Page 13 of Deadly Maiden (Dragons and Darkthings #1)

Wyntre

“If I could freeze this moment, I could be happy here with you, forever.” He strokes my hair. “But we need to get going and cleaned up.” His chest moves slowly, his breathing a steady, reassuring cadence. The world has at last stilled after that frantic bout of lovemaking.

Though his erection has lessened, I can feel him down there, inside me. I angle back my head to look at him and smile. “Me too.”

It’s so very true. Being held by Rorsyd, knowing he’s on my side, it has settled all of—most of—my qualms. He’s brought me serenity for the first time since…since they broke into our house. Since this catastrophe began. Catastrophe is a bad word that reaches into my head and stirs me into thinking. Will this last? I push that aside.

“I…know I should say more,” I add quietly, and I fondle his arm where it rests across me, below my breasts. “But anything I say will not be enough.”

“ Shhh .” When I look up again, he kisses me on the forehead, a gentle kiss. “We have time. I’m overwhelmed too.” He shakes his head, smiles. “The dirty thoughts I’ve had about you when I saw nothing to encourage them.”

Rorsyd heaves himself to his feet but keeps me impaled. I’m not complaining. “The river will do.”

He walks us to the riverbank and into the water, where he pulls out and lets me slip down his body to stand in the shallows. Though it’s only a few feet deep that’s enough to let me scoop up water and rinse myself.

I blush when I catch him watching me. He’s finished cleansing, and his thighs gleam with droplets and trickles of water.

“You’re blushing? Why?”

“It’s…” I indicate my lower half with a sweeping gesture. “I’m not used to you seeing me, especially like this.” I shake the water from my hands then start to turn but he catches my hand, kisses it.

“You’d better get used to me seeing you naked and newly fucked, with my come on your legs.” His irises flicker with heightened colors. “It’ll happen again, soon.”

He reels me in, turns the hand kiss into a full-on, dedicated mouth kiss with his hands cupping either side of my head. I melt. How can I not?

“Now.” He slaps my bare ass. “Let’s get walking. Blood hawks have been seen in the sky, or so they told me at that town. And we can guess who they’re looking for.”

His expression twists into grimness.

“Blood hawks?” We exit the shallows and stand on the bank dripping. No towels are in our packs so my cloak will have to do. “I know of them but where are they coming from?”

Blood hawk is a creepy name. Mentally, I chide myself. Considering my parents could reanimate the dead, I should not scorn such things.

“Those will be Queen Ruelle’s. She’s a bloodwielder.”

“That is news.” Troubling news. “I truly did not know this. The details of the Aos Sin monarchy are not discussed much in Bollingham.” Or rather, they were not when I lived there.

“Whatever a blood hawk alerts her to, Ruelle can also see, no matter where she is, if she is in its eyes when it looks. It’s why I placed us beneath a tree, last night.”

“Okay. Good thinking.”

“I should have said. In dragon form I can snap them up, burn them from the sky, but by then they might have alerted her. Down here though…no. You need a ranged form of magik.”

We can’t do anything about this new problem, except to watch for flying things, I suppose.

This has reminded me of home. I don’t know what anyone is doing in Bollingham, now, or what they’ll be doing in the future. That’s depressing. Feeling homesick when my home is gone is even worse.

At least I have Rorsyd. He’s going about packing our stuff, shaking out the cloak, which is wet and somewhat full of twiggy bits. Gods, and again I feel a pang of anxiety regarding whether he will stay with me. I’m a walking mess.

He must. I need him.

Or do I? I stiffen my resolve. I cannot be so reliant on any one person. I glance at him as I pull on my leggings. Leaving him behind, the thought of him betraying me, this event has not happened and may not ever happen—yet it already holds such terrible significance.

Because he is so awesomely nice…and he’s my lover.

Bring them close, and the stabbing hurts more.

Who was it said that? Some shit philosopher, for sure.

I sit to tug on my boots and try to smooth the lines on my forehead I know I’m showing. I’m irrevocably hooked through the heart. I think I’m in love with Rorsyd, and how can that be?

“Your cloak. Keep the hood up.”

“Thanks.” I take it then rise and find the buttons and cord that fasten it at the neck.

We settle our packs on our backs and set off down a trail that meanders alongside a small hill. Soon, it merges with a road that leads to Venin. Rorsyd’s rucksack looks reinforced, double stitched, and made of tougher material than is normal. It must be heavy with gold coin, but he shows no sign of being bothered. The sun is not high yet.

No signs of anything skyward? I see nothing except the usual birds.

“I’m guessing we have four hours to midday?”

Rorsyd has been quiet. He nods. “About that. Hunder tends to get up late, but he should be open for business by then. If not, we pound on his door. Wyntre, if we get separated, find your way to Hunder Rekson.”

The only way we would be separated would be due to an ambush or similar. It’s an obvious warning. “I hope the horses find their way to someone nice to them.”

“Yes. Brinks was a good horse.”

From the state of it, the road is maintained by some degree of magik—perfectly levelled and lacking potholes, surfaced with good stone and gravel. Purple-and-red robins and green sparrows flit by, chirping. Dappled shadows drape across the road. When we can keep to them, the trees shield us from whatever else might fly overhead.

Again, I angle my neck, peering upward. “No blood hawks.”

“No.”

Around us, the trees thin and a fence appears to one side. Another half an hour of walking and the road slopes downward. In the distance are hints of the town of Venin—a smokiness about the sky, a busy crossroads ahead, then a small caravan of carts and riders passes. None of them seem interested in us, or not beyond the normal.

I ease the straps on my pack, swing it to the ground, and stop for a drink of water. “You said we could talk about where to go.”

“Where to go will depend on where it is safe for you,” he muses. “Unless you have reasons to be elsewhere? If you want to remain near your foster-father?—”

“My father,” I assert.

“Yes.”

I let out a sigh. “I wish I could, but I know I can’t.”

“Things may change with time. However, King Madlin and Queen Ruelle rule Zardrake and Orencia, and that is unlikely to change.”

“Orencia might be safer? It was ruled by the Chained King, up until the last war. Slaedorth is there.”

“You think you could live there without being detected?” He glances at me.

“There are still rebels?—”

He shakes his head. “No. That life is violent and often short. I’ve heard stories. There is a Church of the Usurper associated with the rebels, and those are extremists. They even encourage self-sacrifice if it may advance their cause—freeing their king.”

I blink at that. “Self-sacrifice? You mean killing yourself?”

He nods, takes the canteen from me, gives me a kind look and a squeeze of my shoulder.

“The world is bigger and weirder than I knew.”

“Indeed, it is. People get oddly zealous when it comes to who they think should govern them. The war left a lot of wounds that have not healed.” He gulps down some water. We grab our packs and start walking. “Your best choices are Frenland, over the Hogback Mountains to the east. Or west across Fathomless Sea to Wenway. Or?—”

“Vancourter is in Wenway.” When Rorsyd looks puzzled, I continue. “I was told of someone in Vancourter who might be able to teach me…about necromancy. Landos knew of her. A woman called Saphora.”

“I see.”

“Nothing more than I see ? You don’t like that because necromancy is evil?”

“No. I agreed with you. It isn’t necessarily evil.”

Chastened, I nod.

“But others will still see it that way. If you become known for acts of necromancy it will close doors, turn some against you automatically. It will also strengthen you and add possibilities, other pathways. Do you want power or infamy? The powerless are more easily ruined and manipulated. I do not know which is best for you.”

“I don’t want power. I want a peaceful happy life.” With him? Yes. I’m getting way ahead of myself here.

Then he swings around and takes me by the shoulders, hugs me, hard, rucksack and all, until I gasp and frantically pat his back.

“Less squeezing!”

“Tsk! Soft girl.” He releases me, ruffling my hair so I have to reposition the hood. “You cannot imagine how much your words said. This is why I want to eat you all up.”

I crack a rueful grin. “Only eat?”

He snorts. “Fucking you against a tree is too public here. Do not give me ideas. However…” He looks about then crowds me. He works his hand down the front of my leggings while holding my chin with finger and thumb and kissing me. I know what he’s doing, and I stay there being kissed while he pushes his hand between my legs.

He inserts a finger, then squeezes in another as he methodically fucks me with them…four, whole, world-shaking thrusts that almost jerk me off my feet and make me gasp into his mouth. Though trees surround us, we stand in the middle of the road. As he slowly withdraws his fingers, I clench on him, and my eyes are closed. Two fingers are pressed to the seam of my lips. I open my eyes then my mouth, and I let them in.

When he backs away merrily sucking on those fingers, while eye-locked with me, I am amazed at how shaky he has made me. I’d happily fall to my knees and suck on him if asked. But…we regroup, rearrange clothes, smile at each other and continue onward. I’m breathless and giddy.

We do seem to agree on what is best in life—not what I’d expect from a powerful dragonshifter— and the way he handles me is…just… I recall how he boldly inserted his fingers and feel myself get wetter.

I cannot stop peeking at him. I will be jumping on him once we find somewhere with a bed. If he doesn’t jump me first. Gah. Many filthy thoughts swim in and stick around, distracting me.

Life and death, remember. Nothing is resolved.

We amble onward, and pass the crossroads, and I keep my hair well covered. I have more questions begging for answers, but I wait until no one else is nearby.

“So, am I wrong in this? You don’t precisely know why the king, and I guess the queen too, wants me arrested? Except that it must concern my necromancy. You think it’s that but what if, maybe, they just want to get into Slaedorth Fortress?”

“That is possible. Who knows what that place contains. An army of the undead would not be controllable by them, or not without a necromancer helping, but there may be other weapons? No one has succeeded in entering the gates for these past twenty years.”

“Huh.” The road crunches underfoot. I glance at Rorsyd’s bare feet. He seems fine, and I move on to what I wanted to say because I need to know more.

To trust him absolutely is a whole other matter than fucking. No matter how glorious a fuck that was. My body tingles.

Stick to the question.

“What are you thinking? You look concerned?” He reaches for my hand and holds it as we walk, smoothing his thumb over the back of my hand. Happiness is this dragonshifter comforting me.

I move in and bump my shoulder into him, bringing our arms closer.

For a while we walk like that, content in each other’s company.

“What am I thinking? This. Your vow is a very personal thing that you kept for twenty years. A very strong thing to do. Why? Just because my parents were at that battle, it doesn’t seem enough. I need to ask this. Sorry, but did you know someone they killed?”

His sigh is loud, and he scowls at me but in a worried way. He plays with my fingers.

“I should’ve said this before. There was someone. Is it that obvious? Where did you get your brains from, girl? Please don’t say from some fae at the graveyard.”

I snort at that then miss a step due to doubling over laughing.

“Sorry. I should not laugh.” I make my expression more serious. “Go on.”

“It’s okay. I made the joke. Very well.” He exhales loudly. “My friend Orish was killed by your parents. He was also a dragonshifter, and he died in flight.”

Orish! The battle was named after his friend ?

I’ve stopped walking, but Rorsyd maintains his grip on my hand. He brings it high and presses his mouth to my knuckles. “Forgive me for that omission, and I will forgive you for…for simply being the easy target of my wrath.”

I make an O with my mouth. “I’m at a loss. I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry, so sorry, but… How?”

“How did they kill a mighty dragonshifter in dragon form? I call them darkthings. Black creatures of death. This…” Now he releases my hand, gestures widely. “They sent this swarm of little flying darkthings at him, and they ate him from within, burrowed into his mouth, burst out his skin. He fell to earth. He’s still there, where he fell.” His mouth is a straight line, old grief clearly gripping him.

That description is horrifying. Now I can understand his stance on evil and his vow.

“It was a long time ago.” He shrugs then he goes to one knee, takes my hand again, holding it in both of his. It’s as if he is begging my forgiveness, but really, I’m not certain who should be forgiving whom.

I think it through. Darkthings. Anathema. Could it be the same? Perhaps, but I’m not sure. If he saw Anathema, what would he think?

“Again, I am so very sorry, Rorsyd. I wish this were not so.”

“Same here.” He smiles wanly. “Twenty years have passed, but I still recall his death as if it were today’s death.”

“Come here.” I tug, and when he rises, I walk into his arms as he opens them. I rest my cheek against his chest, listening to the slow beat of his heart. “Together, we are better than this. We can heal. Or I hope I can heal you.”

Those words twist and strike home in a way I never intended. I did try to heal him. What if… What if, what I did was what helped him to shift? No. Wait. I did that healing after he shifted, not before.

But will I tell him I poked around and knitted dead matter inside him and healed him without asking? Could I have asked permission? No. Is healing someone evil? No.

If he can make vows, then so can I. I will tell him when we are more…established.

I’m afraid to say it here and now. I don’t want to tell him everything, though I was the one who wanted to know more. This budding relationship of ours, me and this dragonshifter, it is so new, so fragile. So amazing, that I don’t want to risk it without thinking some more.

I can wait and say it all later.

Except maybe not Anathema. Darkthings. How can I find out what those are? Saphora could know about them? I will tread carefully and consider this situation. Blurting it out now feels stupid, even dangerous.

And then there is the other piece of history from that battle. A dragonshifter killed my parents.

I will tell him when I dredge up the courage to ask if he killed my parents.

Because I think he may have.

If it were myself who lost a great friend, how would I avenge them? I can see why one might kill the killers, but understanding is not an emotion. Also, if he did, he hasn’t told me this.

Who would? Who would confess to such a thing?

Again, I’m afraid to ask. What would it do to me , knowing that? Could I forgive him?

I trust him. I do.

I stop dead.

“There is a letter I want you to read. From my parents. Landos sent it to me. It’s in my pack.”

“Okay. I appreciate this. It must have a lot of significance to you?”

This is the only thing I have of theirs, apart from that will. I doubt a fortress counts. “Yes. Not knowing them is…like I have a hole here.” I touch my chest. “One I can never fill.”

Rorsyd nods. “We should wait until we have a private room. Another fifteen minutes and we can be in the town and find an inn.”

“Sure.”

A dark dot spiraling in from above makes us look up. It’s not a blood hawk—those are red. A raven swoops and lands on the road, totters on its feet.

“It’s that raven.” Goggle-eyed, I advance slowly with my hand out.

It flaps and launches to land on my palm. Whereupon it promptly falls apart. The raven disintegrates into a little storm of feathers and dust, revealing an ampoule like the one bought at the graveyard by Father, and a round, gold-plated object that sits flat on my hand. It’s a third the size of my palm. It could be a pocket watch. The objects wobble then lie still.

A gust sweeps in and the feathers are whisked away, blowing down the road.

“Curious.” Rorsyd says.

“An understatement. My eyebrows are still somewhere up above in the sky.”

He leans in slightly and points. “That says Slaedorth. There. This seems to be a compass.”

“Does it?” I tilt my head, angle my hand.

The top is a flattish glass dome that protects a painted dial. A red-enameled needle swings as we stare, ending its journey by pointing back along the road in the direction we came from. Delicately, I touch the glass then lever the golden edge with my fingernail, to see if the dome opens. It does not. Though it’s overly fancy, I decipher the engraving. SLAEDORTH.

“Except it doesn’t point north, it points to my family…fortress?”

I pick up the ampoule, which is made of a more greenish glass than Landos’. Inside is the faintest smudge of gheist, the energy that can power a gun. Though the amount is miniscule, my system recognizes the subterranean dark buzz from before, from the day the enforcers came. There is no cork in this ampoule, instead a fuzz of fine gold wires sprouts from a glass plug, sticking out a short distance while inside they wind all the way to the bottom where that oily white sludge resides.

“I think this powered the raven? Though almost nothing is left of it. It’s called gheist, and is a form of etharum.”

“Necromancy then. Of course it must be. The raven was undead.” His mouth is pressed thin, and I cannot help but wonder if he is condemning me for knowing that. Grievances die hard.

Harder than the raven. I stare at the last feathers the breeze is flipping down the road.