King's Folly (Book 2) (34 page)

“She just cheated,” Acacia noted with a disapproving frown.

“Who?” Marsais cast around in surprise.

“Isiilde,” the captain blabbed.

“Marsais didn’t see me.”

“My eyes were elsewhere,” he agreed.

Isiilde shrugged. “Then I didn’t cheat.”

“King’s Folly mimics life,” Oenghus explained as he dished up the stew. “Not everyone plays fair—just like a battlefield. There is no honor in King’s Folly. If you’re fool enough to get distracted, like your greenie, then you won’t last long.”

“Noted.”

“And you weren’t supposed to say anything,” Isiilde continued. “I am on your side. That makes you a turncoat.”

“Unintentionally,” the captain murmured, accepting Oenghus’ offered bowl. For the rest of the game, Acacia observed in silence, watching nymph and seer plunge into a game of wits. The redhead matched the ancient without hesitation, attacked and defended, and reworked her strategies with flawless focus in a complicated cycle of runic power.

Oenghus leaned over and whispered in Acacia’s ear. “No one ever taught her. Me and Mars were playing one afternoon—drunk—and she was watching. She was only six; her ears barely reached the table. When I went out to piss, I found her in my chair, playing my circle. At first the Scarecrow was amused, but—” He jerked his chin at their swift hands, the swirl of runes, and the ever changing game. “Then this, a natural knack for the game. She beat her first novice on the Isle two weeks later.”

The others joined them, bowls in hand and watching, but Isiilde and Marsais ignored their questions and comments, leaving Oenghus to explain the basic cycle of runes. Marsais was not an easy opponent, and the captain had left Isiilde in a bad place, but what was worse, her Bonded knew her weakness.

With a flourish, Marsais plucked up his water rune, let his air rune hurl it to another circle, and placed the deadly stone within striking distance of her fire rune. Isiilde looked up at him sharply. If she moved her fire to safety, it would disrupt the cycle and leave her Queen ripe for the slaughter.

“I’m done,” Isiilde announced.

“But, Sprite, you can have the ol’ bastard in three moves,” Oenghus complained. “I have a wager on you.”

“I don’t want to play anymore.”

Marsais arched a brow, studying her in the fire’s light. “Hmm, perhaps we’ll call it a draw.” He unfolded himself and stood, offering his hand. She did not accept, but rose and waited for Marsais to lead the way to the baths, leaving her guardian chewing fiercely on the stem of his pipe.

❧

Isiilde stopped in the arched doorway of their lodgings. Two guards flanked the exit, but she barely noticed the armed men. A cavernous valley with homes carved into the rock walls glowed at her feet. When Isiilde remembered to breathe, she ignored Marsais’ offered hand and walked lightly down the steep stairway. Silently, the guards fell in step behind them.

“Are we prisoners, Marsais?”

“More like new additions to the tribe. This is a sacred city.”

“We can’t leave?” she asked.

“No.”

The valley was vast, lit with luminous vines, its walls carved with monstrous beasts. The city was full of strange, tattooed faces and watching eyes that stopped and followed her as she passed. Whispers followed too, hushed and fearful. Mothers pulled their children into houses and men took a hasty step back. The weight of stone pressed on Isiilde’s shoulders and clutched at her throat, squeezing her heart to fluttering panic.

“I don’t feel well.”

“I know.” Marsais slipped her hand through his arm and led her up a series of winding stairs and into a tunnel that looked no different from the rest.

The passage narrowed, the nymph’s world spun, and Marsais squeezed her hand. A gate waited at the end of the tunnel, flanked by fur-covered guards with spears. The temperature plummeted, her breath misted in the air, and she huddled in her cloak.

The warriors bristled as they approached and the two men behind them closed in. Marsais addressed the guards in their strange flowing tongue. Words were exchanged, the faces blurred together, and the nymph swayed. One of the warriors disappeared, and a strong arm wrapped around her waist. She buried her nose against leather and fur and supple cloth.

It seemed they stood waiting in that tunnel for an entire day, and every breath for Isiilde was a struggle. A touch calmed her and voices flowed over her ears, until a gust of wind brought her around. Marsais led her through the gate. Snow swirled madly into the passage, blinding white and howling winds. They pressed forward, emerging into an icy whiteness. She filled her lungs, stood straight, and turned her nose to the open sky, letting the wind and ice batter her, soothing her senses.

What a foolish reaction, she thought. It was only a rune.

When the nymph was calm, they stepped back into the shelter of the tunnel. The wind let go of her cloak and the blizzard screamed sideways through the air. She stepped into Marsais, slipping her arms around his waist and catching his eyes with hers.

“I’m sorry, Marsais.”

“Apology accepted.” He warmed her cheek with his hand and she pressed into his palm. “We need to talk, Isiilde.”

“Could we go somewhere warmer?”

“I think this is a perfect place.”

“Oh.” Ominous, she thought. Isiilde glanced at their two shadows, came to a decision, stretched her body along Marsais’, and tugged his neck down towards her, pressing her lips against his. She moaned. And Marsais forgot where he was and who he was, losing himself in the moment.

The nymph in his arms pulled away, settled back down on her heels, and smiled.

“What—” he stammered.

“If our discussion has to do with what I think it does then that was an advance apology in case I get angry again.”

“I see.” She doubted he did. His eyes had lost focus. “In that case, I should warn you—I think you will be very angry.”

“Then take me to the baths. If I’m exhausted, I can’t possibly be angry.”

Marsais’ last shred of resolve was thrown to the winds. “An excellent idea,” he breathed.

❧

The subterranean grotto hissed with steam. Blue light danced in its waters, and its stone held the memories of passion. Marsais lounged against a rock, eyes closed, half-dozing with his nymph resting limply in his arms. He cracked an eye towards the entrance. He could not recall setting a ward or sealing the grotto from prying eyes, but apparently he had—an illusion of stone greeted him. He sighed with relief and closed his eyes, listening to the fall of water and the moans that still lingered in the air long after Isiilde had stilled.

There was no need to silence the nymph in water.

Next time, he would try to remember to weave an Orb of Silence over the entrance.

“What did you want to talk about?” The lilting voice, along with a delicate touch tracing his scar, nudged him from the edge of sleep.

“I can’t remember,” he admitted. His heart was still racing. “Hmm, wasn’t I supposed to exhaust you?”

“You did, but you could try again to be safe. That was—” Words failed. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of making love to you.”

“You will be the death of me.”

“Did you have a vision?”

“If I were only so lucky. Dying in your arms, my dear, would be bliss.”

“I’d rather you not die.”

“Hmm, that brings us to the looming subject.”

“You’re going to die?” she squeaked, sitting up with a start. Wide, fearful eyes stared into his.

“By the gods, no, not if I can help it.” Marsais peeled a strand of hair from Isiilde’s cheek and tucked it behind a perfect ear. He sighed. “Do you realize how close you came to dying and—taking me with you?”

The last comment struck like a slap to her face. She sucked in a sharp breath, realization settling like a stone in her stomach. “No,” she whispered in horror. “I wanted to help you, Marsais. Nothing more. Rivan was being crushed, you were surrounded, the captain was on the ground. And then my fire came, and before I knew it—I couldn’t tell friend from foe, only that someone was taking my fire. I don’t like it when you do that.” It was spoken as fact, and nothing more, void of anger.

“Why don’t you like it?” Marsais always asked the most difficult questions.

She lifted a slim shoulder. “It feels like a part of me is being taken.”

His fingers trailed lightly down her spine, dipping below the water to caress her lower back. “Are you sure it’s not the opposite?”

Isiilde tilted her head. “It is taking me?”

“Yes. It caught you in its currents and swept you away.”

“I tried, Marsais,” she sat back, panic bubbling in her breast.

“Tried to do what?”

“To help, to control it.”

“You were afraid.”

“Of course I was afraid!” Her skin heated, the water steamed and hissed, and Marsais cupped her face, searching her eyes.

“You were afraid,” he whispered, “and now you are angry and frustrated and your fire is stirring, rising to your defense—like a guardian.”

This brought her up short. “I’ve always thought of my fire as alive,” she admitted with a blush.

Marsais brought his hand up, studying the fiery head of a serpent that rested in his palm. “I’ve seen your mark—our bond—move as if it were watching me.”

“Really?” She took his hand in hers and tilted it, studying the mark; however, the serpent was presently dormant.

“You were otherwise occupied, but when we first bonded, I watched it slither from your neck. It’s blinked at me too.”

Memory clutched her throat and her skin crawled. She sunk into the water, trying to cleanse the filth. “It seems so long ago, and yet—” she shivered despite the heat. Marsais’ hands slipped around her neck and he drew her closer. “When you leave me, I can still feel him,” Isiilde whispered.

“Some horrors will never leave us—not fully. One day, you’ll learn to live with the past, but more importantly, you’ll learn from it.”

“Like your wound?” Her touch made him sigh.

“This wound is of a different nature. Time will help yours. Mine, however, is a reflection of a larger one, and I’m afraid nothing can erase what was done.”

“But what was done?”

“The Shattering.”

She narrowed her eyes in thought, but before she could delve further into the subject, he deftly changed it, “We have another matter to discuss. An uncomfortable one for you, of which we have spoken before, although I’ll admit, not in such an intimate setting.”

“Control,” Isiilde stated. The word left a sour taste on her lips.

“More or less.”

The nymph opened her mouth to reply, but Marsais held up a hand, stalling her arguments. “Hear me out, my dear. I have been approaching your—power from the wrong angle. I have been treating it as something that should be controlled—that
can
be controlled.”

“You’re saying I can’t control it?”

“If your fire is alive, as we both suspect—” Marsais paused at her sudden tears. His words were vindication and his support a balm to her fears. He smiled in understanding. “It
is
alive, Isiilde—for you. And it protects you. Do you understand?”

She nodded, wiping at the tears with her palm.

“Let’s use your flesh and blood guardian as comparison. Can you control Oenghus?”

Isiilde snorted, shaking her head. “But if I am careful, I can get my way.”

A surge of warmth flooded their bond. Marsais squeezed her to him, lips brushing her ear. “My dear, as exquisite as your beauty is, it pales in comparison to your mind. Hmm, now I will put another question to your keen intellect. How does that knowledge help you?”

“To give my fire free rein?”

“Hmm, you could, but if that were the case, then your fire would have killed me. I would like to believe you don’t want that.”

“I don’t, but you were trying to take it away.”

“Exactly, I was trying to control your fire, to rip it out of your hand, away from you. I feared you would burn yourself out. And in attempting to control a part of you, I nearly killed you.”

“Is that possible? To burn myself out?”

“I don’t know.”

“It would be a wonderful way to die.”

“I’d rather you not.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“That we go back to Oenghus. When he is in a rage, using force only feeds his fire while calming him takes manipulation. Sometimes it helps to point him towards something he can bash.”

“Surrender,” she murmured.

“Certainly not. That would be akin to giving your fire free rein.”

“Not necessarily. Not if one surrenders and then manipulates.” Emerald eyes locked with grey. “I know how you use the Gift, Marsais.”

He froze, startled by her insight. “Do not attempt what I do.”

She sat back at his tone, and the lovers eyed each other. At length, she spoke, “I wasn’t going to. I’m not that foolish. You surrendered long ago, didn’t you? You threw yourself into the river and have never looked back. You are always connected to the Gift. That’s why you don’t need the Lore, only the runes.”

Marsais remained silent, gazing at her with respect. A knowing smile graced her lips. “I’ve seen your eyes when you weave. You have the same look in them when you are between my thighs. You’re just as fond of your runes as I am of my fire.” She moved closer, straddling his lap, pressing her breasts against his chest to whisper in his ear. “You caress it. You surrender to its currents and let its power wash over you. It’s your passion. Now why can’t I do the same?”

Marsais cleared his throat. “Self-control.” His voice was hoarse with a lack of it.

The nymph wrinkled her nose and drifted to deep waters, slipping beneath their softness. Another word she didn’t care for. Controlling the Gift required concentration, and controlling herself long enough to control something else was a monumental feat. A pair of pointed ears and two emerald eyes poked above the surface.

The seer steepled his fingers. “I propose a pact, Isiilde.”

Her ears stiffened with interest, and she stood, folding her arms under her breasts. “What are your terms?”

“On my word, I will never take your fire again. I will gather if need be, but never snuff it out. King’s Folly, however, doesn’t count,” he quickly added. “And for your side of our pact: you must start applying yourself whether you like it or not.” He held up a finger, stalling her complaint. “I realize there are limits with a faerie, but you must try to learn some degree of self-control, my dear—more now than ever. We face dangers enough without your fiery temper. I can’t have you combusting on every whim, certainly not where we are headed.”