I bent over with my hand on my knees and took deep breaths, wishing I’d brought water for this escapade.
“Here.” Corky extended his flask.
I drank. “Thank you.”
As we made our way into the tunnel, I lit my Warrior Stone. The stone walls glowed red as we walked. I followed Mal, and Corky followed me.
Turn by turn we made our way to the vault. Mal would alert me when to halt or extinguish my stone, or both, depending on the roaming sentries.
When we reached the vault, I could see by the light of a torch on both sides of the door that a single guard was posted. I eased out the blow dart from my waist belt and loaded a poisoned dart. After careful aim, I blew hard. The small, sharpened wood struck his cheek.
Well, I was aiming for his neck, but the potent poison needed only to break the skin to insert itself and work properly.
The guard let out a startled cry, but even as he reached to remove the dart, he started to collapse—down on one knee then onto his back.
Corky’s eyes went wide. “Black marsh adder venom? That’s what the apothecary owner gave you?”
“That’s right.”
“Works fast.”
“Yes, it does.”
I loomed over the soldier. The paralytic venom worked on muscle only, so the man was still cognizant of all our movements and conversation around him but couldn’t move or speak. “You’ll live Bellosian. If you’re smart, you’ll leave before the battle in two days time. I’ll be back and anyone brandishing pistol or sword will not survive my next attack. You can take that promise to your legions and your King.” I reached down and closed his eyelids, and then plucked his pistol out of the holder on his belt.
Corky glanced at the fallen soldier. “How long does it last?”
“An hour.”
Corky stood in front of the large vault door with its intricate carvings. He wet his lips. “A door this big must hide quite the haul.”
“Focus. Scepter,” I said.
He moved his head from side to side, scanning the door. “There are so many holes. It’ll take hours to sort out which one’s the keyhole.”
I pointed to the correct keyhole.
“Of course she knows,” he said to the door.
Corky set to work picking the lock as I watched for other guards with my blow dart ready.
Ten minutes passed, though it seemed infinitely longer before the vault door retreated open.
Corky grinned as he pocketed his thieving supplies. He stepped inside and gaped at the gold and jewels—vases, jewelry, chests and more.
I walked inside and over to the scepter. It lay, seemingly innocuous, on a plush, red velvet pillow. I touched the handle, gripped it, and then brought it closer for inspection. The same pulsations rippled through me as the last time I’d touched it. “Shall we try it out?” I whispered to Mal.
“No time. Men are coming,” he said.
I jerked my head toward the opening of the vault and heard the footsteps. “Corky!” I snapped.
He stopped filling his pants with jewels and pearls as his face went pale.
We rushed toward the exit.
“Left,” Mal barked.
Left wasn’t back the way we’d come, but I trusted Mal and didn’t hesitate to follow his orders.
Corky turned with me, the clanking of dropped gold coins resounding on the stone floor as he ran.
The shot of a pistol sounded behind us, but since nothing struck me and Corky didn’t cry out, I kept running.
I followed Mal’s directions, dodging soldiers in various hallways. Shifting into a stealthier mode of escape was impossible with Corky still dropping necklaces and emeralds out of his pant legs. Next, we wound up a flight of stairs.
“Up?” I asked Mal.
“Faster,” he snapped.
My legs burned and the scepter began to feel heavier in my grasp.
“How are we going to escape up? I can’t fly.”
“I can,” Mal replied.
“But we don’t know if we work yet.” I panted.
“Are you seriously arguing with your ghost right now?” Corky panted behind me.
When we reached the top of the stairs, we were standing on the outer wall walk. We ran down the walkway, past merlons, arrow loops, and embrasures. Torches along the merlons lit the path. When we reached a corner of the wall, I stopped.
I jerked my head both ways, seeing guards approach from both sides. Trapped. I glanced over the edge of the wall at the darkness below. The bottom, far below, was obscured from the rising sun by the tall, castle wall. I knew, even without being able to see the bottom, that it was too far to jump and survive. The lead guard took aim with his pistol.
“Corky!” I lunged for him and spun him out of the way as the deafening, evil weapon exploded and launched its projectile.
The bullet slammed into my back at the level of my lower ribcage. Pain tore through my body as I was thrown over the stone wall, still clutching Corky and the scepter. We plummeted, and consciousness began to slip away from me. The agony of the shot was too much. Warm blood poured from both the hole in my back and the one in my abdomen.
Mal slammed into me, fierce and hot. His entity
stitched with mine and latched on to the magic in the scepter as I clutched it. Air exploded from the scepter and slowed the descent of our freefall. Then, whistling wind spun around us, whipping like a miniature tornado and carrying us away from the castle and back to the camp.
As Mal took us to safety, the heat of his Healing Stone mended my back and belly. When the world around me finally stilled, the pulsating, throbbing pain blurred my vision. My breath came in short pants.
Corky set me down on a bed—or maybe it was the ground—and tore at my clothing. “No. No. No. What did you do, you daft woman?! Somebody help!”
Mal’s essence still warmed me, but my body was numb and immobile. The morning sky above me was transitioning from dark gray to a pale orange. Mother Moon and Baby Moon shone down on me, both in curving smiles. The stars twinkled, and I heard a lullaby before I drifted off to sleep.
35
MALAKAI
Once I finished healing Abigail, I separated myself from her to let her rest. She’d given me a scare by getting shot. Was she being reckless? Or had she taken a calculated gamble that I’d be more likely to heal her than I would Corky? Between Orrick, Abigail, and Baird, I’d learned that my healing abilities were directly correlated with a person who already had an affinity for magic.
Corky stood by Abigail’s side with a bowl of boiled eggs, waiting for her to wake. His throat bobbed, and the worry he exuded was palpable.
When she started to stir, he scowled down at her. Her eyes flickered open.
“You weren’t supposed to save my life again.”
Abigail rubbed at the spot where the bullet had struck. Fortunately, because she was holding the scepter and I could directly access the magic in the stone when I merged with her, she was fully healed—no scars or lasting damage, even if the tissue remained sensitive and tender.
“You want an apology?” she asked Corky.
“How can I repay a life debt if you keep saving me?”
She sat up slowly, wincing. “You do want an apology. Since when do thieves believe in life debts?” She reached for a flask of water and drank.