Kingdom of Ash
Page 126
He could have sworn disgust flitted over her pale face before she said, “He can.”
They did not waste time. Did not wait.
And even Dorian found himself unable to look away as Maeve flicked a hand at herself and her purple gown melted away, replaced by a sheer, flowing black dress. Little more than a robe. Golden thread had been woven through it, artfully concealing the parts of her that only the one who removed the garment would see, and when she turned from the mirror, her face was grave.
“You will not like what you are about to witness.” Then she slung her cloak around her, hiding that lush body and sinful gown, and swept out the door.
He shifted into a slithering insect, swift and flexible, and trailed her, lingering at her heels as Maeve wound through the halls. To the base of that tower.
He tucked into a crack in the black wall as Maeve said to the Valg posted outside, “You know who I am. What I am. Tell him I have come.”
He could have sworn Maeve’s hands trembled slightly.
But one of the guards—whom Dorian had never once seen so much as blink—turned to the door, knocked once, and strode inside.
He emerged moments later, resumed his post, and said nothing.
Maeve waited. Then strolling footsteps sounded from the tower interior.
And when the door opened again, the putrid wind and swirling darkness within threatened to send him running. Erawan, still clad in his clothes despite the late hour, lifted his brows. “We have a meeting tomorrow, sister.”
Maeve took a step closer. “I did not come to discuss war.”
Erawan stilled. And then said to the guards, “Leave us.”
CHAPTER 74
As one, the guards outside Erawan’s tower walked away.
Alone, the Valg king blocking the doorway to his tower, Maeve said, “Does that mean I am welcome?” She loosened her grip on her cloak, the front folds falling open to reveal the sheer gown.
Erawan’s golden eyes surveyed every inch. Then her face. “Though you may not believe so, you are my brother’s wife.”
Dorian blinked at that. At the honor of the demon within the male body.
“I do not have to be,” Maeve murmured, and Dorian knew, then, why she had warned him before they’d left.
A shake of her head, and her thick black hair turned golden. Her moon-white skin darkened slightly, to a sun-kissed tan. The angular face rounded slightly, dark eyes lightening to turquoise and gold. “We could play like this, if you’d prefer.”
Even the voice belonged to Aelin.
Erawan’s eyes flared, his chest rising in an uneven breath.
“Would that appeal to you?” Maeve gave a half-smile that Dorian had only seen on the Queen of Terrasen’s face.
Disgust and horror roiled through him. He knew—knew there was no true lust in Erawan’s eyes for Aelin. No true desire beyond the claiming, the pain.
Maeve’s glamour changed again. Golden hair paled to white, turquoise eyes burning to gold.
Icy rage, pure and undiluted, tore through Dorian as Manon now stood before the Valg king. “Or maybe this form, beautiful beyond all reckoning.” She peered down at herself, smiling. “Was she your intended queen when this war was over, the Wing Leader? Or merely a prize breeding mare?”
Erawan’s nostrils flared, and Dorian focused upon his breathing, on the stones beneath him, anything to keep his magic from erupting at the desire—true desire—that tightened Erawan’s face.
But if it got Maeve inside that tower—
Erawan blinked, and that desire winked out. “You are my brother’s wife,” he said. “No matter whose skin you wear. Should you need release, I’ll send someone to your chambers.”
With that, he shut the door. And did not emerge again.
Maeve brought Dorian to her meeting the next morning.
In her cloak pocket, as a field mouse, Dorian kept still and listened.
“After all that fuss last night,” Erawan was saying, “you turned away what I sent you.”
Indeed, not fifteen minutes after they’d returned to Maeve’s tower, a knock had sounded. A blank-faced young man had stood there, beautiful and cold. Not a prince—not with the ring he wore. Just an enslaved human. Maeve had sent him away, though not from any kindness.
No, Dorian knew the man had been spared his duties because of his presence, and nothing more. Maeve had told him as much before falling asleep.
“I had hoped for wine,” Maeve said smoothly, “not watered-down ale.”
Erawan chuckled, and paper rustled. “I have been considering further details of this alliance, sister.” The title was a barb, a taunt of last night’s rejection. “And I have been wondering: what else shall you bring to it? You stand to gain more than I do, after all. And offering up six of your spiders is relatively little, even if they have been receptive hosts to the princesses.”
Dorian’s ears strained as he waited for Maeve’s reply. She said quietly, more tensely than he’d heard her speak before, “What is it that you want, brother?”
“Bring the rest of the kharankui. Open a portal and transport them here.”
“Not all will be such willing hosts.”
“Not hosts. Soldiers. I do not intend to take chances. There will be no second phase.”
Dorian’s stomach twisted. Maeve hesitated. “There is a chance, you know, that even with all of this, even if I summon the kharankui, you might face Aelin Galathynius and fail.” A pause. “Anielle has confirmed your darkest fears. I heard what occurred. The power she summoned to halt that river.” Maeve hummed. “That was meant for me, you know. The blast. But should she summon it again, let’s say against you on a field of battle … Would you be able to walk away, brother?”
“That is why this press northward with your spiders shall be vital,” was Erawan’s only reply.
“Perhaps,” Maeve countered. “But do not forget that you and I together could win. Without the spiders. Without the princesses. Even Aelin Galathynius could not stand against us both. We can go to the North, and obliterate her. Keep the spiders in reserve for other kingdoms. Other times.”
She did not wish to sacrifice them. As if she held some fondness for the beings who had remained loyal for millennia.
“And beyond that,” Maeve went on, “You know much about walking between worlds. But not everything.” Her hand slid into the pocket, and Dorian braced himself as her fingers ran over his back. As if telling him to listen.
“And I suppose I will only find out when you and I have won this war,” Erawan said at last.
“Yes, though I am willing to give you a display. Tomorrow, once I have prepared.” Again, that horrible silence. Maeve said, “They are too strong, too mighty, for me to open a portal between realms to allow them through. They would destabilize my magic too greatly in the effort to bring all that they are into this world. But I could show them to you—just for a moment. I could show you your brothers. Orcus and Mantyx.”
CHAPTER 75
Darrow and the other Terrasen lords had spent their time wisely these past few months, thank the gods, and Orynth was well stocked against the siege marching closer with each passing hour.
Food, weapons, healing supplies, plans for where the citizens might sleep should they flee into the castle, reinforcements at the places along the city and castle walls where the ancient stone had weakened—Aedion had found little at fault.
Yet after a fitful night’s sleep in his old room in the castle—awful and strange and cold—he was prowling one of the lower turrets as dawn broke. Up here, the wind was so much wilder, icier.
Stalking, steady footsteps sounded from the archway behind him. “I spotted you up here on the way down to breakfast,” Ren said by way of greeting. The Allsbrook court’s quarters had always been in the tower adjacent to Aedion’s—when they’d been boys, they’d once spent a summer devising a signaling system to each other’s rooms using a lantern.
It was the last summer they had spent in friendship, once it had started to become clear to Ren’s father that Aedion was favored to take the blood oath. And then the rivalry had begun.
One summer: thick as thieves and as wild. The next: endless pissing contests, everything from footraces through the courtyards to shoving in the stairwells to outright brawling in the Great Hall. Rhoe had tried to defuse it, but Rhoe had never been a comfortable liar. Had refused to deny to Ren’s father that Aedion was the one who’d swear that oath. And by the end of that summer, even the Crown Prince had begun to look the other way when the two boys launched into yet another fight in the dirt. Not that it mattered now.
They did not waste time. Did not wait.
And even Dorian found himself unable to look away as Maeve flicked a hand at herself and her purple gown melted away, replaced by a sheer, flowing black dress. Little more than a robe. Golden thread had been woven through it, artfully concealing the parts of her that only the one who removed the garment would see, and when she turned from the mirror, her face was grave.
“You will not like what you are about to witness.” Then she slung her cloak around her, hiding that lush body and sinful gown, and swept out the door.
He shifted into a slithering insect, swift and flexible, and trailed her, lingering at her heels as Maeve wound through the halls. To the base of that tower.
He tucked into a crack in the black wall as Maeve said to the Valg posted outside, “You know who I am. What I am. Tell him I have come.”
He could have sworn Maeve’s hands trembled slightly.
But one of the guards—whom Dorian had never once seen so much as blink—turned to the door, knocked once, and strode inside.
He emerged moments later, resumed his post, and said nothing.
Maeve waited. Then strolling footsteps sounded from the tower interior.
And when the door opened again, the putrid wind and swirling darkness within threatened to send him running. Erawan, still clad in his clothes despite the late hour, lifted his brows. “We have a meeting tomorrow, sister.”
Maeve took a step closer. “I did not come to discuss war.”
Erawan stilled. And then said to the guards, “Leave us.”
CHAPTER 74
As one, the guards outside Erawan’s tower walked away.
Alone, the Valg king blocking the doorway to his tower, Maeve said, “Does that mean I am welcome?” She loosened her grip on her cloak, the front folds falling open to reveal the sheer gown.
Erawan’s golden eyes surveyed every inch. Then her face. “Though you may not believe so, you are my brother’s wife.”
Dorian blinked at that. At the honor of the demon within the male body.
“I do not have to be,” Maeve murmured, and Dorian knew, then, why she had warned him before they’d left.
A shake of her head, and her thick black hair turned golden. Her moon-white skin darkened slightly, to a sun-kissed tan. The angular face rounded slightly, dark eyes lightening to turquoise and gold. “We could play like this, if you’d prefer.”
Even the voice belonged to Aelin.
Erawan’s eyes flared, his chest rising in an uneven breath.
“Would that appeal to you?” Maeve gave a half-smile that Dorian had only seen on the Queen of Terrasen’s face.
Disgust and horror roiled through him. He knew—knew there was no true lust in Erawan’s eyes for Aelin. No true desire beyond the claiming, the pain.
Maeve’s glamour changed again. Golden hair paled to white, turquoise eyes burning to gold.
Icy rage, pure and undiluted, tore through Dorian as Manon now stood before the Valg king. “Or maybe this form, beautiful beyond all reckoning.” She peered down at herself, smiling. “Was she your intended queen when this war was over, the Wing Leader? Or merely a prize breeding mare?”
Erawan’s nostrils flared, and Dorian focused upon his breathing, on the stones beneath him, anything to keep his magic from erupting at the desire—true desire—that tightened Erawan’s face.
But if it got Maeve inside that tower—
Erawan blinked, and that desire winked out. “You are my brother’s wife,” he said. “No matter whose skin you wear. Should you need release, I’ll send someone to your chambers.”
With that, he shut the door. And did not emerge again.
Maeve brought Dorian to her meeting the next morning.
In her cloak pocket, as a field mouse, Dorian kept still and listened.
“After all that fuss last night,” Erawan was saying, “you turned away what I sent you.”
Indeed, not fifteen minutes after they’d returned to Maeve’s tower, a knock had sounded. A blank-faced young man had stood there, beautiful and cold. Not a prince—not with the ring he wore. Just an enslaved human. Maeve had sent him away, though not from any kindness.
No, Dorian knew the man had been spared his duties because of his presence, and nothing more. Maeve had told him as much before falling asleep.
“I had hoped for wine,” Maeve said smoothly, “not watered-down ale.”
Erawan chuckled, and paper rustled. “I have been considering further details of this alliance, sister.” The title was a barb, a taunt of last night’s rejection. “And I have been wondering: what else shall you bring to it? You stand to gain more than I do, after all. And offering up six of your spiders is relatively little, even if they have been receptive hosts to the princesses.”
Dorian’s ears strained as he waited for Maeve’s reply. She said quietly, more tensely than he’d heard her speak before, “What is it that you want, brother?”
“Bring the rest of the kharankui. Open a portal and transport them here.”
“Not all will be such willing hosts.”
“Not hosts. Soldiers. I do not intend to take chances. There will be no second phase.”
Dorian’s stomach twisted. Maeve hesitated. “There is a chance, you know, that even with all of this, even if I summon the kharankui, you might face Aelin Galathynius and fail.” A pause. “Anielle has confirmed your darkest fears. I heard what occurred. The power she summoned to halt that river.” Maeve hummed. “That was meant for me, you know. The blast. But should she summon it again, let’s say against you on a field of battle … Would you be able to walk away, brother?”
“That is why this press northward with your spiders shall be vital,” was Erawan’s only reply.
“Perhaps,” Maeve countered. “But do not forget that you and I together could win. Without the spiders. Without the princesses. Even Aelin Galathynius could not stand against us both. We can go to the North, and obliterate her. Keep the spiders in reserve for other kingdoms. Other times.”
She did not wish to sacrifice them. As if she held some fondness for the beings who had remained loyal for millennia.
“And beyond that,” Maeve went on, “You know much about walking between worlds. But not everything.” Her hand slid into the pocket, and Dorian braced himself as her fingers ran over his back. As if telling him to listen.
“And I suppose I will only find out when you and I have won this war,” Erawan said at last.
“Yes, though I am willing to give you a display. Tomorrow, once I have prepared.” Again, that horrible silence. Maeve said, “They are too strong, too mighty, for me to open a portal between realms to allow them through. They would destabilize my magic too greatly in the effort to bring all that they are into this world. But I could show them to you—just for a moment. I could show you your brothers. Orcus and Mantyx.”
CHAPTER 75
Darrow and the other Terrasen lords had spent their time wisely these past few months, thank the gods, and Orynth was well stocked against the siege marching closer with each passing hour.
Food, weapons, healing supplies, plans for where the citizens might sleep should they flee into the castle, reinforcements at the places along the city and castle walls where the ancient stone had weakened—Aedion had found little at fault.
Yet after a fitful night’s sleep in his old room in the castle—awful and strange and cold—he was prowling one of the lower turrets as dawn broke. Up here, the wind was so much wilder, icier.
Stalking, steady footsteps sounded from the archway behind him. “I spotted you up here on the way down to breakfast,” Ren said by way of greeting. The Allsbrook court’s quarters had always been in the tower adjacent to Aedion’s—when they’d been boys, they’d once spent a summer devising a signaling system to each other’s rooms using a lantern.
It was the last summer they had spent in friendship, once it had started to become clear to Ren’s father that Aedion was favored to take the blood oath. And then the rivalry had begun.
One summer: thick as thieves and as wild. The next: endless pissing contests, everything from footraces through the courtyards to shoving in the stairwells to outright brawling in the Great Hall. Rhoe had tried to defuse it, but Rhoe had never been a comfortable liar. Had refused to deny to Ren’s father that Aedion was the one who’d swear that oath. And by the end of that summer, even the Crown Prince had begun to look the other way when the two boys launched into yet another fight in the dirt. Not that it mattered now.
