King's Folly (Book 2) (52 page)

“Perfect,” Marsais breathed. And he kissed her, hard and long and desperately as if the kiss was his last. When he pulled away, she was breathless. He tore his eyes from hers. “We should go.”

Isiilde stared at his narrow back as he wove his own illusion, wondering at the surge of emotion rippling through their bond, but Marsais was an endless puzzle—one never fully understood, and she loved him for it. The nymph looked in the mirror, at the boyish human face with green eyes and normal human ears, and hoisted her pack.

❧

The inn was not far. Kasja walked at their side, uncomfortable in the open, but blending in with the other furred travelers in the snow. The wild woman hurried to an inn with a tavern down below:
The
Dancing Pig
. The place was quiet and nearly empty, newly opened and scrubbed from the previous night’s festivities.

Marsais followed the feral woman inside, bypassed the arch that led into the tavern and walked through the foyer, up the stairs. Kasja paced restlessly in front of a door, and Isiilde’s heart galloped, nearly bursting with anticipation. She had missed Oen terribly.

The door opened at Marsais’ knock, but instead of a giant, they were greeted with a crossbow and a man who wore a leather jackal mask.

“I wouldn’t, Seer.” Two men stepped into the hallway, both leveled crossbows at the nymph. “If you want to see your friends, come quietly.”

Kasja hissed.

“I’ll come,” Marsais said, stilling Kasja with a hand.

“The Jackal wants all of you.”

A lantern’s flame at the end of the hallway called to the nymph.

The man sensed her thoughts. “You might very well kill us, but when we don’t come back, your friends’ throats are for the knife.”

“No binds or gags,” Marsais said to the man in front.

“Your word, I am told, is good enough.”

Marsais inclined his head. “My word then.”

❧

The men did not take them out the front, but led them out the back, into a snow blanketed alley. The trio were dressed in identical leathers and masks. Silver short swords hung from their hips, and their crossbows were sleek and light. Isiilde did not have much experience with the criminal element, aside from the usual lot of humans, but she recognized wealth and organization.

One of the men opened a hatch buried in the refuse, and stepped into darkness. Isiilde backed away from the hole in panic, but Marsais placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. His hair was short and black, and his face as red as a drunk’s, but an illusion was only a veil, and she looked past the weave until she saw the man beneath.

She squeezed the hand on her shoulder and climbed down into darkness. When the entire group stood at the base of the ladder, the hatch above closed. One of the masked men opened his palm. A light stone flared to life, illuminating the passage with a soft blue haze. The surrounding stone was not so pressing anymore, but the stench was overwhelming.

They hurried through a maze of twisting sewers, skirting the depths of filth on narrow walkways. At times, they popped above ground, like rabbits from a warren, scurrying to the next hole. It seemed they walked forever, and with every step, a knot wound tighter between Isiilde’s shoulders. What were they walking towards?

Definitely not what she expected. The sewers fell away, the tunnels widened, and the stone took shape as they began to climb: a long winding stair. The arched landing opened to a spacious hallway, marble floors, and two ornate doors at the end. They were escorted through the doors, and Isiilde stepped into decadence.

MARBLE
,
SILK
,
AND
luscious steam welcomed Isiilde. Silk-robed attendants stepped silently from the alcoves on slippered feet. They shuffled forward with bowed heads, hands tucked in their robes.

“Guests of the Jackal should be presentable.” The guards closed the door, leaving Marsais, Isiilde, and Kasja with a small army of servants.

“This way,” one of the women gestured Marsais towards a screened door. And another bowed to Isiilde, gesturing in the opposite direction.

Marsais said something to Kasja, and she hissed in return, backing towards the door. A third servant stepped behind the wild woman, swift as a viper, and flicked her wrist. A dart pinned Kasja’s neck, just under her ear. The Lome screeched, hissed, and fell forward, landing on the floor.

“Sleeping,” the attendant said in the trade tongue.

Isiilde glanced uneasily at the women, all exotic and lethal, wearing meekness like a mask. At Marsais’ reassurance, she was led through a screened door, into a small bathing chamber.

The attendants converged with casual efficiency, pulling off her illusion weave with a deft gesture. “Your clothes.”

Isiilde glanced at the waiting bath.

“They will be cleaned and returned,” a woman with skin like honey explained. Isiilde removed her cloak, and the trio stepped forward, helping her shed her filthy clothes with quick efficiency.

The woman bowed, slid back a screen door in the wall, and disappeared, carrying away the nymph’s clothes. Isiilde stepped into a waiting bath. The heat nearly elicited a moan, but the pampering could not conceal that Isiilde and the others had been brought here under threat. Still, Isiilde was scrubbed and soaped and dried with an impersonal touch. When the nymph’s hair gleamed and her skin glowed with oils, an attendant helped her slip into a silk robe that matched her eyes and was trimmed with a sash of gold. Isiilde stepped into slippers, and exited the bath chamber at the woman’s gesture.

Marsais was waiting. His hair gleamed white against a black and silver threaded robe. His eyes brushed hers, but he did not speak. Kasja was carried in a moment later. Isiilde had never seen the woman without her layers of fur. Her black hair was chopped short, and her weathered skin was decorated with luminescent tattoos that were marred with scars.

An attendant waved a vial beneath Kasja’s nose, and the Lome gasped, sitting upright. She hugged the silk robe, shivering with fear, eyes wild and darting. Marsais crouched, placing a careful hand on her shoulder, speaking softly.

A pang of sympathy twisted Isiilde’s heart. Kasja did not belong here, she belonged in her forests and mountains. Amid such opulence, she looked naked and small. The nymph reached for Kasja’s hand, and helped her stand, keeping the calloused skin intertwined with hers. The woman did not pull away.

“This way, please.”

Please had never sounded so demanding. A section of screened wall slid to the side, revealing a wide corridor lined with sconces and gold and blooming vases. The captives’ slippers brushed marble, and their robes whispered against their ankles.

Guards, large and domineering in silver armor and jackal masks, waited at the end of another corridor. The doors swung open, and Marsais, Isiilde, and Kasja were ushered into a domed hall, into the very center of a dizzying mosaic. Isiilde craned her neck towards the dome, gazing at a painted paradise of cavorting men and women—and creatures, both fiendish and beautiful.

Alcoves and a high walkway ringed the chamber. Light streamed through stained glass windows, creating pools of shadow and prismatic light. A wall slid quietly aside, and Lucas emerged from one of the alcoves. The next alcoves spewed forth a blushing Rivan and an indignant Elam. All were clean and chained and wore nothing but a slave’s linen loincloth.

A wall in an alcove on the opposite side opened, and Acacia shuffled out, similarly clothed. Although, her chains dragged over the marble. When the captain caught sight of the others, relief filled her eyes. Oenghus was shoved out next, and Isiilde ran to her giant guardian, throwing her arms around his bulk. He could not hug her back, but he bent, offering his neck. Heedless of the watching guards in the alcoves, she squeezed his neck and he kissed the tears rolling down her cheek.

“I thought you were dead,” she breathed.

“Take a bit more then a wyvern and cliff to finish me, Sprite,” he said gruffly in her ear.

“How touching,” a voice purred from the shadows above. The accented voice sent a shiver up the nymph’s spine. She released her guardian, searching for the speaker. A cloaked figure swayed on the walkway, drifting in and out of shadow with a predatory gait. A little flapping fiend skipped on the railing in the speaker’s wake, tossing pebbles at Oenghus’ head.

“Traitor,” Oenghus growled at the imp.

“You never held his allegiance,” the voice hissed. A pale, clawed hand reached from the shadows, stroking the imp on its head. Luccub purred, lashed his tail, and stilled when the woman left, perching on the railing like a miniature gargoyle.

“Hello, Saavedra,” Marsais said, slowly revolving with her steps.

“Marsais,” the voice sounded from all corners, brushing their ears, savoring the name with a sibilant note.

“I did not wish to meet under these circumstances.”

“I doubt you wished to meet at all.”

“On the contrary,” he said.

Something lashed in the shadows. Saavedra’s cloak moved, and Isiilde narrowed her eyes, trying to make sense of the woman’s shape.

“There is a bounty on your head,” Saavedra said. “A considerable one. Only a fool would seek me out, and you are no fool.”

“I have business with you.”

“Prisoners have no business with me.”

“Then why are we speaking?”

“I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.” The woman on the walkway leapt over the railing. With a snap, giant black wings unfolded from her body, catching air, slowing her descent with a single wind churning flap. Isiilde gasped in shock, the paladins backed up, Elam and Kasja pressed their heads to the floor, and Oenghus cursed under his breath as Saavedra landed in front of Marsais.

Sanguine whorls spiraled over an ivory body that was generous in hip and breast. Her ears swept up and back in a magnificent arc, and her fingertips were tipped with talon-like claws. Saavedra stretched her powerful wings and lashed a whipcord tail. It snaked around Marsais’ leg, slithering under his robe.

Saavedra was a fiend.

The fiend pinned the nymph with golden eyes. “This appears to be the fuss.” Unwinding her tail from Marsais’ thigh, Saavedra sauntered towards the redhead. The fiend was unencumbered by clothes, and at the juncture of thighs where most women had hair, she had a fine triangle of minuscule scales.

The fiend reached out a talon, and Isiilde flinched. Saavedra stopped, moving no farther, but her tail whipped around, tugging at the back of the nymph’s robe, exposing Isiilde’s nape and her bond. Saavedra leaned close, peering over her shoulder at the fiery mark.

“How quaint.”

Isiilde trembled at the proximity of the fiend. The creature tilted her head, inhaling the nymph’s scent.

“Leave her alone, Saavedra,” Marsais said.

“Never tell me what I can and cannot do in my own house!” Saavedra hissed. Lips parted, revealing four pearlescent fangs and a black tongue. Her gold eyes flickered to Marsais and back to the nymph, and her lips, as rich as the darkest wine, curved in a sumptuous smile. “Did Marsais tell you how brilliant you are?” Saavedra purred in the nymph’s ear. Her breath was cool, and her eyes hungry. “Did he tell you how beautiful you are—that he lusts after your ears?”

The fiend’s words stung. Her ears were far more impressive than the nymph’s.

Isiilde swallowed down her fear, and found her voice, steeling herself to meet the reptilian gaze. “Of course he did,” she replied. “I’d hardly expect him to share his bed with anything less. Would you?”

Saavedra smiled, delighted at her reply. “O, Marsais, she has spirit. I’m sure this little nymph will try to kill you in the future.”

Isiilde smiled sweetly. “I already have.”

The fiend made a sound that sent slivers of ice under Isiilde’s skin. When its echo died, Isiilde realized Saavedra had laughed. “What fun. I might keep you for myself.” Dark eyes roved over the nymph’s body, and the fiend’s tail slithered around her neck. “A pity we can’t bond, but there are other pleasures to be had.”

“Saavedra, please,” Marsais beseeched softly.

“I do whatever I like.” The tip of the fiend’s tail ended with a thorn that caressed the edge of Isiilde’s lip. The nymph stayed still, waiting, plotting what weaves she would wield first.

“Have you forgotten where I found you, Vedra?” Marsais’ words caught the fiend’s attention. “Chained to a pillar—”

“Enough,” she hissed. The tail unwound, and the fiend shot towards the seer with a snap of wings. “I no longer hold a Blood Debt to you.”

“I never asked for one.”

“I never wanted your pity,” she said to his face. “Despite your charity, I am honorable—I pay my debts.”

“And you enjoy your freedom. Even here, in Vlarthane, you are unmatched in the criminal underworld.”

“Indeed, I am,” she moaned.

“You live in luxury.”

“I do.” Her tail slashed like a content feline.

“People fear you and your Jackals.”

“Beyond a doubt.”

“Yet,” he paused. And the fiend narrowed her eyes. “In the Nine Halls, your realm, you are nothing but a slave—a mere step above vermin such as Luccub.”

Saavedra growled.

“A lesser caste from the lowest class of whores,” he said.

A clawed hand snaked towards Marsais’ throat, lifting him off his feet. “Not
here
,” she said with a click of fangs.

“Then help me,” Marsais gasped, grabbing her forearm, pulling himself up to ease the pressure on his throat. “Or your realm will bleed into this one.”

Saavedra released her hold. Marsais fell to the floor, coughing, gasping for breath.

“Leave us,” the fiend ordered. Concealed doors slid back in their alcoves, and the guards disappeared. “Tell me more.”

“Karbonek.”

Saavedra swiveled, the black slits of her eyes widened to orbs. “What?”

“The man who put the bounty on our heads intends to invite the god into this realm.”

“Impossible.”

“It has been done before.”

“He is chained!”

“It can be done,” Marsais said with the finality of a prophecy. “Help me, Vedra.”

She turned from her ‘guests’, eyes distant, tail flicking irritably on the marble.