Shadow Cursed: A Noblesse Oblige Duet Book Two Page 7

  The pages bow low. My sister curtsies. I incline my head.

  The queen either fails to notice or doesn't care. Her attention is all on Nebula. "Oh my!"

  I've never seen my sister blush so deep. I can tell she's reconsidering her choice of clothing. Then, the queen rushes next to her, and takes both of her hands. “The cut! The stitching! I've not seen the likes of it in—” She blinks. “I've never seen the likes of it. Who did this?”

  I've never known my sister to stutter, but she does so now. “I—I did, ma'am. Your Highness.”

  “You?” she repeats. She takes a step back. “Turn, child.”

  Neb does just that, awkward as ever. "Oh, my," she repeats.

  I wish I could record this instant and replay it on loop every time my little sister annoys me.

  "I am—that is to say, I was—helping my mother in her tailor shop. Since I was little.”

  Our mother used to serve as a maid to the daughter of the Duke of Derfort. When I was born, my father cared for me as she kept working from dusk to dawn. It is rare for fae to have one child in a hundred years—in a thousand years, sometimes. Ma birthed her second in less than ten years, and then she knew she had to step away from the post, to care for us. She and Da put all her pennies and favors to good use until they had enough funds to open the shop.

  Ma sews. Da forges. Nothing very grand, but it put food on our table in our youth.

  “Now, I train with my brother. For the war to come," she adds, standing a little straighter.

  The queen snorts. "Oh, I think not. No, no. Talent like this? Your hands aren't made for fighting."

  I could kiss the high queen right then, awkward as it may have been, given the fact that I'd much rather kiss her daughter. If she asks, I'd even bend the knee.

  To ensure I cannot be faulted as an excellent sibling, I point out, "Neb's one of the stealthiest fighters I've ever trained."

  When Ciera's eyes fall on me, they're cold, determined. Regal.

  So, there is a Lilwreath hiding under the surface, then. Perhaps not a queen, but a strong soul all the same.

  Too bad the fate of Tenebris doesn’t move her as much as that of one skilled tailor.

  “No. You will give this girl to me." It’s an order. Ciera is unyielding.

  Part of me wants to laugh. Beneath cloth and decorum, stripped of our courtesies, we’re beasts, as simple as wolves. And Ciera is not at the top of the hierarchy. Not even close.

  I don't like the way she's talking—as though Neb is some commodity that is mine to give. But she's already turning to my sister. "There are different ways of fighting a war, child. Your brother's rangers and my father's soldiers are invaluable. But say, if we send a thousand soldiers into fire without any protection, what then? We do not treat the folk the way human barbarians do their forces—like cattle they're willing to sacrifice."

  I still, understanding her meaning. Neb, however, doesn't.

  For years, I've served in the military. As a foot soldier, I was given ten fabric charms—a small bird at the heart of a tree—that I had to stitch to my uniforms. They served to reinforce the fabric of my clothing, preventing arrows from hitting true unless they were shot from too close. When I made it to captain, the charms grew bigger, and were accompanied by a stamina charm—a lute.

  I never paused to think about who had made them. That they were special and precious seemed obvious. Not every piece of clothing can easily be coated with charms. Cheap, common cloth will lose them.

  The queen means for my sister to serve as one of the royal seamstresses. A considerable upgrade from what she was doing before. And more importantly, this occupation will keep her out of harm's way.

  "She's talking about the charms you and Ma sewed on my uniforms," I clarify.

  The queen nods, eagerly. "It's grueling, boring work, but terribly essential. We only have three seamstresses capable of such work—me included, and I haven't been able to spare much of my time."

  I don't know why, but I expect Nebula to reject the prospect. She's had dreams of battles and blood for years now. To my relief, she nods. "I'd be glad to help however I can."

  Ciera squeezes my sister's hands. Now that she’s won that battle, she turns to me. "We've been trying to reach the Sea Lands, but none of the merfolk have approached us—not even a kappa. I fear, as they know we stay away from these parts, they've grown out of the habit to swim the river. I'm afraid we’d have to venture out to the sea to reach them."

  "Couldn't we send a bird?" I ask, for the sake of it. If she wants my rangers out, out we will go. But I've relapsed into the habit of questioning things, and I don't particularly want to let it go.

  "If we were willing to risk it being intercepted," Nero says. "It's safer to give a message to a merfolk directly."

  I concur, but I mislike the notion. Whitecroft is right at the heart of Tenebris—the coasts are farther away than we've ventured in ten years.

  I'd have to head such a mission, that's for certain. It wouldn't have mattered a few days ago. Now, the thought of going so far from Vlari for an extended time makes me pause.

  In the end, there's only one answer I can give. "I'll gather a team, and leave at once."

  The high queen touches my forearm. She's a tactile person, to my surprise. Vlari never seems to need touch like this.

  Or perhaps she does. Perhaps she loves contact, and quite simply never bothered to get it from me.

  "Wait a moment," Nero says. "Not questioning your rangers in the least, but for a journey such as this, it may be wise to bring a few knights with you. Some seasoned warriors."

  I wince. "With all due respect, knights come with cumbersome, noisy armor that would either slow us down, get us spotted, or both. Our aim isn't to fight anyone if we can help it."

  Generally, the rangers only get noticed after we've stolen something the humans guard. As this mission doesn't require us to retrieve any artifact, we might go unnoticed.

  After thinking for a moment, the queen suggests, "Perhaps not knights, then, but someone with defensive magic? In case the need arises. I will feel better if you're well-guarded, Rystan."

  She speaks as though we're friends, and she cares for my welfare.

  “I can take care of myself, Your Grace.”

  “Be that as it may, your power is a weapon, not a shield. If you’re attacked by hundreds, or thousands, you’ll be glad to have some help—if only for the sake of your rangers.”

  She has me there.

  I can take care of myself. But what of Samael, Iola, Hayles, Erdun, and whoever else will accompany me? They have little magic to speak of.

  Perhaps she does have more power than I gave her credit for, after all, because while I don't like the idea of bringing anyone but my men with me, I incline my head. "As you wish. I am to leave within four hours; your mage will be expected at our base when possible."

  She doesn't ask why I need this long.

  I leave my excitable sister to chat with the artful queen, and return to Vlari's chamber.

  When I arrive, I'm not alone.

  Out of Breath

  Drusk

  It's late enough in the day that the rest of Whitecroft Hall starts to wake. I hear servants and lords stir around me, reviving fires, preparing or eating their breakfast.

  I’ve had little sleep, but I need to see Vlari more than I need another one or two hours in bed.

  I’m annoyed I’m not the first to arrive. I’m not in a mood to socialize—I’d prefer to have her all to myself this evening.

  There's a fae next to her—someone I’ve never met. It's not saying much; I don't know everyone in Whitecroft, but most of them are familiar to me, by sight at least, or by their smell.

  This stranger stands out in several ways. He wears heavy padded leather that doesn't quite look like the kind of craftmanship I normally see. Even his way of standing is different. He looks like a gentry, yet he almost slouches, his eyes drifting from one side of the room to the next.

&nbs
p; Shifty. He's shifty.

  "Who are you?"

  He looks between me and Vlari, in a way I can only deem calculating.

  Vlari’s dark fox, that hardly ever stirred before—other than baring his teeth and hissing at me—is sitting on her stomach, his bright eyes fixed on the stranger. His tail flicks the air in annoyance.

  I step inside, lifting one hand and gathering Myst in my palm. "I said, who are you?"

  By this point, it’s of no importance. If he meant no harm, he would have answered the first time around.

  I step toward him, each move calculating. He’s a lot closer to Vlari than I am. I need to reach them now.

  The stranger moves faster than I anticipated, plucking a ball filled with black liquid from inside his cloak.

  He throws it on the floor and breaks the glass under his heel. His enchantment spreads, rendering the room pitch black. This is no natural darkness, and I can't dissipate it with my power. Now blind, I have to rely on my other senses, but the intruder doesn't make a sound.

  There's only one thing I feel, one thing I am certain of: Vlari's location. I can pinpoint it exactly in the dark room, though nothing else is clear.

  I stumble as fast as I can, making my way to her. Something solid blocks my path.

  There you are.

  I sense an attack just in time to stop his approaching arm. A blade bites into my face, cutting my cheek. He has a knife or a dagger in hand.

  My heart stops, not because I've halted a deadly blow. Because I understand the point of his weapon. This wasn't meant for me. His blade was intended to end up in Vlari's heart. This is an assassin.

  I don't think I've ever known true rage until now. I believed I did a time or two, but the pure, undiluted hatred and fury poisoning my heart blinds all needs but one. I have to kill this scum. I have to make him suffer. I have to send his soul to the deepest of hells.

  I kick and punch, screaming the vilest insults. His blade slices my arm, then my leg, and finds its way into my shoulder, but I don't feel any of it.

  The assassin curses and attempts to step out of my reach, lunging to his left, toward Vlari's bed. Now that he understands I'm not easy prey, he's trying to carry out his mission and get away.

  I think not.

  His spell has started to dissipate, or perhaps my eyes have become accustomed to complete darkness, because I see a blur of movement. I lunge toward it, knocking him down with my body, and I pin him under me. The man thrashes to escape, but I'm heavier and just as well trained as he—this close, he has no chance of getting out from under me. Or so I think. Then he manages to kick upright. I wince as another blade gets lodged in my back. His boots are fitted with knives, too. He kicks a second, then a third time to get me off him. I try to keep him pinned, but when his knife hits the side of my ribs, he manages to weasel out, then jumps out of the way.

  A low growl resounds in the darkness, and the assassin curses—I hear him kick and thrash. “Get off me, beast!”

  The wyrfox. I mentally praise it for giving away the assassin’s location. Thanking the laws of decorum for dictating that I should present myself to the queen armed, I unsheathe the sword at the end of my baldric, and launch, blind though I am. My sword crashes against metal—the iron cuffs at his wrists. I punch at eye level, my right fist hitting the target.

  With a grunt, my target retreats. It’s too late. Silent as he is, and despite the darkness, I’m too practiced in the art of violence to let him fool me. I swing. My blade slams against his with enough force to hurt. I shift my weight and kick low, where I imagine his arm is. Bingo. The assassin loses his footing, tumbling either backward or forward—with enough fracas to give away his location again.

  I see a light from the corner of my eye. Someone's opened the door, holding a torch. The uproar finally alerted the useless guards. It's not much light, but it's enough to see what's going on.

  For me, and for the assassin.

  We both assess the situation in one glance. He’s far too close. Vlari’s bed is right next to him. I’m standing on the other side of the fireplace, several paces away. The four guards rushing in have barely left the door. They might as well be miles away.

  In a split second, the assassin comes to the same conclusion as I did. He’s not getting out of this room alive—but he can still carry out his mission.

  As I pounce, Myst in one hand, my sword in the other, the assassin lifts a dagger in his fist, and plunges it down toward Vlari. Her heart, her throat. I can't tell. I can only stare. I can only despair.

  In the instant it takes for his swift, agile fae hand to slash the air on its way down, I see her, the very first time we met. She was already turned toward the door when I entered the classroom. She scrutinized me, having recognized me as a threat right then.

  That’s when I knew her for what she was, not what she pretended to be. No one else knew that I was dangerous on my first day—they soon learned, after I proved it, but Vlari? She didn’t need any demonstration of power.

  The others smirked and whispered, mistaking me for prey.

  Vlari? She smiled. Not at me. Not with me. She smiled, because she thought they were fools to cross me.

  She turned back right away, so she never knew, but I smiled back.

  That’s all it took. Right then, I knew I’d be here one day. Protecting her, no matter the cost.

  And I failed. I failed. I failed in the worst possible way. She was mine to protect, and I didn’t do it. Not for ten years. Not in the last weeks, when I could have dragged a cot into this room and remained every hour, ensuring no one dared threaten her. And worst of all, not today.

  I hadn’t even believed that a threat could come to her.

  There isn't enough time to move. My Myst is going to wrap around the assassin’s mind and crack it like an egg when it reaches him. I will make him suffer fire, ice, and madness. My blade will sink in his guts and twist, so he bleeds out slowly. But it’ll be too late. I don’t have any other power in my possession. I am weak. I am worthless. I am nothing at all. I scream her name, my voice saturated with so much anguish I can't even recognize it.

  She can't die. She can't. I don't think of Whitecroft. I don't think of the folk. I don't think about the fact that she's the only thing keeping us safe. I think the entire world would be pointless without her in it. I think that if she takes her last breath, it will be mine, too. My Myst keeps crawling to the assassin. I'm ready to obliterate each and every one of his cells.

  But nothing I can do will prevent his blade from taking the one thing I've ever desired from me.

  I see a lance and an arrow fly through the room. The guards were quick to attack the murderer, but their weapons will also hit too late.

  I didn't think a second could last an eternity, yet here we are. My entire life could have passed in the endless instant it takes for the dagger to descend on Vlari.

  Just as it aligns with her breast, Vlari blinks. Blinks. The sky-blue eyes that remained shut so long, eyes I never thought I'd see again at one point, open. The air around us crackles, suddenly charged with an energy strong enough to make mountains quake. The assassin’s arm stills for endless, precious seconds, and Vlari shifts on top of her bed covers. The blade falls, slashing a handful of silver hair, before piercing right through layers of silk and linen. It plunges inside her soft mattress.

  The assassin curses, stepping back to dodge the lance. He snatches the wooden hilt midair and twists it in his hand, ready to attack again. By then, I'm on him. My Myst and my sword are both at my disposal now, but he’s mine. He’s not going anywhere. I don’t want it to end fast. This poor excuse for a fae needs to suffer, in the worst of ways. Body, first. Then, I’ll get to his soul. My fist collides with his jaw, and withdraws to hit again, and again, and again. When my hands start to hurt, I keep punching. When his nose and my knuckles bleed, I strike, and strike again. Letting go of the weapon, he blocks the fiftieth punch, hiding his face behind his arms like the coward he is. Fine. That’s just
fine. I start kicking instead, screaming, yelling.

  He almost killed Vlari. He almost killed me. I saw her die in my mind. I felt my very soul shatter. I kick everything, blind by a lust for blood no unseelie has ever tasted. I need more. More suffering. I’ll take everything he can give me. All his screams.

  “Drusk?”

  The only thing that could have possibly pulled me out of the haze of violence in my veins is her voice. It’s weak, and cracks on that one single word, but it’s hers all the same. I look up. She’s standing right next to me. Her hand rests on my sleeve, and I’m done.

  I’m just done. With everything.

  I freeze.

  She’s here. She’s here, in person, touching me.

  The assassin looks between us, and glances at the door.

  I laugh. He thinks he's going out of here in one piece? My Myst is all around us. The only reason I haven't sent him to hell yet is because I want to hit him some more.

  I start to send the dark cloud of magic to him, but Vlari shakes her head.

  “Don’t. Let me. I need—”

  I nod.

  Whatever she needs.

  Vlari strolls to the coward backing up against the wall. “There’s nowhere to go,” she whispers. “You’re mine now.”

  The man freezes, enthralled, ensorcelled by her bright blue eyes. Her small white arms wrap around his shoulders in a hug that could almost look gentle. Then he starts to scream as she sucks the life out of him, a serene smile crawling on her dry lips.

  A few inches of silver hair turn purple, and she lets go, his body falling with a numb thud.

  It's over. It's over. She's fine.

  She's here.

  In front of me.

  Awake.

  I think. Is she awake, or have we been pulled inside her head again all along? Is this a dream? It could be. I’ve never had nightmares so horrific or dreams so sweet. I can't make sense of anything. I feel faint all of a sudden.

  I'm forced to remember I was stabbed like a pin cushion.

  I don't think I care.