Of Silver and Beasts (25 page)

But, Caben did reveal the source of the scar he visibly carries for the world to see. Shame flitters through his eyes every time he catches me studying it. Are we that different?

Yes. We are.

He doesn’t have a foreign part pumping his blood. He doesn’t have mercury—whether blessed or tainted—running through his veins. He doesn’t struggle to control its madness.

A shattering thought splinters my brain.

What if Bale truly exists? What if Alyah wasn’t the one who touched the mercury inside of me? Alyah has never once spoken to me directly, despite my mother’s claims of her healing me. And my strength . . . the way in which I hurt my father—taking his mind . . .

No. I can’t allow my mind to go there. This dark place is corrupting me. Shaking the thought from my head, I glance over at Caben. “You take the cot tonight,” I say. “I’ll keep watch.”

Caben has already spread out on the cot, having kicked off his boots and tucked his hands under his head. He adjusts his arms, getting comfortable. I ready myself for an uncomfortable night on the floor when he says, “Get over here, Kal.”

I bristle at the command, but he continues before I can debate. “For once”—his eyes snap to mine—“don’t argue. Just lie down.”

Although offended at having been ordered, my brain is too weary, and I’m too tired to fight with the prince over his disrespect. I suppose I’ve earned his sarcasm, but the smile creeping onto his face as I approach makes me question his intensions.

“Another joke,” I say, raising an eyebrow.

He removes one of his hands from the back of his head and grabs my wrist, yanking me onto the cot. I land on my side hard with a
thunk
.

“Not a joke.” He positions himself on his side to face me. “But I’m surprised that only slightly roused you. Next time, I’ll demand meat and fruit with my request.”

My mouth falls open, and a single syllable escapes my mouth before Caben presses his finger over my lips. “Sleep. You can have your way with me tomorrow.”

“You forget who trains you in weaponry, prince,” I say around his finger.

His eyes squint as a smile spreads across his lips. But soon his eyes flutter closed, and his hand drops to the bedding of the cot. His breaths deepen, and I watch the rise and fall of his chest.

My mind drifts back to my conversation with Lilly. Whatever the Otherworlders’ mad desires are, they believe Bale will grant it to them on the full moon, and we’re the tributes to help bring it forth.

One small piece of information puts my mind at ease. No matter the evil they’re plotting, their dark priest said they needed all the shards from the crystalline relic, and those they don’t have. Maybe nothing will happen at all. Maybe we’ll simply all die in the Cage and the Otherworlders will be attacked soon after by the joined forces of our countries, and the empress will go on living.

My mother and father will return to Cavan, and a new Nactue will guard Empress Iana. A tombstone will date my death where my mother can at least visit a marker if not my body.

This war will end one way or another. And unlike my vain charge, I do have faith in the deities and their power. I have the proof of that power coursing through my blood.

They will not allow the Otherworlders to destroy the Three Realms.

Especially if that threat comes from a goddess they banished themselves.

I breathe in the warm air Caben releases between our faces, inhaling his manly scent of pine and the cologne I can’t define. Then I take his hand in mine, threading my fingers through his, feeling the strength and countering softness and warmth of his skin.

And close my eyes.

Bax
.

He’s the link. His father is the dark priest. If anyone would know who runs the Otherworld and who receives orders from Bale, it’s him.

I don’t know if I’ve been asleep for hours or minutes, but the adrenaline rushing system to act makes it impossible to sleep. Nudging Caben’s slumbering body, I say, “Wake up.”

He’s still lying on his side, his legs curled up where they had been entangled with mine while we slept. His arms reach out, searching for something as his eyes crack open. “It’s not morning,” he deadpans.

“I don’t know if it is or not, but we’ve slept enough.” I prod him once more, rousing him fully awake. “Get—”

“Don’t make me bark another order,” he snaps. “Climb back into bed.”

He rolls over.

Annoyed, and having had just about enough of his chauvinistic arrogance, I lift my bare foot to kick his backside. Before my heel meets his rump, his arm reaches behind and he grabs my ankle. I swallow my yelp as he pulls me onto the cot. Landing on my back, I bite my lip, holding in my cry as the bar beneath the mattress gouges into my spine. But all thoughts of aches and revenge flee my mind as Caben pulls my ankle and slides my body underneath his. Hovering above me—half his weight on the cot, half on top of me—he presses me into the bedding.

His hand lowers my foot to the bed, then slowly slides up the side of my leg until it reaches my stomach. Lifting the bottom of my tunic, he rests his palm on my waist, on the small curve above my hip. His eyes never waver, his heated gaze holding mine.

“Before we begin nefariously plotting,” he says, low and husky, his breath skimming my cheek. “I want to know—I’ll only ask this once.”

Unsure of what he’s demanding, I squint, and my breath halts as his eyes drop to my chest. I swallow. My eyes close.

“Kaliope.” He says my name with the hint of accent I now know I only hear when he’s taken off-guard. When he drops his barriers, either in anger, urgency, or fear. I wonder what emotion is causing him to lose control now. And will his lilt deepen out of alarm or revulsion when he sees my chest?

I open my eyes.

The steady thump of his heart beats against my arm. It speeds as the tension thickens the slight span of air between us.

No matter what happens later, whether we live or die, I at least have control over this moment. Even if we survive, and he goes off to rule his kingdom and I to lead the Nactue, I can keep this one moment.

One stolen moment out of a lifetime of duty.

Taking a breath and releasing it in tiny clips that make my breastbone ache, I cover his hand with mine. The metal cuffs on our wrists clank together. I force his hand slowly upward—onto my belly . . . my rib cage . . . around the swell of my breast—to the hard glass covering.

I fight the urge to shut my eyes and close myself off from the many, sudden emotions that cross his face. His eyes enlarge, and a crease forms between his brows as his features shift to confusion. And when I think my body will die from tremors, he finally breathes, his full lips pressing together in discernment.

Attempting to remove his hand and rise, I shift sideways, but he holds his place, firmly pressed against me. The rough pad of his fingertip traces the scar tissue around the casing. His deep, stormy eyes follow the hollow of my neck until they land on my collarbone. And with a movement so subtle, he turns his hand over and pulls my tunic down, exposing the clamp.

My insides threaten to combust. Every nerve in my body is ready to set the mercury aflame—my dread is complete. I have to force some word from his mouth, some action from him, to end this torment.

Only when he begins to lower his mouth toward mine, I freeze, wondering if he’s merely accepting me because again, we could die, and I’m the last chance he’ll have to be with a woman before then.

But his lips pass mine, brush over my chin and jawline, and instead find the sensitive, scarred skin of my chest. He plants a soft kiss, and then another. My throat thickens. My nostrils flare as a burning sensation blazes behind my sinuses. It quickly subsides when the unshed tears I’m holding back release. I blink, and they quietly trail down the sides of my temples.

Raising a shaky hand, I curl my fingers in his soft hair. Brush the nape of his neck and comb them through. He exhales heavily against my skin, and my stomach tingles at the feel of his hot, caressing breath. His blue eyes meet mine before he turns his head and puts his lips to my suspended wrist. Wrapping his fingers around my forearm, he presses his mouth harder to my skin, working a fiery trail past my cuff and up my arm.

As he reaches my neck, I tilt my head back, and he buries his face as I give him full access. His body moves on top of mine. My legs wrap around his toned back, and I release a breath as his weight bears down, forcing me deeper into the mattress.

He stops, and my eyes fly open.

His face hovers above mine, inches away. His eyes glow a heated white-blue in the dark light, like the hottest part of a flame. “Who did this to you?” he whispers against my lips.

Snapped back into the moment just before he cleared my mind of every rational thought, I groan. “It’s complicated.”

He runs the back of his fingers over my cheek. “Do I need to kill someone?”

So unused to dealing with men outside of my country and their need to be the strong, dominate caretakers, a laugh bursts from my mouth. He squints, pressing his lips together. His serious demeanor causes me to laugh harder, and I muffle the sound with my free hand. I shake my head. “I’m sorry,” I say. “No, Caben. You do not have to have anyone killed.” Then my mind flashes to
that night
, and the happiness bubbling inside of me vanishes. “My father stole an expensive sample of mercury when he worked in the mines. The authorities tracked him down, and he needed to hide it—”

I stop short.
How much will he believe?

He makes at least one connection and anger blooms in his eyes. “You father put it . . . inside you?”

Hearing him say it, it’s almost unbelievable. I nod, managing to confirm the horror. “He injected me with it. Afterward, my mother took me to the temple of Alyah—to a nun she trusted. They prayed over me while a surgeon operated. He replaced my heart valves with a cybernetic clamp—a fix.” I pause, gathering courage. “It filters the poison away from my heart.”

But there’s more, and I’m unsure how much more to reveal.

His brow furrows. “Your mother didn’t take you to a hospital? Didn’t turn your father in? Or the nun or doctor didn’t hand him over?”

Hearing him voice this, an ache shoots through me and my chest tightens. So simple, yet all these years I’ve avoided asking it aloud. I see my mother’s guilty expression the morning of the protector ceremony. The sickness wracking her body, taking over more and more after that night.

I’ve never fully allowed myself to embrace the anger of her actions. But she’s carried the burden of that guilt for the both of us. I forgave her before I ever realized that anger.

“Like I said.” I clear my throat of the ache. “It’s complicated.”

Caben’s body relaxes on top of mine. I feel the strain of his muscles give as he releases a breath. “And the strength?” he questions.

Opening my mouth to deny it, I squeak out a vowel, then bite my lip. “I don’t know,” I admit. “It came on shortly after the incident. But I’ve always restrained it after—”
After I made my father crazy?
“After I hurt my father once. I’m not even sure what I did to him, but now he’s in a mental ward.”

Fear slams my insides, and I want to retract my words. Having just found out about Caben’s own mother suffering a mental illness and being locked away, I’ve gone too far. Put too much on him all at once, and I’m sure he’s going to storm out of the chamber.

Immediately, my defenses go up. I remove my hand from his hair and wrap my arms around my chest. I want to tell him that I didn’t mean to hurt my father. But I did, didn’t I? My father was hurting my mother. And I knew—somewhere in the back of my mind, somewhere deep inside of me—I knew. I allowed whatever that dark thing was to guide my hands and place them on his head. I allowed it control, and it took my father’s mind.

“He deserved worse,” Caben says, his voice husky.