Текст книги "Bound to the shadow prince"

Автор книги: Ruby Dixon

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Текущая страница: 32 (всего у книги 40 страниц)

Chapter

Seventy-Three

Igasp and turn on hands and knees, pressing my cheek to the coarse blanket and mat that make up the bedding in my cell. The voice I heard, asking if I was the princess. It’s unfamiliar to me, but they’re speaking the Lios tongue. I gaze at the tiny crack in the mortar of the rock wall, where the finger slips away again. I can’t see anything on the other side. It’s too dark. I’m reminded abruptly of Balon and his visits to the tower, the gossip he told me through the wall, and how I’d begged for him to free me.

A wave of longing hits me. It feels like a hundred years ago since those days.

“Who’s there?” I ask when the voice goes silent. I’m tempted to stick my finger through the hole to the prisoner on the other side, but what if it’s a trap? So I brush chips of mortar away from the hole, trying to widen it. “Hello?”

“I’m here.” It’s a woman, speaking softly enough that our conversation won’t be heard by the guards. “My name is Senna. I worked in the palace as a washerwoman. Are you really the princess?”

“I am,” I tell her, excitement racing through me. “It’s me. Candromeda.”

The finger appears through the rocks again, wiggling. “Give me a piece of your hair so I know it’s you.”

Oh. Hastily, I pull a few dark strands free of my messy braid and then wrap them around that wriggling fingertip. It retreats back behind the stone walls. A quiet moment passes, and I grow impatient. “Well?”

“It’s you, isn’t it? You even sound all impatient like a princess.”

Well then. “I’m not lying.”

“I know. I didn’t think it was really you until you mentioned the medicine,” the voice on the other side—Senna—says. “Riza is my friend. She told me about you and the potion you have to take daily. That you get sick if you don’t get your medicine. Why aren’t you in the tower?”

I bite back a sound of excitement when she mentions Riza’s name. I’ve missed Riza so much. I know she’s my maid, but she’s also my companion and friend and a constant person in my life…or at least she was before I entered the tower. “Where is Riza? Is she well?”

“She’s here in Darkfell,” Senna whispers. “She was sold off to a Fellian master and so I rarely get to see her anymore.”

Sold off? Like a farm animal? The idea is horrifying…but she’s alive and well at least. When I get out of this dungeon, I’ll make Nemeth free her. “What about my sister, the queen? Erynne? Is she here too?”

“Aye. She’s the slave of one of the Fellian princes.”

“Why is she a slave?” I choke, horrified. “What happened to Lios? Tell me everything!”

“She’s a slave because she’s pretty,” Senna says, her voice bitter. “When the Fellians took the city, they slaughtered the men and took the women captive. They brought us back to this place, but it’s just another tomb.”

“A tomb?”

“You’ll see.” She chuckles, as if this is all somehow funny. “So what’s the princess doing in the dungeon instead of in the tower?”

“I left the tower when there was no more food,” I confess.

“Mmm, aye. There’s no food anywhere above ground. The goddess weeps constantly, and the rain washes everything away. At least these Fellian bastards have food.” She laughs, and the sound is faintly unhinged. “Up above, we starved. Down here, there’s food but it’s a different kind of hell.”

I blanch. “Why are you down here?”

“Because I spit in my owner’s food,” Senna tells me, still laughing. “And food can’t be wasted. He had to eat it or give it to me. So he sent me down here to teach me a lesson. More fool him, I’d rather be here in the dungeon than out there. At least down here I’m safe.”

“Safe from what?”

“From the goddess’s wrath, of course. She’s not starving the Fellians. She’s got a very different punishment for them.” And Senna laughs again. “You can’t escape the eye of the goddess, even underground! She still watches!”

My skin prickles with goosebumps. Senna doesn’t sound…well. “About the goddess⁠—”

“CANDRA!”

The bellow comes from down a distant, echoing hall, but every pore in my body pricks to attention the moment I hear it. I know that voice. I jump to my feet, forgetting all about Senna on the other side of the wall, and I press my face to the bars of my cell. “Nemeth! I’m here!”

There’s a furious sound, a male roar of primal fury, and the sound of something crashing into a wall. “Where is she?”

“Nemeth!” I cry again, shaking the door of my cell even as the guard swoops through the shadows toward me. “Let me out of here! Nemeth!”

“Female,” the guard hisses as I grab the empty cup from its shelf and bang it against the metal of my door. It makes a horrifically loud sound, which delights me, and even when he snatches it out of my hand and grabs me by the front of my dress, I don’t care. Nemeth is here. He’s going to save me. “Be silent⁠—”

The shadows thicken behind my guard, and then Nemeth coalesces into the open space behind him. His eyes are wild and frantic, his teeth bared and his wings tucked tight behind him in what I recognize as a warrior stance. His nostrils flare as he spots the Fellian male that has the front of my dress and he grabs him by the knot of horns at the back of his head and drags him backward. “You don’t get to touch her!”

Oh gods. Is Nemeth going to kill one of his own kind for mistreating me? “Wait! Nemeth, don’t!”

He stops.

To my vast relief, he stops. Nemeth stares at me for a long moment, as if not believing his eyes. He pushes the Fellian in front of my cell aside, and his gaze searches over my face. “Open this.”

The guard disappears in a flood of shadows and then returns a moment later with a key.

Nemeth doesn’t move. His eyes devour me and I know he’s making a mental note of every bruise, every scrape, and adding them to a mental list. His wings look brittle with tension, and even though he’s not fidgeting, I can feel the anger brimming through him. I reach out and touch his finger even as the guard fumbles with the keys to unlock my cell. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“You are not fine. You’re in a dungeon.” Nemeth’s gaze darkens with fury. “A Darkfell dungeon.”

“A misunderstanding,” I reassure him. My indignation fades in the light of Nemeth’s fury. I don’t want him endangering himself, and I don’t know how his people will take it if he kills one of his own…because I absolutely believe that Nemeth would have killed the guard in that moment. There was something dark and unpleasant in his eyes when he saw I was in danger.

And I’m a terrible person because I like it.

I keep smiling brightly at Nemeth as the guard fumbles with the keys again. It’s too narrow for him to teleport in—or he doesn’t trust the guard while doing so—and we have to wait as the other Fellian mumbles apologies and tries to find the correct key. When the door finally opens with a creak, Nemeth all but yanks me out of its depths and into his arms.

He wraps himself around me tightly, one hand in my hair and the other on my back, and he hugs me to his chest. I cling to him, breathing in his scent, listening to the sound of his rapid, angry heartbeat. Tears threaten my eyes but I blink them back. I’ll cry over this tomorrow. When we’re settled and safe, I’ll cry. Until then, they’ll have to wait. “I’m safe,” I whisper to him. “I knew you’d come for me.”

He steps backward and cups my face in his hands, his thumb stroking my cheek. “You are injured. Was it this guard?”

“I’m fine,” I insist. “Misunderstandings are to be expected at times like this, and we can’t afford revenge. I’m just glad you’re here.” I clutch his arms, glad for his strength and his reassuring presence. “What happens now?”

“We are leaving,” he tells me in a low, furious voice.

We…are? But when he takes me by the hand and pulls me forward, away from the other cells, it seems that yes, we are in fact, leaving. “Where are we going, Nemeth?”

“Anywhere but here. I won’t let my mate be treated like this.” The bitter fury is still in his voice.

That worries me. We’ve run out of places to go, haven’t we? Lios is gone, a wasteland of mud and rain. There’s no food to be found there, just like in the tower. The Alabaster Citadel won’t have us. Isn’t Darkfell all that remains?

Before I can ask about his plan, the soldier that initially captured me—the unfamiliar Fellian—appears in a nearby alcove and immediately hops down onto the floor in front of us. Right after him, a second Fellian appears, this one tall and slender, but there’s something familiar about his face. He floats down next to the other and I get a good look at his clothing. Unlike the first Fellian, this one’s chest is covered with leather straps that braid and cross each other, holding an ornate chest plate over his heart. The designs on the chest plate look familiar, and I glance over at Nemeth.

“Brother,” he growls. “You look unwell.”

Brother?! This is the king? I stare at the taller, thinner Fellian. He has some resemblance to Nemeth, I realize upon a second look. It’s there in the set of the eyes and the stubborn jaw. This one, though, looks younger than my Nemeth. And he does look unwell, his gray skin a sickly pale shade.

“I’m recovering,” Nemeth’s brother says. “And I’m surprised to see you here. It’s true then. You left the tower? Abandoned your duty?”

“What about your duty to supply us with food?” Nemeth retorts. “We had no choice but to leave.” He steps slightly in front of me, just enough to put his bulk between me and the other two Fellians. It’s not obvious at first what he’s doing, but when they both narrow their eyes in my direction, I realize that Nemeth doesn’t trust them not to attack us.

The tall one grunts acknowledgment of Nemeth’s words. “You need to talk to the king.”

So this isn’t the king then. This is…another brother? I hold tight to Nemeth’s hand, wanting to ask a million questions, but I bite them back. There’ll be time for that later.

“I’ll speak to Ivornath but only after my wife has rested. We’re going to my quarters.”

The brother tilts his head. “Wife?” His gaze is withering as he looks me over. “You took the other Vestalin princess as your mate? Both my brothers are fools, then.” He gives an irritated shake of his wings, spreading them wide. “I will tell the king of your arrival…and your mate. He’ll find it interesting, to say the least.”

Nemeth’s hand just tightens on mine.

The two Fellians fly away, taking to the tall shadowy ceiling and disappearing into its depths. I watch as they go and it makes me wonder. Why is no one surprised or upset that we left the tower? Has something more happened?

And what did he mean by “both my brothers are fools”? What has he done with Erynne?

Chapter

Seventy-Four

Nemeth picks me up and flies me through the labyrinthine, dark tunnels of Darkfell. I’m too tired to protest, and though I know he must be exhausted, too, his wing-beats are strong and sure. I’m not entirely surprised when we continue to go up instead of through the bottom part of the city itself, and when Nemeth sets his feet down, it’s upon the ledge of one of the tallest of the homes, at the ceiling of the mountain. Beautiful embroidered banners hang outside his door, decorated in the same insignia that he wears upon his belt—the insignia of the First House of Darkfell.

The lights—the magical lamps that are so prevalent here—are on just outside his home. The double doors of metal open automatically to let us in, and then we’re inside Nemeth’s home. He sets me down gently, pressing a kiss atop my head, and then moves about the chamber, tapping lights to illuminate the inside.

And what an interior.

I’m not entirely surprised to see the massive shelf of books that immediately catches my eye. What I am surprised to see is that his home is built upward instead of outward, like human homes are. The bottom floor is a visiting area with a reception table and several backless chairs near a cold hearth. Up on the next level, I see a small dining area, and above that a workroom of some kind. I cannot see the very top of the house from my vantage point, but I assume that it’s the bedroom. Everything is neat and tidy and screams of familial wealth. The walls are hung with silken drapes that cascade from the high ceiling, and delicate mosaics cover the floor. My feet rest upon a circle of brightly colored fish, and the wall across from me looks like a depiction of the three gods, with jeweled offering bowls set in front of each visage.

Of course the bookshelves stretch all the way to the ceiling. This is Nemeth’s home, after all.

Of course there are no stairs. This place was made for winged people.

As if he can read my mind, Nemeth glides down to my side and lands with a thump. “Do not be alarmed, Candra. I will have workmen come and build stairs for you immediately.” He takes my hand in his. “Until then, you’ll be safe in my bedroom. There is a garderobe and a bathing chamber on that level as well.”

I manage a nod. Fatigue overwhelms me, and I want to ask him a dozen questions but I’m so tired that I can’t think straight. All I can do is clutch his oversized hand tightly. “You found me.”

Nemeth shakes his head, his jaw tight. He skims the back of one knuckle on my cheek. “They bruised you.”

“I’ll live.”

His throat works. “When I found the boat empty, I thought…I thought perhaps you’d fallen over. That I’d lost you for good.”

Oh. I can’t imagine how horrible it’s been for him. “I’m glad you decided to look inside the mountain.”

“I saw a scout flying and I hoped…” His voice catches, and then I’m wrapped in a tight hug again, wings and everything. “By the gods, Candra. I don’t ever want to let you out of my sight again.”

“Then don’t,” I say against his chest, breathing in his scent. “Drag me everywhere like a pet. I’ll sit on your knee and you can feed me scraps. It’ll be lovely.”

He chuckles, and I’m glad to push some of the darkness from his gaze. He strokes my tangled hair. “You need your medicine.”

“I do. And a meal.”

“They didn’t feed you?” He practically bristles.

“They did. A bit of mushrooms. I’m still hungry, though.” I gaze up at him. “The dungeons are full of Liosian women. They thought I was just another captive who’d run away. They thought I was a slave. Your people have enslaved mine, Nemeth.”

“They lost the war.”

“You mean Lionel lost the war,” I point out. “Lionel and his men. And now the women have to suffer?”

“It is the way of war⁠—”

“It’s dragon shite.” I realize I’m raising my voice and press a kiss to his chest, to the side of the insignia buckle he wears. His skin tastes like salt, like the ocean, and he probably hasn’t had a moment to rest since I disappeared. Immediately, I feel like a selfish arse. “I’m sorry. I just have a lot of feelings right now.”

“Remember that I am always on your side, Candra.” His wings flare out and he holds me tighter to his chest. “Let’s get you your medicine. I won’t have you fainting on me.”

Nemeth’s bedroom reminds me of his tower room, oddly enough. From wall to wall, it’s covered with shelves of books, scrolls and ancient jars stuffed between heavy-looking tomes. There’s a reading table with a large book spread upon it and a round, circular glass that magnifies the words underneath so one can read even the tiniest script. His rich-looking furniture is squeezed in between shelves and book-laden tables, and the sight of the scholarly clutter makes me smile.

Nemeth is less pleased, though. He makes an unhappy sound at the sight. “I’d forgotten how many books I have up here. My rooms are probably not up to a Liosian princess’s standards.”

I snort at that. “The floor doesn’t rock and I’m not being splashed with seawater, so it is automatically better than the ship. I don’t mind in the slightest.”

He fusses over me, insisting I sit on the bed, and wraps me in blankets. “I’m going to have servants bring food. Wait here.”

As if I can leave? I’m on the top floor of his house, which is against the ceiling of the hollow mountain’s insides, perched like a bird’s nest. I’m not going anywhere. But I nod, and he disappears for a long moment, drifting into shadows. When he returns, he appears a short distance away, in a circle drawn onto the mosaic floor. It’s not the first time I’ve seen that circle on the floors here in Darkfell, and I wonder about it.

“Someone will be up with a tray shortly,” he tells me, stepping off the circular platform and moving to my side. “How do you feel?”

“Better,” I admit. Nemeth’s blood is coursing through my veins, vivid in its potency, and I feel better than I have in a while. “So this is Darkfell.”

He grunts, his expression distant. “It is not the same as I left it.”

“What is?” I joke softly, thinking of my own home.

Nemeth moves to my side and takes my hand, giving it a sympathetic squeeze. “I am not making light of your homeland’s fate. It is only that…it feels off here. Strange. The halls are so deserted and everyone seems…” He pauses. “Reserved? No, that’s not right. Downtrodden, I suppose. But that makes no sense. We were the victors of the war. So why is the mood so somber?”

“Maybe a lot more went on than we know.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but a woman, a female fellian, with a longer swoop of horns and a lighter gray shade to her skin, enters the room. Nemeth is silent as the woman moves about, wearing a short tunic with a skirt not unlike Nemeth’s kilt, but made of linen instead of leather. She seems sulky, too, as if she’s displeased to be serving, and I suspect that has a lot to do with me. No one here likes humans. I can’t say I blame them, not if we started the war.

The woman sets down a tray filled with mushrooms and cheeses and a carafe of wine. She sets out a few bowls, pouring oil and a bit of spices into them, and then slices a slender loaf of crusty bread. That done, she executes a quick bow, her hands fisted over her breast as she bends at the waist, and then flits out, disappearing into the shadows.

“She didn’t look happy,” I point out, getting to my feet and approaching the tray, lured by the sight of the bread. How long has it been since I’ve had bread? No flour was sent to me in the tower because I didn’t know how to bake, so my foodstuffs were simple in nature. But by the gods, this bread is fluffy and fresh, and it smells divine. I take one fresh slice and lift it to my nose, inhaling deeply. “This shouldn’t make me nearly as happy as it does.”

He grins, dragging two of the stools away from the wall and setting them at the table. “Enjoy it. I can ask for more if we need more.”

I wave a hand at him, dismissing that. After being hungry for what feels like forever, stuffing my face with bread seems wasteful, no matter how much the idea appeals. I sit down on the stool he gives me and we eat, soaking the bread in oil and spices, and devouring the mushrooms and cheese. It’s quiet, the only sounds that of chewing.

Nemeth’s expression is distant, and I can tell he’s worried.

I nudge him with my foot. “Tell me about your home.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Do you have quarters high up because you’re important or because they want to forget you exist?” I twirl a finger, gesturing at his sumptuous apartments.

He gives me a narrow-eyed look. “Both, I imagine. My younger brother Ajaxi is quick to agree with Ivornath’s plans, no matter how strange or convoluted. I am the one that protests, and thus I am not nearly as loved by my brothers.” Nemeth’s mouth curves up in one corner and he pops a bite of cheese into his mouth. “I was never here much anyhow. I would visit a few times a year, but I lived at the Alabaster Citadel up until a few months before entering the tower.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you leave the citadel a few months before you were supposed to enter the tower?” I think of Meryliese, who never visited court to see me or Erynne. She stayed in the citadel up until the very end, only to die in a shipwreck. My conscience twinges and I wonder how she felt, trapped in one place and waiting to be trapped in yet another. We should have reached out to her more. Should have written more. Visited. Something.

Nemeth’s expression grows shuttered and he holds a piece of cheese out to me. “Family matters. Eat more. Remember you’re carrying our child.”

I know a deflection when I see one. “As if I could forget. All right, what’s that circle, then?” I point at the one that Nemeth appeared in when he teleported back. It is the same one the servant teleported in with. “Why does everyone come through there?”

He nods, as if this is an easy question. “Remember when I said that a Fellian can die if they teleport into a spot and something is in the way? The circles prevent that. They are safe spots, spelled to ensure that if someone is standing in place, no one else can come through until the circle is vacated. Each house and building in Darkfell has such a circle.”

Makes sense. I nibble on the cheese he gave me, wondering if it’d be too greedy to snag another piece of bread. There’s a tasty-looking end near his side of the table that he’s ignoring and I have a powerful lust for. “Very well. So circles are for travel. What about the red swirl? The one on so many of the doors?”

“I wasn’t looking at the doors,” he tells me.

I dip my finger in oil and take the last piece of bread, drawing the door symbol on it. It’s almost snakelike, if the snake was eating its own tail, and each one had been a bright, vivid red. “I saw that marked on several doors. Do you know what it means?”

Nemeth stares down at the bread. He picks it up…and then rips it in half and offers half to me. “I’ll have to ask when I speak with my brother.”

Hm. It’s strange that Nemeth—as learned as he is—wouldn’t know a symbol like that. But I don’t press. I’m just thrilled to be here with him, safe inside Darkfell. For once, it feels like we can stop running in search of the next meal. We can breathe. I smile at him and lick the oil off my finger, then finish off my piece of bread. “The brother that I met?”

“No. That was Ajaxi. Ivornath is king. He is the one I must speak to.”

“When?”

“As soon as possible.” He rubs his jaw.

He’s right. Best we get this taken care of as quickly as possible. One day that my sister spends in slavery is a day too many. I don’t care about our differences—she was doing what she thought was best for Lios, for our bloodline. I can disagree with her but I can’t be angry. Not after everything that’s happened. “Good idea,” I tell him, fighting back a yawn. “Let me wash up and I’ll go with you.”

“No,” Nemeth says immediately. At my surprised look, he continues in a gentler voice. “It’s better if it’s just me for now, love. You might not be as diplomatic in your thoughts as you could be.” His gaze moves to my belly. “And we have a few secrets I am not quite willing to share just yet.”

I want to argue, but Nemeth looks tired. So tired. I remind myself that while I was sitting in a dungeon, passed out on a mat, he was searching frantically for me. That he didn’t know if I was alive or dead. My heart softens. “Tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow.” He rubs his face and gives me a weary smile, reaching for my hand. “You’ll be safe here, even without me. There’s a stone carving by the teleport circle. Put that in the circle once I’m gone and no one will be able to slip in without coming through the front, and I will lock the front with a spell that will only allow myself to cross the threshold.”

Once again, I marvel at the cleverness of the spells. A stone—or any object—placed in the circle stops the teleportation and gives someone privacy. It’s genius. “So we’re all alone up here?” When he nods, I get to my feet and move toward him, tugging at the leather straps on his chest. They’re bloated with seawater and the metal buckles are tarnished, but he’s here, and he’s gorgeous…and he’s mine. “So that means if I decide I can’t go another moment without licking your knot, no one would interrupt?”

His eyes grow heated. “No one.”

Well now, that sounds lovely. “Good, because I missed you dreadfully,” I tell him, aching with the truth of it. It’s been forever since we’ve touched each other intimately. Forever since we’ve gotten to caress one another. Forever since we’ve eased the hungry ache of need.

Our bond feels like the only thing that’s constant in this shifting world. I want to touch him, and I want to be touched.

Now.