Kings: Chaos Book 5.5 (3 page)

He bristled, his heart racing. “How did you know?”

“Oh, you know how I am. Always hearing the juiciest gossip first. So you’re having a banshee child.”

“My
heir
.” The word felt too big for his mouth.

“I didn’t think her capable.” She faced him, as smug as always. “You must be so…
proud
.”

“Of course,” he bit back.

Her eyes appeared to darken. “And did you succeed on your mission?”

“We did. Cara and me both.”

“Of course
she
was there. She gets her sticky little fingers into everything.”

He frowned. “She’s been essential to our plans.”

She waved a hand. “She’s the one who tore the rift open wide enough to quicken the blight in the first place. I wouldn’t call that
essential
.”

“If Cara hadn’t gone into the Fade, you would still be stuck there. But enough about the past. All you need to know now is that the realm is on its way toward being healed.”

She strode closer to him. “Are you sure?”

“The rift is sealed. We just need Brendan to return with the First Tree.”

She waved a hand. “He’s impossible to kill. He’ll show up again, I’m sure. But that doesn’t mean we can’t play our advantages in his absence.”

“Stop it.” He turned away. Sometimes he hated Brendan, raged against him in Sorcha’s presence, but they were connected. Harming Brendan would sever a piece of himself, too.

Donella
wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned against his back. “You could have it all. The entire realm. Don’t you want all of that power?”

Yes
. No matter what he earned, it wasn’t enough. He constantly longed for more—ached for it. With enough power, he wouldn’t need to depend on alliances, wouldn’t require the banshee to teach him anymore. None could touch him. He could control everything. But hadn’t Brendan once thought the same? His soul had been trapped in the Fade instead. Drake could do with learning from Brendan’s mistakes.

“Enough,
Donella
,” he said with a sigh, pulling away from her grasp.

“Come,” she traced her finger across the back of his neck. “Aren’t you lonely after your journey? Perhaps Cara opened her legs for you, but don’t mistake her. She’s just waiting for Brendan to return. She used you to get to him. Everyone knows that.”

All of the elements under the surface of his skin that he tried so hard to ignore pulled together, forcing him to suck in a breath just to steady himself. His sudden rage was so intense that he saw red spots in his vision.

He whirled around and faced her. “Don’t you dare.”

“Dare tell you the truth?” she said coquettishly. “The entire realm talks about how they spend their nights. After all, he’s virile, a champion among men.” Her gaze turned dark. “She’s a mere human. From what I’m told, she’s crawled after him since they met. And then there’s the rumours about the child. She may have your eyes, but wasn’t Brendan in control of your body when she was conceived?”

He pinched her shoulders and violently shook her. “Never speak of them!”

Her features creased with pain until he released her.

He had left finger marks on her beautiful shoulders. “I apologise,” he said gruffly, forcing himself to swallow the blazing fire in his soul.

Donella’s
calculating smile returned as she ran her hand from his throat to his belt. “Don’t you need some comfort?”

“With you?” he said with a sneer.

“Why not? You surely know by now that I offer a far more significant alliance than Sorcha or Cara. I have the power and the persuasion, the influence and the allies. I have what it takes to be a queen. Together, we can rule it all, take back what they took from you. They’ll always call Brendan the true king if you don’t stand up to him, and Cara? She stole the
Darkside
from right under your nose! You haven’t yet recovered from that mistake.”

He hadn’t. He knew it. His shoulders slumped at the memory. If she had just trusted him…

“Drake, I can help you make it right. Nobody will rue the day we get rid of a banshee queen, and they’ll all celebrate when I step into her shoes.”

“You’re stepping very close to the line of treason,” he said sharply, partly because he was tempted by the easy path. But without Sorcha, he would lose all of the threads that kept him sane.
Donella
would cut them to gain an advantage.

She slid her dress off her shoulders. “I can look like
her
if you want. I can wear her face whenever you want. But if you don’t make a move soon, you’ll lose everything I have to offer.”

As he watched, she
glamoured
herself. Her face rippled, her hair deepened, even her skin darkened. And then it was Cara’s face staring back at him, Cara barely holding her dress over her breasts.

“Don’t,” he said pleadingly. “Don’t do that.”

She moved closer. “It’s all right. Everything will work out.”

Gods, she even sounded like her. She ran her hands up through his hair and pulled him close for a deep, passionate kiss, even managing to mimic Cara’s aura, that distinctive power that set him at ease whenever he touched her. It was a cruel joke, but his body reacted before he could think. He forgot everything else. He lifted her into his arms, relishing that scent that tortured him whenever she was in the same room. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and he carried her to the bed, thinking of nothing but the peace he would feel once inside her. He tugged at her dress.

She broke away to help him release her corset, but she wore a smug, triumphant sneer that had no place on Cara’s face.
Cara
would never be his.

He finally broke free of the daze, terrified by
Donella’s
strength. She could rule him if he let her. “Get out,” he whispered, panting over her.

“What?”

He got off the bed and refused to look at her. “Get out!” he roared.

She reached for him, her self-control never faltering. She expelled desire that he wanted, that his brain tricked him into needing. But none of it was real. She was more dangerous than anyone. He shoved her away in a panic.

She fell back on the bed. “Oh,” she said with a grin. “Is this how we play it?”

She slipped off the bed and crawled across the floor, her dress rustling as she moved. At his feet, she reached for his belt, still looking up at him with Cara’s face.

He couldn’t take a moment more. “Get away from me,” he said weakly.

“You want me.”

Even the sound of her voice was a lure he found hard to fight off. He fought through her magic, his anger building around him like a fortress. She touched him again.

He slapped her across the face without thinking. The sound echoed horrifyingly in the air. Looking as shocked he felt, she held her cheek, wearing her own face again, thank the gods.

“I warned you,” he growled, reaching his limit. He roughly gripped her arm and pulled her to her feet. He held her steadily as he led her to the door. He yanked it open and shoved her outside. She tripped on her skirt and fell clumsily on the ground, revealing her breasts to everyone in the hallway.

“Never come to my room,” he bellowed. “Not now, not ever, you disgusting little witch.”

Her cheeks flooded with colour, and hate sparked within her eyes. She would never forget that indignity, he knew. And in that moment, he didn’t care.

“Have some pride,” he said scornfully. “If you think I can be tempted by a glamour, you’re more foolish than you look.”

He turned on his heel and slammed his bedroom door behind him. He laid his back against the door and breathed deeply. He had just made a powerful enemy.

Chapter Three

Brendan

Brendan mentally cursed Cara for putting her paranoia into his head. She hadn’t trusted Yvette, and now he found it impossible to do otherwise. He watched Yvette’s crew closely. Nobody could gain that much experience from sailing on the coastline. Not to sail on open waters so well. Then what was he accusing them of? Nothing, he decided. It was worry, a constant whirring of anxious thoughts, that made such ideas stick. The same self-preservation that had once caused him to make drastic mistakes in the name of
what if
.

The air had been growing warmer for days. The sun reflected off the calm ocean like a mirror. The back of his neck burned, the skin on his nose peeled, and sweat glistened his arms. If this kept up, he wouldn’t be capable of staying above deck.

He waved over one of his soldiers, the eldest of the group. “Where’s Bran?”

Pól
nodded in the opposite direction. “Hiding out.” He laid a hand on his stomach. “Do you think we’ll be on this vessel for much longer?”

“I’ve no idea,” Brendan said. “What made you volunteer for this,
Pól
? Momentary madness or needing to run from something?”

“I could ask you the same question,”
Pól
said with a grin. “Restlessness, perhaps. It’s been a while since I left home, and I’m tired of the speculation back at court.”

“About our chances of success?”

Pól
smiled wryly. “More like Yvette’s chances of success.”

“Ah.”

“We need an heir that doesn’t belong to another court.”
Pól
dropped his gaze. “I apologise, I—”

Brendan clapped his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. You’re just saying what everyone is thinking. But we’ve bigger concerns right now. There won’t be any courts if we’re not successful.”

Pól
straightened. “We’re all agreed, my lord. We’ll do whatever it takes to succeed.”

“Thank you,” Brendan said.

He left
Pól
and found Bran in a shaded corner of the deck, the man looking as though he were trying not to breathe too deeply. To Brendan’s amusement, Bran’s periwinkle colouring was slowly transforming to green.

They had been on the boat for almost two weeks, and they hadn’t seen land in at least five days. It was hard to keep count sometimes. Nobody apart from his own men seemed concerned. He sat next to Bran who grimaced.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Like death.”

“You haven’t thrown up in two days. That must mean you’re getting used to all of this.”

“I’m supposed to be your bodyguard,” Bran said glumly. “I haven’t done an awful lot of guarding.”

“There’s little to guard me from at the moment,” Brendan said confidently. “Besides, when we land you’ll likely have to do your fair share of fighting.”

“We both know I’m just for show,” Bran said. “You’re more than capable of defending yourself. Cara was right. You should never have brought me here. I’m useless.”

“Nonsense,” the king said. “That woman is just protective of her favourites. You don’t know how good it is to have a friendly face with me. There are few people I can trust, but I believe you’re one of them.”

“I’m no Arlen.” Bran grinned, a glimpse of his old, light-hearted
self peeking
through the green tinge. “I can’t imagine him throwing up.”

Brendan smiled back. “You’d be surprised. Why did
you
decide to come, Bran? You know I would have left you behind if that was what you wanted.”

Bran stared at his hands. They were cracked and dry from the constant spray of sea water in the air. “If we don’t bring home the First Tree, everyone we care about will die. Cara would have come if you’d let her. Even Grim and little
Realtín
, too. It’s just… the right thing to do.”

“But don’t you remember the days when
fae
never concerned themselves with the right thing to do?” Brendan asked.

“And look at how bad things got. You weren’t there, Brendan. You don’t understand what it was like when the
Seelie
and
Unseelie
Queens ruled. They were awful.” Bran shrugged. “Times have changed. We’re all better now.”

“Why is that, I wonder?”

The young bodyguard met his gaze. “You know quite well why. A human came and changed us.”

“Bent us to her will, more like,” Brendan said.

Bran gave him a sly look. “Some of us were very willing victims, weren’t we?”

“We must have been if we were so easy to change.” Even miserable with sickness, Bran could hit the point. “At least you’re no longer afraid to speak to me.”

“I’ve seen the great and terrible king berated by a human,” Bran said frankly. “You’re not the cold-hearted man from the stories I grew up hearing.”

“I hardly remember him myself,” Brendan said, his hand moving to his chest as though to cradle the ache there. “But I remember enough to wonder why the gods gave me this second chance.”

“You were a young king,” Bran said loyally. “You were given that gift too soon, and you had a lot to learn. You’ve learned your lessons the hard way. From adversity grows greatness.”

“I’m not a great man,” Brendan said. “I thought I was, once, and by the time I realised the truth, I had slid too far to fix it all. And I tried. Nobody remembers that, but I did try. It was like scooping up water with a sieve and far too late besides.”

“You’re fixing it now.” Bran gathered his knees to his chest. “You won’t be remembered for your mistakes.”

“I hope you’re right.” Brendan glanced at his friend. “But I don’t think mistakes should be forgotten. May some other leader learn from my errors in judgement before he makes his own.”

They sat there in companionable silence as the heat grew intolerable. They could have sought shelter below deck, but that place felt like a hole underground compared to everything else. Brendan didn’t want to feel trapped anymore. The pair watched as some of the crew pulled in a small net of fish from the sea. The fish were puny, but they dashed their tails and flopped their bodies, desperate to live.

“If we don’t find land soon, we’ll be living solely on those things,” Bran said, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “I eat fish even in my dreams.”

“At least we won’t starve,” Brendan said. “Dying of thirst might be unpleasant though.”

“There’s a storm coming,” Bran said. “Can’t you feel it? The heat will break, and rain will come, and we’ll survive a while longer.”

Brendan didn’t say what they were likely both thinking: the storm might best the ship altogether.

The air grew heavy, clinging to their skins, and Bran’s stomach turned again.

“Come on.” Brendan helped him to his feet. “Let’s go watch the sea.”

They stumbled over to the rails where Bran looked even greener, but he didn’t throw up. The waves lashed against the boat a little harder than usual, sending frothy spray right up to their faces.

“At least it’s cool,” Bran said.

“Oh, is he sick again?” Yvette’s bracelets jangled as she joined them. “It’s a shame.”

“You’ve had no problems then,” Bran muttered.

“Good breeding.” She smiled across the water than frowned. “What in the heavens is that?”

They followed her gaze. There were dark spots in the water moving incredibly fast parallel to the boat.

“Something’s out there,” she exclaimed.

Brendan sensed the fear in her voice. “A fish, perhaps,” he said reassuringly.

“So large?”

Something burst from the water and sailed in an arc before going under the surface again.

“Not something. Some
one
. Lots of them,” Bran said, sounding amazed.

What had broken through the water had been a water
fae
, scaled and shining and naked.

“Why are they following us?” Yvette said anxiously. “What do they want?”

“Are you all right?” Brendan asked politely.

“What if
Manannán
sent them?” she said. “What if they’re here to stop us from passing?”

“Why would a god send them to stop us?” Brendan asked, keeping a close eye on Yvette’s reactions.

“
Manannán
didn’t send them,” Bran said. “Cara did.” He waved at the water
fae
and cried out a greeting. A hand reached up from the water to wave back.

Brendan relaxed. “So she did.”

Yvette turned on her heel. “I’m tired. I’m going to rest in my cabin.”

She stalked off without another word.

“She seemed terrified,” Bran said.

Brendan could only agree. “And these water
fae
won’t approach us.”

Their oceanic guardians never came close, merely swam close by for a few more hours, but then it was as though they had crossed some invisible line. The water
fae
hung back and watched their boat leave.

“I’m sorry to lose them.” Bran looked up to the heavens and laughed as a great drop of water landed on his face. “It’s raining!”

The rain was hot and heavy, quickly drenching the deck. Brendan’s concern grew as the sky darkened.

“We should take cover,” he said, but he lingered nonetheless.

He and Bran watched in awe as the first crack of lightning appeared to break the sky, quickly followed by the rumbling of thunder. The crew were terrified, muttering of omens and bad luck.

“If they’re nervous, I’m petrified,” Bran admitted.

“It’s a little disconcerting,” Brendan said in agreement. “Even the air smells different now. This is going to be a big storm.”

A massive wave rose up and crashed against the boat so fiercely it almost sent both of them over the rails.

“We need to go below now.” Bran escorted his king, positioning his body as though to shield Brendan.

They slowly moved across the deck as the ship tried to unbalance them time and time again. The rain dashed against them, making it hard to see. The sky frequently lit up with lightning, the storm growing closer by the second.

A loud crack sounded. “Watch out!” somebody shouted.

Bran shoved Brendan aside with great force. The king slid across the deck, safely out of the way as a mast broke and fell. Bran’s swift action put himself in the way of the fall. He was struck squarely on the head and landed flat on the deck, witless. Brendan scrambled back to him. Bran lay there, his face so pale that the blood on his temple looked stark and terrifying.

“No, no, no.” Brendan heaved the mast off Bran. “Someone help me!” he cried. He couldn’t let the boy die. Not now, after everything they had been through. The boy had to see what was across the sea first.

Pól
rushed over and helped Brendan lift the massive piece of wood while a second Green Court soldier dragged Bran free. Brendan dropped the mast and knelt by Bran, struggling to stay by his side as the boat rocked incessantly. The storm wasn’t showing any sign of lessening.

“Get inside,” he told his soldiers.