Текст книги "Bound to the shadow prince"

Автор книги: Ruby Dixon

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Текущая страница: 24 (всего у книги 40 страниц)

Chapter

Fifty-Six

That night, Nemeth gives me my potion, and I feel the effects immediately. My pounding head stops swimming, a cold sweat breaks out over my skin, and I want to throw up…but it goes away quickly, followed by a relief so profound that I fight back tears. I laugh instead, wiping the sweat off my skin with my chemise and stripping it off as I lie in bed naked. “This is my new favorite time of day.”

Nemeth chuckles, and instead of joining me in bed, he moves to the table stacked high with his books. “How is your stomach?”

“A little queasy, but it always is after my potion.”

“No aches or pains? No stabbing sensations on your side?” He picks up one book—one that I know is a medical tome he brought with him in case he needed to treat himself, and he begins to turn pages. “Any tingling?”

I run my hands over my stomach. Is it truly harder-feeling like he says? “I’m fine.”

He flicks a page, frowning down at the book. “I haven’t been able to find anything about a hard belly unless it’s a sick organ.”

“I think I’d feel that, wouldn’t I? Or something would hurt to press on?” I experimentally push my fingers into the soft rolls of my belly, but nothing feels unusual or painful.

“Mmm.” He sits down with the book, reading. “There must be something here.”

“I think you’re just panicking,” I tell him. “You’re stressed and now you’re seeing problems where there are none.”

“Possibly.” But he doesn’t sound convinced.

I cup my breasts, wondering if I should distract him with some sex before bed…and then pause. They feel surprisingly tender, even moreso than when I have my period. That’s…odd.

Out of nowhere, I remember a conversation my sister had with Nurse when she first got pregnant. She’d been unsure if she’d truly been pregnant.

“Are you ill in the mornings?” Nurse had asked her. “Tits sore? Does your belly feel different?”

Belly…different? Like hard?

I squeeze my breasts again and wince at the pain. They’re extremely tender, all right. But Nemeth could have been too vigorous with them earlier in our lovemaking. That doesn’t mean anything. Once he sucked on my nipple so hard that he left a mark for days and that made it extremely sore. I’d teased him relentlessly about it, too.

But I’ve also been sick in the mornings. I’ve rolled out of bed and vomited until I was weak every single morning for the last two weeks. I thought it was because we’d been doling out my potion every other day. That it was affecting my stomach like it affects all aspects of my physical person. What if it’s not that, though? What if it’s a baby?

That’s impossible. I’m not supposed to get pregnant. I’ve got cursed blood.

I must be wrong. I got my period recently. It was…

I pause, lost in thought. When was the last time I had my period? I remember having it prior to the solstice, when I’d had particularly bad cramps and Nemeth had made me a cup of tea. We’d joked that it was the last of that flavor of tea until we got our supplies in, and that we’d be glad to get new flavors, because we were down to our least favorites…

And one of my favorites prior to that had been one that had an herb that prevented pregnancy, and I’d sneered that I didn’t need it.

I can’t be pregnant, though. I’m the Vestalin with cursed blood. I can’t get pregnant, can I? That’s what I’ve always been told.

Or is it that I can get pregnant, but I can’t carry it to term?

The thought is a terrifying one, and I wish I’d paid more attention to what was written about the blood curse. I trail my fingers over my belly, worried. If it wouldn’t make Nemeth fret, I’d get up and retrieve my knife, ask it questions. As it is, Nemeth has enough to worry about. I’ll wait until I’m alone, and have my knife clarify what the truth is.

I can’t be pregnant.

Later that night, I slip out of bed.

Nemeth immediately reaches for me, stroking a hand over my arm. “Sick?”

“No, I just need the garderobe,” I tell him. “I’ll be right back.” I pick up my dressing gown, slipping it over my shoulders and wrapping it around my body. I hope he doesn’t notice the heavy pull of one pocket, where I hid my knife earlier. I hate that I’m keeping secrets again, but I need to know for myself, first. So I head to the garderobe and shut the door, and then pull out the knife.

“Am I pregnant?” I whisper.

It pulses in my hand.

Panic floods through me. How? It doesn’t make sense? I’ve been told all my life that a Vestalin with the blood curse cannot get pregnant. Haven’t I been told of relatives that had the same curse who lived their lives childless and alone? I want to ask if I’ll be able to carry it to term, but the knife can’t see the future any more than I can. Asking will get me no answer, which feels the same as a “no,” so I’m not even going to ask that. I’ll ask other things instead. “Is the baby healthy?”

Yes.

Hot relief floods through me, and I sag against the door, clutching the knife. “Does Nemeth know?”

No answer.

That doesn’t surprise me—I just figured it out myself. “Am I healthy enough to carry the baby the full nine months?”

No answer.

My lungs tighten. I close my eyes. Okay, okay. That doesn’t mean anything. My question might be too vague. I might not be healthy enough right now because I haven’t been taking my full dose of my potion. “If I eat properly and take the right dose of my medicine, will I be healthy enough to give birth?”

A shiver of affirmation, and I feel like I can breathe again.

I didn’t know Nemeth could make me pregnant. I don’t know what to think about the realization that I’m going to be a mother. I’ve never considered it. Never considered a life in which my blood curse wouldn’t prevent me from carrying on my bloodline. I’ve been told all my life that I can’t give a husband heirs. That because of my blood curse, I’ll remain sick and a burden all my days.

This seems impossible. But I think about my dark hair, and how everyone in Lios has the pale, blond hair except for those of the line of Vestalin. Of the stories that we have Fellian blood and that’s why our coloring is different. The rumor of Ravendor, the first Vestalin, giving birth to half-Fellian children that she hid away from the world. Everyone thinks that they’re garbage rumors. I’ve always thought that they were garbage rumors…but now I wonder.

“Is it true?” I ask the knife. “Do I have Fellian blood in my veins?”

The knife throbs in affirmation, and I gasp.

It seems my ancestor found a mate in this tower after all. But are the stories true? Did Ravendor hide her children away from the world? Or did she betray her Fellian mate and destroy him, as Nemeth’s people believe?

I don’t know what to think.

A week doesn’t feel like enough time to prepare. There’s endless amounts of work to be done.

Food must be cooked, and bread baked. Our meat is already dried, but any foodstuffs that aren’t portable must be made into something that is. We’ll only be able to carry limited amounts of goods with us, so we take the last of our stale flour and withered nuts and make a traveling bread that’s hard and dry, but will last a long time. We cook up everything that won’t travel and eat our fill, and Nemeth uses the last of my potion supplies to make enough doses to last me for two weeks if I take it daily after we leave the tower. Until then, as we prepare, I’ll continue on half-doses.

I sew adjustments to my clothing as Nemeth packs and repacks our bags, trying to see how much we can bring with us. He makes careful plans, determined to give us the best chances to survive. I know he’s miserable at leaving his books behind. I want to tell him that we can come back for them after we get my potion, after our futures are settled, but something in me knows we’re never coming back here.

Once we cross over the threshold, we’ve committed to our fates.

So I sew. My dresses are frothy, silly things with tight bodices and ribbon detailing and silken panels. They’re useless for travel, since I’ve only ever gone by carriage in the past. But when we leave this tower, there will be no horses waiting for us, no retinue to take us to our homeland. We’ll be crossing on foot, and we don’t know how long it will take, or how unpleasant the weather will be. For the entire week as we prepare, thunder crashes and wind howls so loud we can hear it even through the stones of the tower. I can only imagine what sorts of storms we’ll be pummeled with when we depart and invoke the goddess’s wrath.

I modify my dresses for travel as best I can. I’m not good with a needle, but I know how to make stitches at least, and so I raise the hems of my simplest dresses to above the ankles, so the skirts won’t drag in the mud. I remove expensive, flashy-looking ribbons and embroidery. I extend the laces in the bodice, thinking of the child growing in my belly. How soon does a Fellian pregnancy show? I still haven’t told Nemeth. I don’t know when the right time will be, but right now he’s frustrated and worried, and he doesn’t sleep at night. He’s anxious over leaving the tower—we both are.

In addition to angering the goddess, I’m worried there will be mobs of people waiting with pitchforks to tear us apart.

“We’ll go to your people first,” Nemeth tells me. “I’ll ask for asylum in their lands. I’ll tell them I’ve defected and I want to join your kingdom.”

I think of cruel King Lionel, who wants to destroy all of Darkfell. Of my sister, Erynne, who has urged me over and over again to kill Nemeth. “I’m not sure that’s wise.”

“It might not be, but it’s the surest way to get your potion in your hands quickly. This fenugreek herb? The aloe vera? They do not grow under the mountains. We must trade with outsiders to get such things.” He’s silent for a moment. “And…I am not sure I trust my people to get them for us. Not after they’ve abandoned us and left us to starve.” He holds me close. “At least if we go to your people, I know you’re safe.”

“But what about you?”

“I can take care of myself.” He presses a kiss to my brow. “If I am not welcomed, I will go.”

I shake my head. “If you’re not welcomed, I’m going with you.”

“We will take it one day at a time,” Nemeth promises me. “But first, we must get more potion for you. We’ll figure everything else out later.”

As the days crawl forward and our plans are almost to completion, I spend a lot of time at the altar downstairs. I’ve never been the most religious…or actually religious at all. But knowing that we’re flagrantly disobeying the goddess feels dangerous. I kneel before the altar and clasp my hands in front of me, and my prayers are full of apologies.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “We can’t stay, and I’m sorry. I know we’re not your children—I’m human and we’re the children of the Absent God, and Fellians are the children of the Gray God. I’m not sure you have children. But if you did, I can’t imagine that you would want us to starve to death in your honor. Back when you had names, the Golden Moon Goddess was supposed to be a goddess of love, a goddess of families and affection.” I hesitate. “And I’m pregnant. My baby doesn’t deserve to die here because our people have betrayed us. So please, please understand.”

The goddess on the triptych doesn’t answer. That’s not surprising. No one ever answers a human’s prayers, but I pray anyhow. I know Nemeth does, too, but if he’s answered, he doesn’t tell me. We pray, and we leave food offerings with the gods, because we know we’re going to be disobedient.

But we’re going anyhow. There’s no choice in Nemeth’s mind, and I’m not going to let him go without me.

Chapter

Fifty-Seven

No one arrives with food to rescue us. I’m not surprised, but at the same time, I’m disappointed. I had hoped for an easy solution, one that would take the choice out of our hands.

Our bags are packed, our clothing ready. We pick the last of the mushrooms from Nemeth’s mushroom “farm” and stew them for dinner. It almost feels like too much food, and then I’m reminded that we’ve been carefully rationing for a long time. Tomorrow, that all changes.

I’m terrified of tomorrow.

That night, we crawl into bed together, in sheets we’re going to have to leave behind, our heads resting upon fluffy pillows that will also be abandoned for whoever is in this tower next. Our packs are laden mostly with food and necessities—a change of clothes for traveling, a heavy cloak, and not much else. I’ve sewn some of my jewelry—hairpins and earrings, mostly—into the hem of my cloak, just in case we need coin. I can’t stop thinking about tomorrow, and I suspect Nemeth cannot, either. He drags me on top of him and teases my breasts until I’m whimpering, then seats me atop his cock. I rock to my climax above him and then force myself down on his knot, sheathing him inside my body and locking us together. When he’s pulsing inside me, his knot hard, he flips us over and then I’m under him, my mate’s small thrusts filling me with his spend. Nemeth presses kisses to the top of my head as we drowse, limbs entwined, bodies joined. He strokes my skin, over and over, and I don’t know if he’s trying to reassure me or himself.

“Are you ready to do this?” I ask him in a soft voice.

I don’t have to explain what I’m asking about. We’re both thinking of the same thing. “I am committed,” Nemeth says.

“Is that the same thing?”

“Does it matter?” He gives me a wry smile. “It has the same results.”

My heart feels full, achingly so. To think that he’s willing to do this for me, to doom himself (and possibly others) just to save me. I wrap my arms tightly around him and squeeze my inner walls around his cock, wanting to demonstrate everything that I’m feeling. I don’t have words for how much I love him. I’ve never been good with words.

But I can demonstrate a little. At least tonight.

Nemeth wakes me from sleep with a caress to my cheek. “Candra.”

I’m immediately awake, my senses alert. It’s dark, but as I rouse, Nemeth reaches over the bed and taps the light once to turn it on. The shadowy room fills with faint light. “Is it time?”

He nods and slides out of bed, his wings tucked against his back as he gets to his feet. Normally Nemeth would stretch, letting his wings ripple outward as he yawns off the last of his slumber. Today though, he seems just as restless and uneasy as me. I didn’t sleep very well last night, constantly on edge. Worried for the dawn even as I waited for it, and I know Nemeth felt the same.

It’s here now, and there’s no avoiding our fates.

My big, handsome mate offers his hand to me. “Can you sit up? How is your stomach this morning?”

“I think I’m good.” But the moment I lift my head, my stomach rebels and I’m reaching for the chamber pot once more. I throw up everything in my stomach and then lean against the bed weakly. “All better.”

Nemeth watches me with a worried expression. “I do not understand. You had a full dose of your potion last night. Why are you yet sick?”

I wonder how long I can hide a pregnancy from him. If he knew I was pregnant, he’d make me stay here and go out alone. I shake my head, playing it off. “It’s probably just a left-over from my missed doses. It’ll take my body a few days to feel set to rights again.” I get to my feet, ignoring the queasy turn of my now-empty stomach, and turn to my mate. “Shall we dress?”

“Are you sure you can travel?” he asks.

“I’m committed,” I joke back, but he doesn’t laugh with me.

He just sighs and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Let us dress. We should leave before the sun gets too high. I don’t want you getting overheated.”

I nod, wishing for a real kiss, but I probably wouldn’t want to kiss my mouth either. Not after my usual morning. So I rinse my mouth out and braid my hair, then pin it up off my neck. I put on one of the dresses I’ve prepared for travel. It’s a plain, boring deep blue with all the decoration stripped off of it, the sleeves plain. My shoes for the journey don’t match it, as they are a plain, sturdy pair of slippers with reinforced soles (thanks to Nemeth) in a deep black. I shouldn’t care about fashion. It’s just that my skirts were shortened to make walking easier and now everyone will see my hideous footwear.

I tighten the laces on my bodice, and my breasts ache enough that I have to loosen my dress. I smooth a hand down my front—my stomach is still flat, at least. I wonder how long a Fellian carries a child? Will it be too obvious if I ask? I decide yes, it would be too obvious, and slip my enchanted knife into the front of my dress, tucking it between my breasts.

Nemeth is dressed in his favorite kilt, a sword buckled at his waist and our heavy packs slung over his back. “Ready to go?”

Biting my lip, I study our little chamber. “I need to make the bed.” I plump the pillows, then pull the blankets up. “And then I should wash out the chamber pot, and make sure the kitchen is clean⁠—”

“Candra,” Nemeth says in a gentle voice. “Leave it. Anyone that comes here will understand why we had to leave.”

Will they? Or will we be reviled by both Fellian and Liosian peoples for what we’re about to do? We’re not supposed to leave, even if we’re starving. Even if we’re dying. We’re supposed to sacrifice ourselves for the greater good.

Not that I’ve ever wanted to do that. Nobody asked me, either. I’ve been told. Perhaps that’s why I feel so damned guilty that we’re leaving. We don’t know what’s going to happen…we just know that no one will be pleased. I wring my hands, anxious. He’s right. No one’s going to care that we left the tower a mess, only that we left the tower. “Right. Of course.”

He holds his hand out to me. “Come. It’s time to go.”

“I’m scared,” I confess, a panicky feeling settling in my stomach.

“I know,” he says, and continues to hold his hand out for me. “But we must go anyway.”

I nod. It’s not even a question of if I should stay behind anymore. We’ve committed to our path. I take his hand, squeezing it tight as he leads me through the hall and toward the curving stairs. “Do we have everything?” I ask anxiously.

“I packed last night,” he reminds me. “I checked my list three times.”

Right, because Nemeth is nothing if not prepared at all times. I hold onto him as we go down the stairs, toward the now unlocked doors on the first floor. We’ve left them accessible in case someone came by. Nothing barricades us inside anymore. A simple tug on the handle will open the doors, and then we’ll be on the beach, a travesty to the goddess for leaving the tower five years too soon.

“Do you think she’ll strike us down?” I ask Nemeth as we pass by the altar, the remnants of our prayer offerings still upon the tiny plates. “The goddess?”

“No,” Nemeth says. “If we are to believe the stories, her wrath takes the form of drought and famine, or flooding and destruction. Her hand is never direct upon those that offend her.”

“Because it’s more fun to punish everyone, I suppose,” I say lightly.

He only grunts.

“Do you think she will punish us?” I prompt. “For abandoning the tower?”

“If the stories are to be believed, aye.” He doesn’t let go of my hand. If anything, his grip tightens. It’s as if he’s afraid I’ll change my mind.

I won’t, but it doesn’t mean I’m not terrified.

“What do Fellian stories say?” I continue as we head towards the double doors, the only path out of the tower. My voice wobbles with fear. “About those that abandon the tower?”

“Nothing good.”

“They’re just stories anyhow,” I decide. “They could be full of dragon shite. Maybe the goddess will understand. Maybe she won’t be upset.” Maybe she knows I’m pregnant with Nemeth’s child and any path we take will be a difficult one anyhow.

“Mmm.”

That’s a non-answer if there ever was one.

We stand in front of the doors. My hand is sweaty in Nemeth’s. He reaches forward and tugs one door open, swinging it outward. There’s a scrape against sand-covered stone, and then the doors fall open. Bright sunlight spills inward, and it looks like a gloriously sunny day. The air is warm, and a gentle breeze touches my face. The skies are blue, the waters less so, but still beautiful. The strip of sand that surrounds the tower is deserted and unmarked.

We stare out, and neither of us moves forward to take that first step. I breathe in the fresh air. If it’s going to be bad for us, why must it smell so good? I want to stand in the sunlight and drink it in so badly, yet I’m terrified, too. This isn’t just my future at stake. I have a child to consider—a child that I’m trying very, very hard not to think about.

“I should go first,” Nemeth says abruptly, releasing my hand. He gazes down at me, his strange, sharp Fellian features resolute. “If the goddess’s punishment is instant, I would rather that it happen to me and me alone. Yes?”

I sputter. “What? No, absolutely not.” Grabbing his arm again, I cling to him. “We’re doing all of this together, remember? That includes everything.”

“Candra, let me do this,” he says in a soft voice. “If the gods will only punish one person, I would rather it be me.”

“I’m not going to let go of you,” I say, obstinate. I loop one arm in his belt and twine the leather about my sleeve. “When you step forward, it will be with me dragged through with you, at the same time, because we’re doing everything together. Like we promised.”

“Candra—”

“I am prepared to be dragged!” I shout dramatically, anchoring myself against his waist. “Don’t think that I won’t hold on, because I will!”

He sighs heavily. “Why are you so stubborn?”

“Because I love you, and we’re doing this together.”

He glares down at me with those eerie green eyes, and then runs a hand over his face, his two shorn claws evident. “Fine. You stubborn mule of a human, fine.”

I smile at him. Not just because I’m getting my way, but because it’s clear he loves me as much as I love him and is trying to protect me even now. So I let go of his waist and hold out my hand. “We cross together.”

Nemeth growls low in his throat, frustrated. He glances at the open door and then down at me. Then, he hauls me against him and bends over me, his lips on mine in a hard, frantic kiss. “Whatever waits for us on the other side, know that you are everything to me.” His mouth presses to mine over and over again. “Everything. Understand?”

I cling to him, kissing him back, trying to show him just how much I adore him. I know we’re both stalling but I don’t care. I would happily have kisses from Nemeth until the end of time.

He sets me back down on my feet again with utter gentleness and then sighs. He holds his hand out to me, his gaze upon the door, and I slip my hand in his. We move closer to the edge, and then he nods at me, lifting one foot.

And together, we step over the edge of the portal and outside of the tower for the first time in over two years.