Текст книги "Bound to the shadow prince"

Автор книги: Ruby Dixon

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I think. “They would assume the capital has food. That’s where I’d go. Just show up and even if the king won’t feed me, I’d hope someone else would. My sister Erynne is always complaining that there are people showing up from far-flung countries with their hands out.”

His brow furrows. “Your sister does not sound much better than her husband.”

At times, she really doesn’t. I know it’s because she’s trying to see the big picture instead of individuals, that the more people that show up at the castle needing hand-outs that it puts a strain on resources, but sometimes you have to think with your heart and not your head. I think about the poison Erynne sent me to use on Nemeth and wonder if she’s locked her heart away permanently.

If so, that’s a sad thing for a ruler. “She’s probably not as bad as I make her sound.”

I hope.

Chapter

Sixty-Two

Nemeth glances at our surroundings. His wings give an agitated little shiver, and then he folds them tightly against his back. “This roof seems to have held together, and this cottage is comfortable enough for you, isn’t it?” He touches the high back of one of the wooden chairs. “There is no seating for those with wings, but I imagine for a human, it’s quite cozy.” His gaze slides to me. “Perhaps you need to stay here for a few days while I travel ahead and hunt some supplies.”

“What? No. Absolutely not.”

“Be reasonable, Candra.” Nemeth crosses the room and crouches at my side. He takes my hands in his larger ones. “This travel is unpleasant, and you’re not as strong as me. If it’s miserable for me, I can only imagine how awful it is for you.” He rubs my hands, gazing into my eyes. “I could leave the foodstuffs with you, and you would have to administer your potion yourself for a time but⁠—”

I shake my head. “No, Nemeth. You can’t leave me. I’m the only chance you’ve got. Think of what they did to the Fellian at the last village.”

He grimaces. “I haven’t forgotten. But I could slide through shadows, steal from people if they won’t welcome me⁠—”

“And then you’ll be as bad as the rumors make Fellians sound! No. We’re a team, remember? We’re doing all of this together.” I hold tight to his hands, squeezing them as if I can force my opinion on him. “If you leave me behind, I will never, ever forgive you. So get that thought out of your head.”

“Candra,” he says softly. “You’re sick. I won’t let this travel kill you. That would destroy me.”

Is that what this is, then? Because I threw up this morning, now he wants to leave me behind? Telling him the truth might further convince him that I need to remain behind, but I can see the worry and stress on his face. If nothing else, maybe I can take some of that away. “Actually, we do need to talk. We need to have a long discussion and compare notes.”

He tilts his head, curious. “Compare notes? About what?”

“About Ravendor. About your ancestors. About my ancestors.”

He tries to pull his hands from mine. “Candra—now is not the time for a history lesson.”

I shake my head, clinging to his hands and refusing to let go. “Just…humor me. All right? I swear I’ve got a point. And we’re not going anywhere tonight. So come lie down with me and tell me the Fellian version of Ravendor Vestalin.”

“Candra.”

“Please. It’s very important.”

Nemeth rubs his jaw, and it’s clear he wants to keep arguing with me—or rather, keep trying to convince me to stay behind in this little cottage. He looks around and then goes to the door, checking the bar over it one more time and then shoving a chair under the handle to reinforce it. After that, he comes and sits uncomfortably on the edge of the narrow bed.

“Lie down,” I tell him. “You’ll be more comfortable.”

“This bed isn’t big enough for both of us,” he protests.

“Then I’ll lie atop you.” I beam at him as if this is the most simple of answers.

His cock twitches in response and I know I’ve won. With an annoyed (but defeated) expression, Nemeth lies back upon the bed, stretching out. It’s a hay tick mattress and not as comfortable as the down ones we had in the tower, so I know it’s difficult for him to get comfortable. Once he settles his large body in, I climb over his bulk and sprawl across him.

Nemeth immediately puts his hands on my hips and settles me in place, the tip of his hardening cock brushing between my spread thighs. “You’re doing this to distract me, aren’t you?”

“I’m not,” I promise. “And you’re the one that’s putting me in the most distracting spot.” I wriggle in place, deliberately rubbing against his shaft and then folding my hands over his chest and propping my chin up on them. “I promise to be very still. Now tell me the story.”

His eyes narrow and he watches me for a long moment, as if trying to determine my goal. His hand goes to my hair, still damp from the weather, and he twines a lock around one finger. “Let me think.”

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

He tugs on the strand of hair, a reluctant smile curving his mouth at my teasing. “Naughty thing.” One hand slides down my back, his fingers trailing over my spine. “Let me think. I don’t know that you’ll like the story.”

“I don’t expect to like it. I just want to hear it. I imagine the Fellian version of events is very different from the human one.”

He chuckles. His expression turns vague and he thinks for a moment. “It starts, I suppose, at the beginning of time. The gods created their children and placed them upon the world to live. Humans, being the dirt-crawlers made from clay, were given the mountains⁠—”

“Hey!” I thump his chest, insulted. “Dirt-crawlers? Seriously?”

“This is the Fellian version of events,” he reminds me. “It’s not going to be flattering. Do you wish to hear this or not?”

I scowl at him. “I do. Fine. Go on.”

He clears his throat loudly and obviously, making me snort with amusement. “As I was saying, the dirt-crawler humans lived under the mountains, as they were most comfortable being clasped in the earth that they had been brought from. The children of the Gray God were crafted from the clouds and the skies, and so they lived above, in the fields full of sunshine and warmth.”

I try not to frown. Humans lived under the mountains? This is new to me. “Why would humans live underground?”

“Why do you think a winged people do?” he replies, and taps his fingers on my arm. “I am getting to that part.”

Oh. I’d never realized how very impractical it would be for a winged people to live underground. What he says makes sense in a disturbing sort of way. Our legends say that humans were built of clay to be adaptable, to change quickly. Not that we’re from the earth itself. That the Absent God decided to create one last thing before he left, and so he took all the goodness in the world and pushed them into the clay and that made humans.

Our legends also say that the Gray God was jealous and took all the evils in the world and made them into a race of his own—the Fellians. Nemeth isn’t evil, though, and I know Lionel certainly isn’t good, so clearly the stories have spun away from their origins over time.

When I don’t interrupt again, Nemeth continues. “Humans saw how happy the Fellians—back then we were just called the ‘sky people’—were in their home. They resented how free we were, how the sun warmed us when we flew. The humans came and demanded that the sky people trade places with them—that humans should have the above-ground and the sky people below. Naturally, we refused and a war began.

“The war continued for a hundred years, and neither side was willing to give. Then, a human more cunning than any other began to lead the humans. Her name was Ravendor, and she was a mercenary sellsword who first fought for the sky people, acting as a spy amongst her people. Then, she decided she could have more power amongst the humans, so she betrayed her employers and used their magical weapons in battle. She conquered the Alabaster Citadel, which is supposed to be a neutral place dedicated to all the gods, and claimed it for humankind. The goddess was upset and decided she wanted the war to end. Both parties were never going to see eye to eye, so she decided that the best thing would be for them to come to care for one another. She insisted that Ravendor—the leader of the humans—and Azamenth—the King of the sky people—enter into a truce. She split the land into two continents and between them, she erected a tower. Ravendor and Azamenth were bidden to enter and not return until they were ready to give truce.”

“And let me guess,” I interject. “Seven years passed, and when they came out, Ravendor and Azamenth were in love, yes?”

Nemeth grins at me, his fingers trailing over my spine. “Something like that. At least, Azamenth believed himself to be in love with Ravendor. I’m told she was charming and beautiful, and if you are of her line, I can believe that.”

I want to preen at his praise, but I know he’s getting to the uncomfortable parts, so I gesture that he should continue instead. “So what happened after they left the tower?”

“There was peace for a time.” His expression grows thoughtful, his fingers slowing as he caresses my back. “Everyone lived in harmony outside of the mountains, sky people and human together. Ravendor had four children by Azamenth—two with wings, and two without, two born inside the tower, and two out. Eventually the humans became dissatisfied with living with the sky people. Why should they share what was rightfully theirs? And so they whispered things into Ravendor’s ear until she acted.”

I know this part. He’s mentioned it before. “She killed her mate?”

“Aye.” Nemeth sighs, the sound heavy and defeated. “She slew Azamenth and drove his people from the kingdom. Anyone with wings was not welcome in Ravendor’s land. Azamenth had a younger brother, Abedon. He stole the two winged children from Ravendor and retreated with what remained of his people deep into the mountains, across the channel, and established the kingdom of Darkfell. The princes of the first house are the descendants of Abedon and Azamenth’s half-blooded children, though a thousand generations have passed. Abedon swore to avenge his brother’s death, and ever since, Darkfell has not trusted a human for betraying them and stealing their lands. The goddess was furious with Ravendor’s betrayal and the destruction of peace. She confronted both the Absent God and the Gray God and told them of the humans’ misdeeds. The Absent God turned his face away from his children, and the Golden Moon Goddess and the Gray God withheld their names from the people. We are no longer allowed to use them, and so our prayers are dulled because we cannot beseech them by name. The land is cursed, and the line of Ravendor and the line of Darkfell must return to the tower over and over again, or the goddess’s wrath will be swift. And that is the end of the story. Does it satisfy you?”

It’s a terrible story, one that paints the humans as the monsters. “Ours is really different.”

“I remember. You told me once.” His hands continue to stroke my skin, petting me. “Ravendor was a saintly hero and saved the humans from the big bad Fellians. That is your version, yes?”

“More or less.”

“And which do you think is more likely?” There’s no judgment in his tone, just genuine curiosity.

“My guess is that the truth is somewhere in the middle,” I admit. “The humans weren’t innocent saints, and the Fellians weren’t martyrs. Everyone was probably fighting over land and resources, because it’s the same thing everyone’s fighting over now.”

“Why the interest in old stories?” Nemeth asks, his gaze seeking mine. “Why do you care about Ravendor or the house of Darkfell?”

My throat closes up. I don’t want to tell him. He said he didn’t want children, that they were a complication he was glad not to have. Yet I can’t let him continue to worry over my health. I certainly can’t let him leave me behind, thinking he’s doing it for my own good. “Do you love me, Nemeth?”

“How can you ask that? You know the answer.” His eyes narrow as he studies me. “You think my feelings would change the moment I leave the tower, like Ravendor?”

The parallels between Ravendor’s story and my fate are a little worrisome, but I push those thoughts aside. “I wanted to hear more about the children that they had—Ravendor and Azamenth.”

“They aren’t mentioned except in context of the larger story. Why?”

“Because I’m pregnant,” I blurt out. “And I’m not supposed to be.”

Chapter

Sixty-Three

Nemeth’s hands go still. He freezes under me, his expression unchanging. For a long moment, I don’t dare breathe. His hands slide up my arms, and then he grips my shoulders tight. “What do you mean, you’re pregnant?”

“I’ve been told all my life that I can’t get pregnant. That because of the blood curse, that I’m infertile. But I haven’t had my period in weeks now, and I’m sick in the mornings. My stomach is hard, just like Erynne’s was when she found out she was pregnant with Allionel.” When he continues to stare at me in disbelief, I add, “I asked the knife and it said I was pregnant.”

He’s utterly silent, and as the moments slide past, my skin prickles with discomfort. “How long have you known?”

I know the calm in his voice. He’s angry. So angry. My heart feels as if it has stopped in my chest. “Since we were in the tower.”

Those accusing eyes widen. “And you’re just now telling me?”

I know I’ve done wrong. I sit up higher, determined to somehow explain away the guilt I’m feeling. “I didn’t want you to feel as if I was manipulating you. Trapping you into being with me,” I babble, frantic. “I know you don’t want this. I didn’t even know it was possible.”

“And yet you let me take you from the tower, knowing that the goddess’s wrath might fall upon both of us⁠—”

“Because I want to stay with you,” I cry. “I can’t let you leave me behind! I want us to face the future together!”

“Except you didn’t want to tell me you were pregnant with my child,” he bites out. “Until you were going to get left behind once more. You’re using it as a game piece, trying to outmaneuver me.”

“I’m not,” I declare hotly. I’m offended by his words, moreso because I understand exactly how he’s feeling. In a way, I’m feeling just as betrayed as he is. I’ve been told lies all my life and now I’m reaping the consequences. But he’s looking at me with such accusation that I can’t stand it. I want to defend myself, to make him realize I’m not trying to deceive. Instead, what comes out is even worse. “You weren’t exactly clamoring to come on my belly,” I accuse, near tears. This is all going horribly wrong. “You wanted to give me your knot.”

He rears up under me, trying to get to his feet. “Because I thought it was safe⁠—”

“I thought it was too! All my life I’ve been told that I’m useless and barren. That I am meant nothing. That I am the worst of my bloodline because I am a dead end, a loose thread that goes nowhere. How do you think I feel? The records are clear that Ravendor’s descendants with the blood curse never have children, and yet here I am, pregnant. It’s obvious that it’s because you’re Fellian.”

“How is that the obvious reason?”

“I wasn’t a virgin when we got together, Nemeth. I haven’t saved myself for marriage. Why bother when I’m barren? I’ve had more than my fair share of lovers at court⁠—”

“I don’t want to hear about your past lovers.” His eyes darken, his expression growing intense.

“—and not a single one of them has ever gotten me pregnant.” I want to grab him by his shoulders and shake him. To make him understand. “You said you could move through shadows with me, right? And that it felt different this last time? And you didn’t know why you could do either? It’s because of me. My blood. Ravendor’s story must have some seed of truth in it, because I have Fellian blood in my veins and maybe that’s what’s poisoning me. Maybe that’s what allowed me to become pregnant with your child. I don’t know! I don’t have the answers!” I’m babbling but I can’t seem to stop. I just need him to know, need him to understand. “All I know is that I love you and I’m terrified you’re going to hate me now because you never wanted children⁠—”

“Shh,” Nemeth tells me. He wraps his arms around me, and then a moment later, his wings slither out from under his back and envelop both of us in a cocoon. “Calm yourself, Candra.”

“I’m not trying to deceive you,” I choke. “I just don’t know what to do. I don’t want you to stop loving me because of a child I didn’t know we could have⁠—”

“Love. Milettahn, please.” He brushes gentle fingers over my cheeks, and I realize belatedly that they’re wet. I’m crying after all. “A child doesn’t change how I feel about you. You could shove a knife between my ribs and I would still look at you with adoration, because you’re my mate. We are not Ravendor and Azamenth.” He searches my gaze. “I never said I did not want children, Candra. Just that they are a complication.”

“What do you mean, a complication?”

Nemeth pauses, and then chuckles. “I think our story is complicated enough already, don’t you?”

He’s got a point. I manage a wobbly smile. “It’s certainly not getting any easier.”

He strokes his knuckles over my cheek again, wiping away my tears. The look on his face is incredibly tender. “How are you certain you have Fellian blood?”

“I asked the knife. I didn’t understand how I was pregnant, and I wondered if that was why. Maybe I have more Fellian in me than others in the Vestalin bloodline and that’s why I’m ‘cursed.’ Maybe the two bloods don’t get along.”

“Maybe you have magic,” Nemeth says softly. “Fellian magic.”

I snort at that. “I don’t even know how to answer that. There’s no way I have Fellian magic. If I did, I certainly wouldn’t have eaten cold turnips for half a year because I ran out of firewood.”

He’s not laughing with me, though. Nemeth looks very serious. “Just because you haven’t been taught doesn’t mean you don’t have magic in your blood. Every Fellian is born with it. If you have Fellian blood, perhaps you have Fellian magic, too.”

He honestly thinks I have magic? “How would I have magic?”

“There are ways to tell. Tests. Trials.” Nemeth looks gravely concerned. “A human with magic is what a Fellian fears most. It’s our edge against your rapaciousness and cruelty.”

By the gods, he’s making me sound like a monster. I’m stung. It’s not quite an accusation, but it’s close. “Then use your magic and give me one of these tests. I can show you that I don’t have any. If I did, do you think I’d take a potion daily that would make me feel like absolute garbage? Do you think I’d suffer through the illness that comes with a skipped dose? Or would I just wave a hand and cure myself?”

His hard mouth twitches. “That’s not how magic works.”

“How would I know?” I explode, indignant. “I’m a bloody human! Even if I had Fellian magic in my veins, who’s going to teach it to me? The humans at court couldn’t magic their way out of a goat pen.”

Nemeth rubs my arm. “You’re right. You’re right. I’m not saying you do. I’m just worried things are growing more complicated. If we have to go back to my people, I don’t want to give them cause to cast you out.” He pauses, and then adds, “I won’t let them cast you out.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, then.” I give him a mock-pout. “I shall be very cross if that happens.”

He laughs, his expression more like the Nemeth I know. “Cross, eh?”

“Excessively.” His smile eases some of my worry. “I am sorry, you know. It wasn’t as if I was trying to get pregnant. I’ve been told all my life it’s impossible. And yet here I am. I should be thrilled that I’m not barren, since that’s apparently supposed to be the worst thing ever for a Vestalin woman, and instead of being excited, I feel vaguely betrayed. Like everything I’ve been told is a lie.”

Nemeth rubs my arm again. “I understand.” His gaze strays to my stomach. “You’re certain?”

“The knife gave me a ‘yes’ answer so it must be true, right?”

“Aye, its magic wouldn’t let it lie to you.”

I tilt my head, studying him. Other than creating a spark of fire with a snap of his fingers, Nemeth hasn’t done a lot of magic in front of me. But he makes it sound like all Fellians are brimming with magic energy. “Do you have lots of magic yourself?”

“I should. Most Fellians are taught spells from the time they begin schooling into adulthood. But because of who I am, I wasn’t allowed to learn anything that wasn’t deemed essential.”

“Who you are?” I’m puzzled.

“The son of the First House bound for the tower. They worried anything I knew might be shared with humans. They would rather keep it secret than risk teaching me.” A bitter smile curves his mouth. “So I know less than most children.”

I rub his chest to offer sympathy. I know what it’s like to be coddled because of who—and what—you are. “What kind of magic were you allowed, then?”

“Small things. Fire spells, light spells, communication spells⁠—”

“Communication spells?” I ask, my skin prickling with awareness. I’d forgotten that he was communicating back home. “Remind me what you’ve been communicating about again?”

An uneasy look crosses his face. “Candra…get dressed.” He sits upright, his wings sliding off of our naked bodies, and then he untangles himself from the bed, dumping me on the far side of the mattress. A moment later, he melts into the shadows, disappearing.

Just like that, I’m alone.

“Dragon shite—you do not get to end a conversation like that!” I pound a fist on the mattress. “Come back here, Nemeth!”

He doesn’t come back, though. There’s no one in the hut but me. I’m so annoyed with him that I jerk to my feet, grabbing at my wet chemise that’s spread out on the nearby table. The moment I stand, though, darkness creeps in at the edges of my gaze. My stomach turns and my skin gets clammy. Oh no. This has happened before—when my dose is wrong for my medicine, or I take it and I haven’t eaten enough.

Dragon shite. I’m going to faint.

The realization hits me a moment before I go completely under.

I wake up some time later to my ass on the cold floor, a blanket tossed over me, and the sounds of eating.

Disoriented, I open my eyes and roll over to look at Nemeth, who must be ravenously devouring a meal—only to find that it’s not Nemeth at all. Two strangers stand with their backs to me, eating what is left of our foodstuffs spread out on the table. I glance around the cottage quickly, but I don’t see Nemeth. The front door hangs open, and one of the pretty window shutters has been destroyed, likely from an axe. Our drying clothes have been scattered about the cottage, no doubt tossed aside when the thieves entered.

And I’m only wearing a blanket.

I clutch it to myself tighter, bewildered, as I sit up. Dizziness assails me again, along with nausea. I have to lie back down, or else I’m going to pass out again. “Water…please.”

The men turn around. I wonder if they’re going to kill me, but right now I’m feeling so lousy I might welcome a quick death. I groan as another wave of nausea hits, and to my surprise, someone lifts my head and puts a cup to my lips. “Here. Drink slowly.”

Taking small sips, I’m relieved that it helps the nausea disappear. I continue to drink, and as I do, I watch the men. Both of them are of an indeterminate age, their faces unshaven and dirty. They’re incredibly thin, and their clothing is ragged and faded. One is wearing a torn cloak that has the symbol of Castle Lios’s guards, but perhaps they stole it, like they’re currently stealing the last of our food.

I don’t see Nemeth anywhere. Has he abandoned me?

He wouldn’t. He loves me. Something must have happened. Worry makes my nausea flare again, and I swallow hard.

“Can you sit up?” one of the men asks, a concerned look on his face. They’re being decent despite the fact that they just ate the last of our food. They even covered me in a blanket.

I manage to nod and struggle to sit upright. “Who…are you?”

“Might ask the same question of you,” one of the men says, licking crumbs off his fingers.

The answer is an obvious one. “I was looking for food. My supplies are almost gone.” I eye the table, where nothing remains. “Are gone.”

He glances at the doorway, and I’m dismayed when a third man joins them. The newcomer looks just as thin and unkempt as the others, but this one watches me with a burning gaze, as if he could stare holes through the blanket covering my nudity. He’s got a long blond beard with two braids in the scraggly ends, and he strokes those braids as he sits down in one of the chairs, his muddy boots tracking all over the floors. “No one else.”

All three men focus on me again, their gazes skeptical and wary. “You’re here alone?” one asks.

The implication in the man’s tone is obvious. What’s a weak, soft thing like you doing here alone? I don’t want to tell them about Nemeth, so I decide to edge close to the truth again. “I had a companion with me, but…I think he left. Abandoned me when I got sick from hunger.”

The first man grunts, satisfied. “Happens a lot nowadays.”

“Even to a princess?” says the one with the braided beard.

I stiffen, clutching the blanket tight. The other men eye me speculatively. “I didn’t say I was a princess.”

He gestures at my hair. “You got the dark hair and the green eyes like the queen.”

What do I say to that? I lick my lips, silent. “My name is Candra,” I finally say, since I can’t seem to get the upper hand. “You’re right.”

He narrows his gaze at me. “You the one that’s supposed to be in the tower?”

The room feels positively chilly, their stares blistering. That tells me everything I need to know. “Nope,” I say brightly. “I’m the sick one. You’ll find my vials of medicine on the table there. Meryliese is the one that’s in the tower even now.”

The two relax, but the one with the long beard continues to stroke it, eyeing me thoughtfully. “Thought she died.”

“You heard wrong. I hugged her goodbye even as she stepped into the tower.” I sell the lie with a determined expression. “I think I would know if my sister was dead.”

I hope they don’t ask more questions. I hope no one points out that the weather is awful—even now it’s raining again—and that I’ve been gone from court for years. But the one that offered me water grunts, gesturing over at the table. “She’s right about the medicine. I tried to drink one. Wasn’t sure if it was food or not. Tastes like shit.”

“It’s injected,” I say helpfully. “My kit is in my bag. The medicine keeps me alive.”

“There are two left,” he says. “That should last you a time, yes?”

Two left? That’s it? There were five yesterday. They must have destroyed more than they’re letting on, and one of the men looks so guilty I wonder if that’s the case. “I see.”

“If you’re the princess, you should go with us to the capital,” one says suddenly. “We’ll be rewarded for bringing you home safely.”

The other two perk up. “Rewarded?”

“She’s a princess, isn’t she? Rewarded,” he claims, nodding to himself.

Now they all watch me with speculative looks, no doubt seeing gold coins and feasts dancing in front of their eyes. Part of me wants to cry out that I can’t leave without Nemeth, but the survival instinct in me is strong…and I need more potion. “Yes. I need to return to the castle. Please take me.”

“It’s settled, then. We leave in the morning.” The braided-beard smiles. “To think we’ve been lucky enough to stumble upon a princess.”

“It’s your lucky day,” I agree. And my unlucky one.