Trial of Three, Page 2

  Hands behind his back, River strolled forward and politely accepted the papers. He sank into one of the chairs as he read, his brows drawing together. Neat handwriting that he recognized as a reliable scout’s covered the pages, detailing an attack on Karnish, a border village of Blaze Court. A mining community, Karnish had little by way of other resources, but its location—close to Slait and the Citadel—was valuable in its own right. Moreover, if River remembered his geography correctly, Karnish sat on high, strategically advantageous ground.

  Klarissa sat prettily across from River, crossing her thighs. “If you wouldn’t mind,” she said, waving her hand toward a bottle of wine and two glasses that she’d retrieved while River read. She nodded toward the reports. “What do you make of these?”

  “The same thing you do, I imagine.” River smoothly uncorked the bottle, filled the glasses, and handed one to Klarissa, keeping his face still as stone when she traced her fingers along his. Keeping his voice even was a greater struggle. “It smells of Jawrar attempting to establish a foothold in Blaze, a more blatant precursor to an invasion attempt than we’ve yet seen.” The increasingly thinning wards between Lunos and Mors couldn’t stop sclices, much less messages and coins. Not since a few centuries ago, when the Night Guard—Jawrar’s Lunos-based sympathizers—had become a legitimate enemy force.

  “If Blaze falls, I imagine Slait will be next. Your court, River.”

  “My father’s court.” Once, uttering such words would have cut River’s heart, but there was nothing left there to bleed now.

  Klarissa swirled her wine, watching the thick red liquid coat the glass and drip down the sides. “If the Night Guard invades Blaze, it would destabilize all of Lunos. Make it more difficult to protect ourselves against Mors—and Mors will come, River. Sooner or later, the qoru will stop using Night Guard proxies and step into Lunos themselves. Blaze is clawing its way free of a drought; it can barely feed its people just now, much less muster an army. If Slait could send troops, head off this attack at the pass—”

  River snorted, his lips pressing together into a thin, unamused smile. “If you imagine me to have more sway over King Griorgi now than I did before, I fear you’ll be sorely disappointed.” River had tried to play his father. Once. Centuries ago, before the quint magic called him. It was how River had first met Klarissa, a council elder even then, one more than happy to feed the young prince of Slait information to aid in running his kingdom. Opening his eyes to the truth. To her truth.

  For a time, River had even succeeded. With Klarissa’s guidance, he’d raised a small army to patrol Slait’s Gloom and rallied enough public support for the idea to force the king’s hand. His father had been furious about being forced to divert resources from Slait’s armies, which could have conquered Blaze for him, into defending against the phantom threat of Mors.

  That night, King Griorgi gathered his children in River’s bedroom and butchered their mother. To teach River a lesson—and prove his power over his son once and for all. Then the bastard left the bloody body to soak River’s mattress. The prince of Slait died with the queen that day. And when the quint call came, River never looked back.

  Klarissa set down her goblet and leveled River with her eyes, her sharp gaze sending ice down River’s spine. “I think Griorgi is beyond being swayed, River. And that it’s time for his son to take the throne of Slait Court. For you and me to join forces against Jawrar.”

  The wine going down River’s throat missed its pipe and he doubled over coughing.

  “You cannot run forever,” Klarissa said quietly. “Will you at least go to Karnish, see for yourself what may be there? Make your decision based on the facts of today, not centuries past?”

  River tapped the runes on his neck—ironically forced there by Klarissa’s own scheming—which kept him confined to the Citadel grounds.

  The female clicked her tongue. “There is an allowance to leave for the third trial. Call the trial now and I’ll ensure you find yourself in Karnish. Really, River, you are sometimes too self-righteous for common sense.”

  “My answer is no.” River rose, his heart beating so hard that he feared the vibration alone would spill the wine. “Politics is not my battlefield. You want to dethrone a king? Find yourself another idiot for the job. As for you and me joining in any way . . .” He stepped closer, ice filling his words. “I will surrender myself to Mors before I do that.”

  Without waiting for an answer, River turned toward the door.

  “You are wrong for that girl, Prince,” Klarissa called after him, her voice tinged with pity. River paused without turning around. “And even if you pursue this folly, she is mortal. Perhaps that is why the magic chose her—a weaver’s power is too great to be in the open for too long. If Leralynn does not perish in battle, she will perish in time. You have responsibilities. To your quint, to Lunos, and to your court. You’ll have to stop running from them sometime—and when that time comes, you will need my help.”

  3

  Lera

  I frown at the night sky, its brilliant stars glittering sharply outside our suite’s windows. Despite the late hour, River has yet to return, and the gnawing in the pit of my stomach grows stronger by the minute—which does little good for my already atrocious card game. Finding Autumn looking in the same direction, her beautiful gray eyes distant, I set the cards down, interrupting the game that Tye, Coal, Autumn, and I have spread across the common room table. Shade’s wolf remains curled up beside me on the couch, huffing softly in his sleep. “Worried about him too?” I ask.

  “Who?” Legs tucked beneath her in a soft armchair, the petite female absently twists an earring between her thumb and forefinger. The little emerald in a silver setting matches her cropped shirt and flowing pants, which ride low on a taut abdomen. Her silky blond braids are gathered in a knot on top of her head.

  I frown. “River. He went to see Klarissa hours ago.”

  Autumn blinks, her usually sparkling eyes taking a moment to focus. “River? Oh, that one can brood for days, and there are few who set him off more efficiently than Klarissa. Don’t expect him back until morning.”

  Tye chuckles. “I wager it isn’t River who Sparkle is thinking about just now, Lilac Girl. And it certainly isn’t her cards either.”

  Autumn narrows her gaze at the green-eyed male, looking for all the world certain that she is the bigger of the pair. “I’d ask what you are talking about, but any glimpse into your thoughts would drive me straight to the baths.”

  “My thoughts, is it?” Tye grins, his sharp canines flashing. “Tell you what. Wager that earring of yours on the next hand and I’ll set all my winnings against it.”

  Autumn’s hand drops from her ear, her face turning a shade of red bright enough to get my full attention. Now that I’m looking closely, the little emerald stud does look familiar, conjuring the memory of a different pointed ear. One attached to a tall, attractive warrior with blue eyes, short dark hair, and a wonderful full-souled laugh.

  “Kora?” I say, the corners of my mouth lifting. I knew the female quint commander had an interest in my friend—I just hadn’t realized that Autumn returned the sentiment. “Since when? And I thought you preferred the dumber of the species.”

  Tye gives an indignant huff while Autumn aims for nonchalance—and fails. “I like them both. As for Kora, we are just friends.”

  “Of course. And Tye isn’t cheating at cards,” Coal says dryly, his eyes a cold blue flame even in the shimmering candlelight.

  “You are a graceless loser. It little becomes you, Coal.” Tye straightens his silk shirt cuffs—orange, like the fire he wields. I might enjoy being out of uniform in the evenings, but Tye savors fashion almost as much as Autumn does. Figures—the male does nothing by halves. Stretching, he leans back on the couch, one arm slipping around my shoulders to tuck me casually against him.

  “I don’t imagine Tye would cheat us,” I say, feeling the steady beat of the male’s heart through his warm, muscled sid
e.

  All three of them snort in unison.

  “Of course he would,” Coal says, his voice as dark as his black leather pants and sleeveless tunic.

  “I’d cheat anyone, lass,” Tye says, a trace of pity in his voice. “But the three of you are so awful that it’s below my dignity. And that says a lot, trust me. At least the flea transport over there is worth cheating.”

  Shade’s wolf lifts his head and bares his teeth at Tye, golden eyes flashing.

  My chest warms. Family. These squabbling, brilliant, impudent beings have become my family.

  Tye licks my ear.

  Shade lunges for him, a flash of gray and black.

  Yes, family. Complete with our own village idiots. I grab the scruff of the wolf’s neck before he can overturn the card table.

  “How long until he can shift back?” I ask Autumn, keeping ahold of the beast until he condescends to accept a belly rub as a consolation prize for not disemboweling Tye. Having damaged his magic in a fruitless attempt to rescue me during the last trial, Shade’s recovery is safer in his animal form. Though I love the wolf, I miss the feel of the fae warrior himself, his warm, golden skin and his velvet voice caressing my ears. We haven’t been able to . . . reconnect since that night in the baths over a week ago. Now that I’ve tasted the real thing, going without is more frustrating than I ever imagined.

  “A few more days.” The petite female plucks a glass of wine from Tye’s hand and takes a sip. “But he shouldn’t be using his magic for at least a week. Not if he doesn’t want to risk permanent damage.”

  Permanent damage. My heart tightens, my hand stilling on the soft fur. Me. This is all because of me. My inability to fight, to harness the magic I’m supposed to be controlling. Klarissa wasn’t wrong to note the lack of progress in my training, and whatever she’s said to River about me tonight . . . Fatigue washes over me and I push myself to my feet. “You lot can continue insulting each other,” I say with a lightness I no longer feel. “I’m going to check on Sprite and head to bed.” Smoothing down my yellow silk skirt and wide-necked sweater that keeps sliding off one shoulder, I give the room a wave and start toward the suite’s door.

  “Want company, lass?” Tye calls, his grin widening when the wolf growls again, raises his tail, and demonstratively trots through the door I just opened.

  “Goodnight, Tye.” I hurry after Shade, my hopes of beating the beast to the stables diminishing with each step. I fully understand why Shade’s wolf upsets the horses—what I can’t comprehend is why the wolf enjoys it so much. Having seen Czar, Coal’s black stallion, nearly crack Shade’s ribs for trying to nip his tail, I’m not sure which of the animals I worry about more.

  My last hope of finding all well dies when I see that the stable door has been left slightly ajar, giving the wolf just enough room to squeeze through and wreak havoc.

  Sighing, I push the door the rest of the way open, inhaling the thick, comforting scent of hay and horses. The long, cavernous space is filled with soft candlelight, thanks to a row of lanterns hanging from the peaked ceiling far above. I’ve never seen them unlit, but I’ve also never seen a single stable hand climb up to reignite them. I can only imagine that magic is involved—presumably one that also keeps the lanterns from accidentally falling and setting the barn ablaze. Thick wooden rafters cross overhead, twined with playful strands of shiny green ivy. Long noses dip curiously out of the stall windows, snorting and neighing their welcome, and a small ice chip of tension melts in my chest.

  In the largest stall at the far end of the stable, a pair of heavy black hooves tries to take down the barn wall—proof that both Czar and Shade are, in fact, in residence. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out an apple I snagged for Sprite and turn the other way. “There you are, girl,” I say, rubbing the mare’s soft gray head while she blinks long lashes back at me.

  “There you are, cub.”

  I jump, dropping the apple as Shade’s velvet voice echoes through the stable. My heart still racing, I turn to find Shade leaning against one of the stable posts. The male wears loose gray trousers that hang on the crests of his hips—and nothing else. The skin on his hard abdomen is a golden tan that matches his eyes. Black hair hangs in shining waves to his shoulders, the smooth planes of his face shifting in the lantern light. My mouth dries, my breath quickening. Stars, but I’ve missed that face in the seven days since . . . I swallow. Since Shade injured himself over me so badly that even his wolf wouldn’t accept comfort.

  Shade’s soft steps measure the distance between us, each tap of his foot against the wooden floor injecting a fresh zap of tension into the air. I ache for him so badly that my body refuses to move in fear that he might disappear.

  “Throwing apples?” Shade says, picking up the fallen fruit and holding it out to me.

  When I reach for it, he pulls the apple up and out of my reach, a corner of his mouth lifting. “Much better,” he murmurs. “I’d forgotten just how short you really—”

  My toes push me up of their own accord, my head tipping back to meet Shade’s lowering mouth. Soft, warm lips cover mine as muscled arms brush my shoulders, my arms, my—

  I squeak as Shade tosses the apple into Sprite’s stall and grips my hips. Lifting me easily, he brings my face even with his and deepens the kiss. With no ground beneath my feet, I wrap my legs around Shade’s hard waist, feeling his low growl all the way through my core.

  The smell of earth fresh from rain fills me, soothing the jagged, stinging wounds in my heart. Mate. Shade’s wolf is my mate, and the two of us . . . My body folds perfectly into his, alive and fulfilled in a way that only the shifter can offer.

  “Shouldn’t you be a wolf?” I finally manage to say, pulling away from his lips. “The healing magic—”

  Shade closes his mouth over mine again, his eyes flashing with a need that is half-living, half-feral. Later, his body seems to scream, and I’m in no shape to argue. Especially not when he opens the empty stall beside Sprite and lays me down on the soft, clean straw. His hands caress me, deft fingers pulling away my clothing until I’m dressed only in Shade’s desire. And my own.

  As I reach down to relieve Shade of his pants, I feel the slickness between my thighs already coating my skin. The hard bulge under Shade’s trousers says the male is ready for me as well—so ready that a shiver racks his body at the merest brush of my fingers along his hard, throbbing shaft.

  4

  Lera

  When I push Shade onto his back for a better look, I find his cock somehow even larger than I remembered. Erect. Throbbing. Dressed in a bead of enticing moisture, the sight of which sends a zing of want right down to my sex. Stars. Reaching out, I brush the cock’s velvety underside.

  Shade whimpers.

  A wicked delight blooms inside me, fueled by the memory of a certain male who made me beg in a certain bathing room.

  “Cub—” Shade’s eyes widen as he sees my grin, but my hands are already gripping the bare crests of his hips, my gaze teasing his twitching cock.

  Bringing my mouth a hair’s breadth from the head, I blow gently over his skin, starting with ruffling the curly tufts of coarse black hair and ending squarely on the tip of my target. Then, with no warning, I flick my tongue and lap that thick, salty droplet right off.

  Shade jerks, his strangled whine so wolfish that my heart speeds with feral excitement. The thrill of taking him into my mouth, of tasting him, fills me to the brim.

  I lick him again, this time caressing his cock all the way along its glorious length, feeling the thick vessels hugging its underside, luscious and firm beneath my tongue. I pull away, replacing my tongue with my hands and rubbing the shaft only long enough to tease a breath from him. And then . . . then I take the whole of him into my mouth, suckling greedily.

  Shade’s body shakes with a tension I recognize all too well from when he once did this to me. Each of his noises, his flinches of pleasure, fuels my own need.

  “You . . . are . . . evil,” Shade
manages to say, his hands curling in my hair and shaking as much as the rest of him.

  I stop, find his yellow eyes, glazed with strain, and hold them as I take him deeper. Withdraw. Nip the sensitive underside of his cock, just below the head.

  That, I discover a moment later, proves a strategic mistake.

  With a roar of need, Shade yanks me up, tossing me onto my belly atop a quickly recruited flake of hay. I gasp at the feeling of my backside suddenly in the air, my sex raised for the taking. All thought leaves with the next breath as Shade settles on top of me, his knees spreading my wet thighs. Gripping my hips, the male sheathes himself inside me with a single, glorious thrust. His thickness fills a void inside me so thoroughly that when his hand comes around to stroke my bud, my whole body already hangs on the cliff’s edge.

  The same edge that Shade rides himself.

  We move together, again, again, holding on for the last heartbeats of unbearable strain. Then Shade’s lips find my ear, his voice raw. “I love you, mate,” he growls, sending us both tumbling off the cliff into an abyss of pleasure and agony and stars.

  I find no words to utter in the wake of release, but none need be said. Shade pulls me up and settles me into the hollow of his shoulder, the thin sheen of sweat on his skin carrying his wonderful male musk.

  The utter joy of our connection is as warm as a blanket, as warm as the male wrapping me in his arms. As I close my eyes, content in Shade’s strength, I wonder if the wolf’s mating bond hasn’t seeped into me as well.

  I wake to the infant rays of a chilly dawn piercing my eyes. For a moment, as memories of last night wash over me, twin fires of pleasure and guilt kindle in my chest. The latter, a condition of encouraging Shade’s shift from wolf form, sputters out as quickly as it came.