A Thread in the Tangle (67 page)

Marsais wondered if Isiilde had it in her to choose, let alone follow through.
 
His eyes swept over the redhead, noting the blackened bruises blossoming on her skin.
 
A healing could not erase everything, external and internal.
 
He could well imagine how sore she must be, and he cursed the Fates that forced her to make a choice so soon after suffering such an attack.

Isiilde’s hand strayed to the mark around her throat.
 
Bruises were the least of her worries, she was still suffering an intrusive assault of the mind.

He remembered the weight of a slave’s collar around his own neck.
 
His years of slavery were but a dim shadow in his mind.
 
Meaningless now, a pang of discomfort worn out over the ages, but always, throughout that ordeal he had had his mind to retreat into (or what was left of it).
 
His masters had never possessed his spirit as Stievin now did with Isiilde.
 
It was a terrifying thought.
 
He struggled to remain calm and centered, willing his rage to wash over, and through him.

A stir of cold air signaled Isek’s arrival, but unlike Marsais, he sat back in the chair and exhaled with a low whistle.

“You know, for a moment there, I thought you’d turn Multist into a pig.”

“He’s already well on his way,” Marsais snorted.

“He was smug enough when you dismissed him,” Isek mused.
 
“I think he actually believes those charges will stand and he’ll have the privilege of gutting you.”

Isiilde flinched, raising her head in alarm.
 
All eyes were drawn to her distress.

“It’s all right, my dear,” Marsais hastened to explain.
 
“Isek only jests, and a poor one at that, considering the circumstances.
 
The Blessed Order has charged me with summoning and heresy, none of which will hold.”

“Summoning?” Oenghus grunted, stroking his daughter’s hair until she settled back down.
 
“If they only knew the half of what you’ve been up to.”

“Hmm, well it’s certainly fortunate that I’m amongst friends.”

Silence descended after this—a question hanging over their heads like an ill begotten omen that no one wanted to acknowledge.
 
Isek rose, and began tidying up the bookshelves, while Marsais settled in his chair, placing elbows on his desk and head in his hands, trying to recall when last he had slept in an actual bed.
 
Oenghus sat like a brooding bear on the verge of charging.
 
And so when Isek finally voiced the question that hung in the air, Oenghus snapped.

“Have you decided, Isiilde?”

“Shut your trap, before I rip out your tongue!”

“It’s not as if she has a whole lot of time,” Isek continued, foolishly.

Before anyone could react, Oenghus surged to his feet, grabbing the wiry man around the neck with one hand, and wrenching him three paces off the floor.
 
Isek’s eyes bulged as he struggled.
 
Every futile second turned his face an unnatural shade.

Marsais hadn’t decided if he’d intervene or not when Isiilde spoke.

“He’s right, Oen.”
 
She pushed herself upright with quivering arms.
 
Oenghus waited for Isek to turn purple before letting him fall to the ground, where he crumpled in a gasping heap, then scrambled as far as he could from the barbarian.

“I’ve made my choice.”
 
Isiilde took a deep breath, tightening her grip on the scroll.
 
“There’s no one on this list whom I would have.”

“So I’ll kill the bastard and we’ll leave,” Oenghus growled.

“No.”
 
Her reply was firm, but her voice trembled.
 
“I will return to Kambe and do what my father wishes.
 
At least I will be able to fill his coffers and make good on the damage I’ve caused him over the years.”

“You’ve done nothing to him, Sprite!”
 
Oenghus looked as surprised as everyone else.
 
“You’ll be sold to Xaio.
 
You can’t imagine what they’ll do to you.”

“I am a nymph,” Isiilde said, cutting him short.
 
“It doesn’t matter, Oen.”

“Wait.”
 
Isek stepped forward, flinching at Oenghus’ warning growl.
 
“You said there’s no one on the list.
 
Is there someone who isn’t on there that you’d consider?”

“If I bond with another man, then in all likelihood, he’ll be killed by the Hound tomorrow.”

“You don’t know that, Isiilde, there’s always a chance,” Oenghus said.
 
“Even a god can be brought down by a lucky arrow.”

“And what if the man who I desire will not have me?”
 
Shimmering emerald eyes touched the grey of his own, and Marsais knew all would be well. “What if he has made it more than clear?”

Oenghus followed her gaze, and shock gave way to realization.
 
“Because that bag of bones isn’t an option.
 
He’s your master and you’re his apprentice—the Isle has laws against such things,” Oenghus rumbled.

Isiilde barely heard his terse words as she searched and found answers in the countenance of the man she held dear.

“Well, actually the Circle ousted her yesterday, so she’s not his apprentice anymore,” Isek supplied, helpfully, preparing to bolt at the first sign of movement from the giant.
 
“Besides, no one ever enforced that law anyway, considering Taal’s penchant for busty apprentices, to say nothing of Yasimina and her harem of strapping lords.”

“Marsais practically raised you.”

“You are more of a father to me than any other.”
 
Her eyes flashed at the Nuthaanian, but rage had consumed him, and he took a threatening step towards the rangy Seer who remained utterly still in his chair.

“Have you planned this all along?”

“Oenghus,” Marsais began to interject.

“Why else wouldn’t you let us leave?” Oenghus spat.
 
“All your talk of ill paths—all the while you were plotting to have your chance at a nymph, you whore’s son of a swine!”

“Stop it,” Isiilde pleaded.

“You don’t know him like I do.
 
Marsais has a—thing for exotic women.
 
You’ll just be another notch in his belt.”

“You’re only making this harder for her,” Marsais said, calmly.
 
But his old friend had reached the limits of his self control.
 
One more careless comment would push him beyond reason in the typical berserker fashion.
 
Truth be told, Marsais was surprised that he had held it together for this long.

“Ask him why he trembles every time he sets foot on a ship,” Oenghus growled.

Isek leant attentively forward, however, his curiosity would remain unsatisfied for the time being.
 
Marsais reacted to this low blow with equal vehemence.

“Curse you!
 
I’ve never done anything to foster this desire in her, unless you count treating her like a person.
 
I did not foresee
this
.
 
I swear on my children’s graves,” Marsais finished with all the conviction in his bones.

The giant loomed over the Seer, fists flexing, beard twitching.

“Oenghus,” the gentle voice of his daughter finally pierced his blind rage.
 
He turned around as she climbed to her feet with the haggard care of an old woman.
 
“Marsais is my friend.
 
He is the only one whom I trust besides you.”
 
Her hand strayed to her neck, and she shut her eyes, pressing her lips together, struggling against the ranting tide of Stievin’s threats.
 
Oenghus took a step towards her, but she warned him away with a gesture.
 
“I wish to speak with Marsais,
alone
.”

Oenghus hesitated, gaze shifting between Marsais and his daughter.
 
It took a final, commanding tilt of her chin before acceptance settled reluctantly on his shoulders.

“Are you sure you want this sack of bones?”
 
Isiilde nodded.

Oenghus grunted.
 
Before anyone could react, he grabbed Marsais by the front of his robes, and yanked the Seer out of his chair.
 
“Treat her good or I’ll have your head, Scarecrow,” Oenghus hissed into his face.
 
He released Marsais, letting him fall into his chair with an ungainly sprawl of limbs.

On his way out, Oenghus snatched Isek by the collar and shoved him out of the room, slamming the door with booming finality.

Forty-four

M
ARSAIS
LET
OUT
a ragged breath.
 
When he noticed Isiilde swaying unsteadily on her feet, he stood, hurrying over.
 
Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, white-knuckled, struggling to resist the brute who held her by an invisible chain.

“Isiilde,” Marsais whispered, sinking to his knees.
 
He took her hands in his own, and she opened her eyes to his.

“Will you have me, Marsais?”
 
A single tear rolled down her cheek.

“There is not a being or creature of masculine nature who would refuse you.
 
I would be honored to hold your Bond for as long as you wish,” he uttered, pressing his lips to her fingertips.

At his touch, the strength bled from her, a trembling sob shuddered through her body, and she collapsed, huddling in his arms.

“O, my dear,” he soothed, “it will be all right.”

“I thought—you would not have me,” she whispered against his chest.

“I am not meant for you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“A Druid is a nymph’s first, but never her last,” he explained, placing a long finger beneath her chin, tilting her face towards him.

“Are you my Druid, Marsais?”

“I am,” he smiled.
 
“For as long as you desire, and not a moment more.”
 
A hint of light touched the green of her eyes.

For the first time since he had known her, he allowed himself to truly appreciate her beauty, savoring the graceful curve of her neck, lingering over her enticing ears, and brushing a copper curl with his fingertips.
 
The feel of her lithe body against his own sent a surge of desire through his veins.

“I can’t imagine wanting you to let me go.
 
Will you take me now?”
 
Those enchanting eyes were wide and full of fear.

“If you wish it.”

“I do.
 
Your touch is warm and your eyes are calm.
 
I am safe with you.”

“And here I thought it was my good looks,” he quipped, and was rewarded with a twitch of her sumptuous lips.
 
However, the next moment brought panic fluttering across her eyes.

“But—”

“Yes?”

“You’ll have to fight the champion tomorrow,” she breathed with horror and a dreadful guilt that touched his heart.

“That’s tomorrow—too far away for me to worry about such a thing.”