A Curious Twist of Lime

by Heather R. Blair

  “Georg, is this true?”

  When I calmly say yes, Markus just looks at me in consternation. “You already have a mate of intention!”

  “Had,” I grind out. “Persephone was never actually mine. It was all a mistake.”

  He opens his mouth, seems to think better of whatever he was going to say and shuts it before trying again. “This is highly irregular.”

  “I’d say it’s a bit worse than that,” Kolya says smoothly. “He broke the law.”

  “No, I haven’t.” I straighten my shoulders, resisting the urge to look at Samuel, knowing this is a fight he can’t back me on, “Because the Elders are going to absolve me from that declaration.”

  “We don’t do so such things,” Markus scoffs. “Your declaration was witnessed and—“

  “Then I fucking died.” My voice slaps harshly against the walls, even in this elegant chamber. Several of the Elders shift uneasily. “After I came back, you recognized Stephen’s reign and dissolved mine—which sets a precedent. If my royal rights can be absolved by death, then so can bonding rights.”

  Markus leans back in his chair, considering. “You requested the absolution,” he says slowly.

  This is how we solved the question of the succession when I came back from Hel. I couldn’t abdicate, because technically Stephen was already king. Both Stephen and I had taken vows to serve and honor our people and completed all the rites that lead to being crowned, but only one could serve. I was in no frame of mind to do so. To settle things, the Elders agreed to absolve my rights to the New World crown.

  “I did, because my people had been through enough. But it doesn’t erase the panel’s presumption of power in that instance.” I can practically hear Kolya’s teeth grinding together. “The Elders recognized death then as a means to absolve a vow. Whether that vow is my oath as king or my oath to a mate of intention”—I fold my arms, my voice steady and firm—“it’s really neither here nor there.”

  Markus purses his lips, then glances at the rest of the Elders. There is a flurry of discussion that goes on far too long, but in the end, they side with me.

  In a manner of speaking.

  “If you obtain a writ from the female in question, absolving you of your previous vow, we’ll consider it.”

  Samuel lets out a breath I’m sure only I hear because Kolya growls. Several of the Elders hiss and Markus sends him a quelling look. “I said, consider it. You have two days.”

  Two?

  “I’ll be ready in one,” I snarl.

  Less than twenty-four hours later, my former second and the current king of the Americas strides through Hearthstone’s doors, his black-haired witch on his arm. I made a call. Thankfully, Stephen has transportation on standby.

  Gods, have I missed this bastard.

  Stephen is more than a friend, he’s my brother in every way that matters. As I’m wrapping him in a hard hug, I hear a curse behind me. Konstantin.

  He has good reason to be nervous. Last time he and Stephen and Jett were in a room together, things didn’t go so well. But my second barely spares my shadow a glance.

  “What the hell is going on, Georg?”

  I cut right to the chase. “I found my mate.”

  His eyes narrow, but Stephen stays silent.

  Jett is not so reticent. “Did you kidnap this one, too?”

  “Low blow, witch,” Stephen mutters softly.

  I fold my arms and stare down at her. “You could say that,” I answer. “You could also say that the lady asked me to.”

  “Well, that’s new,” she acknowledges.

  “The Elders must have thrown a fit. Two mates. Scandalious stuff.”

  “They don’t actually know Alice is my mate,” I say. “Yet.”

  Asher is approaching our guests but I wave him away, leading them down the hall to my quarters.

  “Same old Asher,” Stephen notes.

  Jett snorts.

  “What’s that snort mean?”

  “It means I think this is all very fucking ironic.” She tilts her head as I open the door, pausing on the threshold to look up at me. Despite her tone, her eyes are soft. “So, basically, this Alice is your real mate, but they won’t let you have her because you said you wanted Seph?”

  “That about covers it.”

  Rolled eyes as she crosses into the room. “You bruins just love painting yourselves into corners.”

  My turn to snort. “With your family history you’re going to lecture me about choices?”

  Jett’s eyes narrow to lightning-blue slits. Both Stephen and I take a step back before catching ourselves.

  She pushes away from the wall. “Where are you hiding this Alice anyway? I think it’s about time I said hello.”

  Jett and Alice in the same room? I don’t think I’m ready for that. I take the scroll from Stephen and smile thinly. “How about you have Stephen give you the tour while I drop these off and we’ll all meet in the private dining hall for dinner?”

  A couple hours later, I’m feeling better. Or trying to. I was hoping Samuel could make it to dinner, or at least rouse enough to greet Stephen, but he’s sleeping again. The healers say he hasn’t more than a week or two left. I didn’t have time to forewarn Alice in person, but I did send a note via Jada about dinner tonight.

  Markus has Seph’s sworn statement of release, plus a rather strongly worded letter from her fiancé that should make things crystal clear. That, along with the whole dying-wiping-the-slate-clean precedent they set when they let Stephen keep my throne, should mean we’re in pretty good shape.

  There is almost a spring in my stride when I enter the dining room. It doesn’t last long.

  “It isn’t going to work, you know.”

  I look up from straightening my cuffs and meet the shadow elemental’s gaze. He’s alone at a beautifully set table, a tankard of beer in front of him. “Is that so?”

  “It is. The witch releasing you from the vow, Frost’s word. It won’t be enough for them.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s fucking human. They don’t give two shits about you and the witch, that is just an excuse.” Konstantin takes a long swallow of beer and leans back in his seat. “Have you forgotten how stubborn they are? How impossibly backward?”

  I lift an eyebrow as I take my seat at the head of the table. “Harsh words for our people.”

  “Our people?” The elemental snorts. “Speak for yourself, milord. I’m a bastard. I have no people.”

  “Then why leave the Inferno Palace to come back here?” I’ve been curious about that ever since he first appeared in that forest. For hundreds of years, Konstantin avoided the palace where he was born. Why come back now, and in the service of its dying king?

  A thin smile as Jett and Stephen enter the room. “Thanks to your friends there, Vasilisa was . . . shall we say anxious to be shut of me and any reminders of how he lost his preferred queen. Besides,” he takes another drink of beer with obvious relish, “Samuel made me a generous offer.”

  I bet he did. Samuel tried to right a lot of Nazary’s sins.

  Jett and Stephen take their seats.

  “There are too many bruins in this fucking place,” Stephen growls immediately, reaching for his own beer. “We couldn’t take a walk without tripping over someone. How do you stand it?’

  I chuckle. “They’d tell you we’re more evolved here.”

  “Evolved?” Stephen snorts. “That’s one word for it.”

  With a smile, I study my former second. The differences between the New World and the Old are many. Bruins in the Americas stick closer to the earth, the land and what they consider our ancient duty. They don’t have castles, and while they keep a king, there’s no formal court. No throne and no permanent crown.

  When I get my crown here—if I get it—it will be made of gold and silver. The one I had before was made anew of living leaves and vines every season, when I had occasion to wear one at all.

  No wonder Stephen has li
ttle patience for this lifestyle, and truth be told, neither do I. But I know how to play the game. An influx of fresh air in these stale halls would not be amiss.

  It’s not only an ocean that separates us, it’s centuries of stagnation. To someone like Kolya, whose family has held a title for several hundred years, court has become the apex of bruin culture.

  In the Americas, bruin life is much simpler, more straightforward.

  Prejudices aren’t as ingrained there in large part simply because bruins do live in much smaller groups, similar to the ways of old. forcing them to interact more with creatures not of their own kind. To band with those creatures in times of crisis.

  “I’ve never thought of it that way before,” Konstantin is saying. “But you have a point.”

  I lift my head, following the elemental’s gaze to Jett, having missed the thread of the conversation. “What was that?”

  “I was saying, this conduit business sounds a bit like being a witch.”

  Of course. They’re discussing Alice. I spoke to Stephen briefly about my concerns about the Master and Alice’s ‘training.’ I resist the urge to growl, instead wondering where the hell the lady in question is. “How so?”

  Jett tears a bit of bread in two and gives me an arch look. “Witches cast, right? Scooping up the energy all around us. Then we turn that into magic. It sounds like a conduit does the same thing, but instead they siphon the magic off of actual magical creatures. Like soul magic. Minus the messy bits.”

  “Hmm.” I consider this. “A sort of witch-vampire hybrid. Sucking out the magic, but leaving the soul behind.”

  Jett nods. “Totally wicked cool.”

  “Wicked dangerous, you mean.”

  A smile. “Aren’t they the same thing?

  “Only in your world, witch.” Stephen sighs, but gives his woman a slow smile. When I lift my eyes, I see Alice in the doorway.

  She’s a bit pale but her smile is warm when Stephen rises to his feet, along with Konstantin and I. Jett rolls her eyes and mutters something about archaic male-centric culture. When we all take our seats again, she immediately reaches a hand across the table. Alice takes it gingerly, her eyes going huge as she notices the colorful tattoos covering Jett’s arms.

  “They’re so beautiful!” she exclaims.

  I didn’t believe I’d ever live to see Jett Gosse blush. It makes me grin—until I hear Jett’s response.

  “I could give you one if you like.”

  Gods save me. Alice with a tattoo. I swallow hard and refill my beer.

  There is a selection of drinks in the middle of the table. Alice’s eyes lock on one pitcher in particular. It’s filled to the brim with pale green liquid. I wince, but she ducks her head and smiles.

  “Would you like some?” Stephen offers at once, lifting the pitcher of margaritas.

  “No, thank you,” Alice says with a sweet smile. “That particular potion makes my clothes fall off.”

  Stephen chokes and Jett stares, her drink halfway to her mouth. “Potion?”

  My mate grins at me across the table.

  19

  I like his friends. Even the woman. Actually, especially the woman. Witch.

  I keep watching her. Her sister is the one he loved, but even from the scant tidbits of conversation around the table, I gather Jett and Persephone aren’t very much alike. That’s kind of a relief. She’s extremely intimidating. And fascinating.

  Jett is exactly the woman I dream of being. Strong, bold, fearless. It’d almost be depressing if it weren’t so inspiring. They really do exist. Not just in legends, like Georg’s Medeinė of the tapestry, or the few books that slipped through the Master’s screenings.

  And she seems to like me. At the very least, she’s fascinated by Georg’s theory about Papa’s watch. When she asks to see it, I’m more than happy to oblige.

  Georg’s eyes narrow when we push back our chairs in tandem, but he says nothing as he gets to his feet with the other men as we excuse ourselves.

  “Positively archaic, the lot of the them,” Jett mutters under her breath as we exit the chamber and the men settle back in for another drink.

  “Hmm?”

  “Bruins. I suppose it’s all the same to you, but trust me, nowadays, that kind of shit is the exception rather than the norm.”

  “And women don’t mind?”

  Jett laughs. “You missed the revolution, kid. Most women are totally fine with being treated like equals rather than empty-headed dolls. Though”—she lowers her voice, even though we are already a good way down the hall—“I gotta say, all that chivalrous nonsense does kind of weaken the knees.”

  “Heard that!” There is a rumble of laughter from the dining room that makes me jump. Bruin senses never cease to amaze me.

  Jett sighs before yelling back over her shoulder. “Yeah, but who the fuck is going to believe you, furface?”

  Another roar of laughter, then we’re around the corner and the sound dies away under the click of my sandals and the heavier tread of Jett’s boots. The silence seems to echo around us, rolling down the wide, empty hall.

  “This place, man.” Jett glances up at the vaulted ceiling and shakes her tousled black hair. “You like it here?”

  I shrug. “It was really intimidating at first.” I hesitate. “It still is sometimes.” Maybe a lot of the time. “But when Georg is around, I don’t notice it so much.”

  That blue gaze comes back to me and sharpens, but she only nods.

  Seconds later, we’re at my room. I head straight for the bed. Papa’s watch is tucked behind my pillow, between the mattress and the headboard. “It’s in here. I probably shouldn’t keep it with me all the time, but I’m afraid I’ll lose it and it’s all I have—”

  I stop, staring at the worn paperback on the nightstand. It’s tottering on top of a new pile of books I took from the library yesterday. One hand goes to my throat as the other grasps the back of the chair, right before I fall into it.

  “Alice?” Jett’s voice. “You okay?”

  “Not particularly,” I whisper, unable to take my eyes off the book.

  Ivanhoe.

  I forgot to tell Georg about the first book. With everything else going on that day, it kind of slipped my mind.

  “This is from him?”

  “Yes, my library in the place the Master kept me. Niflheim, Georg calls it.”

  Jett is flipping through the pages warily, as if half expecting a snake to slither from between its pages. She mumbles something soft and low, and a shimmer of cobalt blue hovers in the air before vanishing.

  Apparently satisfied, she closes the book a few seconds later, frowning down at the cover. “Do you like this book?”

  “I love it.” One of my favorites. Rebecca, and even Lady Rowena, were among the first characters to convince me women didn’t have to do as they’re told.

  “Then keep it. Hell, carry it around and let everyone see you reading it. Why not? I bet you were sad you had to leave it behind.”

  “I was.” I turn over the familiar cover in my hand, remembering all the hours I spent in its pages. “It was a good friend when I had none.”

  She nods, shoving her hands in her pockets, shoulders hunched so that I can see the gleam of the sword under that ragged dark hair. “In a way, the asshole did you a backhanded favor, didn’t he?”

  “I guess so.” I glance down at the book, and the sparkle of warmth fades. Because it means he was here. In my room. “I’m so damn tired of being scared.”

  “I get it,” Jett says softly.

  My head jerks up. “How could you possibly?”

  “Because I know exactly how that feels. To be locked away, all alone and without hope.”

  “You?”

  “Oh yes, me.” She runs a finger over the sleeve of my fur, a sardonic twist to her lips. “I was tortured, chained, beaten and worse.” I swallow hard when those blue eyes meet mine, steady and cool. “You’re not a victim, Alice. You were a victim. What you are now is
entirely up to you.”

  “Right,” I whisper.

  “Tell the damn bear about the books, though.” She rolls her eyes. “He’ll freak the fuck out, they always do.” She’s smiling but I can see the simmering rage in her eyes as she glances at the book in my hand. “But he needs to know about this shit.”

  We do get around to checking out Papa’s watch, eventually. But Jett can’t tell me any more about it than Agatha or Georg could. She doesn’t think there’s any magic in it, but she also admits it could be imbued subtly enough that she’s just not picking up anything.

  When she leaves I tuck it under my pillow again. I keep one hand on it as Jada comes in to stoke the fire. We chat for a bit, then when she leaves I pick up the copy of Ivanhoe. My fingers tremble and for a second, I see different walls, like a cage around me.

  Then my grip tightens, my lips press together, and I turn the first page.

  In that pleasant district of merry England . . .

  20

  “We acknowledge your claim on the human woman called Alice Liddell—and agree that it is your right to declare her your mate of intention, per the law.” Markus lifts a hand at my curse. “However, should you do so, the Elders will not support Samuel naming you his heir.”

  “The crown,” Stephen snarls, “or his mate? What kind of choice is that?”

  Under my hands, the stone table gives a low, ominous growl that is immediately echoed by my bear.

  “He could take the woman as a mistress.” Markus’s tone is smooth. “No one here would object to a discreet liaison.” Murmurs of relieved agreement fill the chamber as my stomach knots. “But a human will never be our queen.”

  “This is justice?” I breathe, looking around the chamber. Eyes meet mine and fall, some more slowly than others, but not a one can hold my gaze for long.

  Not even Kolya.

  Markus frowns, clearing his throat. “If the woman cares for you, I’m sure she’ll agree to such an arrangement.”

  “And if I won’t?” I grind out.

  “Then as I said, we will not recognize you as heir.” Markus gets to his feet, looking both dismissive and weary. “We will give you a few hours to think it over. But make your decision soon. The king is fading fast.” He glances at Kolya. “Should he not put forth an acceptable heir by midnight, we’ll be forced to name one ourselves.”