Page 7

Chapter Seven

TANYL

C rispin was late, the impudent fuck.

Anger seethed under my skin as I waited on my throne with the first rays of dawn painting orange stripes on the Great Hall’s marble floor. Pillars as thick as tree trunks supported the soaring ceiling, which one of my ancestors had ordered his carpenters to “build as lofty as our devotion to Perun and his wives.” As a result, subsequent generations had spent a fortune patching it so it didn’t collapse and kill everyone.

The gleaming white marble was pretty, though, I’d give my ancestor that. But the Hall’s most dazzling feature was its floor. The rivers of the Spring Court and Vetra spread over it, the Perun and its tributaries flowing across the stone as they did the land. Unlike the real thing, they weren’t crawling with bloodsucking monsters.

I thumped my head against the back of the throne, the muffled sound echoing around the cavernous, empty space.

Father Aegor’s voice floated from the castle’s temple as he chanted Eura. Every few minutes, a mix of male and female voices lifted in response.

Sylvie’s was a husky thread woven among them. Like a good queen, she always joined the court in the main temple for dawn prayers. My cock twitched at the memory of her furious, glittering gaze. She’d been so wet and so angry, riding my fingers and then slipping from bed to whisper Zadia’s prayers into the night.

Yea fucking Perun.

Footsteps rang out, and Crispin appeared at the end of the Hall.

“Your Grace,” he called, striding up the blue marble Perun that flowed to the throne. He stopped at the base of the low, shallow steps and bowed. “Forgive me, sire, I was at prayer.”

I leaned an elbow on the throne’s arm. “Did the godswell catch fire?”

Crispin straightened, his stupid sword glinting in the sun. His smile didn’t quite reach his blue-green eyes. “I wished to join our queen in her devotions.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

A muscle jumped in his smooth jaw. Then a determined expression entered his eyes. “I love my sister, and I know you do too. I worried about the two of you making a match. I’ve never told you this, but I fought my father when he suggested substituting Sylvie for Mairwen. I tried to persuade him to let Sylvie take her vows.”

It was old news. My spies had dredged that particular nugget of information from the shores of the Silver Sea hours after it happened. Crispin was varnishing the truth. He hadn’t tried to persuade his sire. Father and son had engaged in a screaming match that nearly ended in a brawl.

“I worried for Sylvie’s state of mind,” Crispin said now. “She spent a decade on the Isle of the Gods, and she knew little of men. I couldn’t bear to think of her thrust into your court.”

And your bed. The unspoken words hung in the air. I let them, my weight on my elbow as the silence lengthened.

The muscle in Crispin’s jaw flexed again. Then he braced one boot on the bottom step. “As I said, Your Grace, I love my sister. She deserves better than a life spent hiding from monsters.”

I flicked my gaze to his foot. Slowly, he looked down. Just as slowly, he withdrew his foot. When our eyes met again, I allowed a smile to touch my lips.

“Am I the monster in this scenario?”

Irritation flitted across his face. “I speak of the Scarrok.”

“Ah.” I waved a hand. “Just making sure. It’s important to be certain when dealing with members of my Council. I always want us to be on the same page. That way, there are no surprises.”

He didn’t bother pretending to misunderstand. “I reached out to the Citadel for all of us, Tanyl. For you as well as Sylvie.” He braced a hand on his sword hilt. “Your father, Perun rest his soul, gave up. He let the Scarrok overrun us. You’ve fought his legacy since the day you became king, but you can’t do it alone.”

“So you admit you acted in isolation,” I snapped. As he opened his mouth—undoubtedly to protest—I stood and descended the steps. He squawked as I gripped his arm and shuffled him away from the throne, not stopping until I shoved him against the wall next to a darkened alcove.

Power built in his eyes, but he stayed docile under my grip.

“You acted like a sovereign,” I said, “reaching across the Covenant to summon aid when you had zero authority to do so.”

The sigils around his neck began to glow, and the anger in his voice matched mine. “I left my estate to serve you, Tanyl. You were young when you inherited the throne. I offer my experience.”

“And your opinions,” I growled. “Interesting how they always serve your interests, Crispin. Your lust for power clouds your judgment. If I were you, I’d take great care to ensure your lust doesn’t extend to my throne.”

Defiance flashed in his eyes. “My line ruled the Silver Sea centuries before our people raised the Covenant. I don’t need your crown. My lands and coffers rival yours. I sacrifice my people’s security and prosperity to live at court, and I do it because I believe you’re a good king. But you cannot fight this battle alone. The Rivven are noble and pure of heart?—”

My crack of laughter bounced off the marble behind him. “You’ve read too many bedtime stories, my lord.”

“You spent a year with them,” he said, his gaze searching mine. “You know how brutal they are. How can you dismiss them?”

I eased back, letting my hand fall from his shoulder. “I don’t dismiss them.”

Crispin straightened from the wall, and he kept his gaze on my face as he tugged his jacket down and smoothed his hair. “If you acknowledge the Rivvens’ strength, why not welcome their help? No one has more experience fighting the Scarrok. They devote their whole lives to ridding both Spring and Vetra of the scourge.”

“Well, they haven’t managed it yet.”

Crispin studied me. Then he seemed to arrive at some internal conclusion. “I’ve researched the Rivven. Sir Briar Finthir has the most magic of any halfling in the Citadel.”

Gray eyes and an earnest expression surfaced in my mind. I shoved them down.

“He’s also half human,” I said. “If you didn’t notice in the courtyard last night, his sigils are faint enough to rub away with a good scrubbing.” I shook my head. “Sorry to disappoint, Crispin, but Sir Briar isn’t the savior you imagine. He’s a priest with enough power to keep the Scarrok from dragging humans into the rivers and ripping them apart. That’s all.”

Crispin absorbed this with a shrewd expression. “My sources say he’s well-liked at the Citadel. The Rivven respect him. And he’s humble. No land, no inheritance. No ambitions beyond his faith.”

I lifted my brows. “Stop selling him, Lord Crispin, I’ll become enamored.”

Anger and exasperation shone in Crispin’s eyes. “My point is, he’s exactly what a warrior-priest is supposed to be. What the Rivven claim to be when they wave their banners and don their pretty surcoats. By all accounts, Sir Briar Finthir is a true follower of Perun devoted to serving his god, not himself. Who better to help us than a penniless, landless priest with no ambition?”

“Careful, my lord. Your flattery will go to my head.”

Crispin and I turned as Briar strode into the Great Hall. He wore another thick gambeson, but mail peeked from underneath. His boots were polished, and leather trousers hugged his hips and wrapped lovingly around his thick thighs. Morning sunlight kissed his skin and put reddish highlights in his dark hair as he walked a straight path, crossing the Perun and its goddess tributaries. When he reached us, the faint scents of beeswax and riverthistle touched my nostrils. He’d probably prayed alone in his chamber, his lashes thick on his cheeks and his nape bared to Perun.

Crispin recovered quickly, bowing and then looking Briar in the eye. “I can’t speak for the king, Sir Briar, but I speak for the Council when I say we’re grateful to you making the long journey from Mistport in our time of need.”

Reluctant amusement drifted through me. As a young man, I’d crossed the mountains and visited the Summer Court. My father had called it “diplomacy” and bade me meet the sun lords so I could negotiate trade deals on Spring’s behalf. I’d taken most of my meetings in the Summer Court’s many brothels, gobbling debauchery and plates of figs. Every whorehouse in Saldu Kuum employed a snake charmer who played a lute and drew serpents from a basket. Propped on silk pillows with a hot mouth around my cock, I’d never been able to decide which was the true charmer: the snake, the musician, or the man the musician paid to pick the audience’s pockets.

Crispin was all three. He sang a honeyed tune while he mesmerized and cajoled—and all the while, he quietly pillaged his listener’s pockets.

But Briar was clearly unreceptive to his charm. His face stayed an expressionless mask, and he made no reply as he stared at Sylvie’s brother.

I turned to Crispin. “I’m afraid the Rivven don’t sew pockets into their clothes, my lord. It gives enemies a place to grip in battle.”

Crispin gave me a long look. Then he inclined his head. “You know them better than most, Your Grace. If you say it’s true, it must be so.” He offered Briar another bow. “Good day, Sir Briar.”

“My lord,” Briar rumbled.

With another bow in my direction, Crispin left. Briar watched him go, his mask replaced with faint dislike. Sunlight slanted over his face in profile. He’d scraped the beard from his high cheekbones, revealing more of the elegant bone structure that marked him as half-elven. His thick lashes curled at the ends, which might have made him too pretty if not for the hard slash of his jaw. The hair at his nape was damp. He’d probably rinsed the beard clippings from his face and then run the towel over his head.

As if he sensed my stare, he looked at me. When I didn’t bother hiding my admiration, pink dusted his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

I tipped my head toward the doors Crispin had swept through. “My brother-in-law. He’s a cunt.”

Briar held my stare for a moment. “I thought he was the head of your Council.”

“That too. Unfortunately, it’s a job best-suited to cunts.”

A beat of silence passed, then Briar looked past me, his slate-colored eyes falling on my throne atop its wide marble steps. He continued his exploration, turning and letting his gaze wander the wide swaths of blue marble set within the white floor.

“The Perun, of course,” I said, “and his many holy wives.”

Briar’s mouth tightened with the faintest displeasure, but he didn’t scold me as he followed the Perun’s path across the Hall. “The Covenant is missing,” he said, his eyes resting on Vetra in the distance.

I stepped to his side, and we stood shoulder to shoulder as we stared at the rivers. “That was intentional. Storm’s Hollow is almost as old as the Covenant. The king who built it lived through the human uprising and the creation of Ishulum. Scholars say he believed the humans would have a change of heart and invite the elves back into their lands. So he built this place to show the two kingdoms united, with nothing keeping them apart.”

Briar was quiet for a moment as he stared at the rivers. “They’re still united in a way.” At last, he looked at me. “Elves and humans share the Scarrok. Death stalks us both. The curse unites us.”

Beeswax and riverthistle flowed into my lungs. Underneath it all, the faintest hint of salt beckoned.

“Is that why you came here?” I asked. “To break a curse?”

He drew a breath, the soft inhalation something I would have missed if I hadn’t been standing so close. “I came to help. I…want to help you. If I can.”

I looked at his mouth—the pink bottom lip as pretty as his big gray eyes and curling lashes. “You want to help me,” I murmured, and this time, his indrawn breath was quick and shaky.

“With the Scarrok,” he said.

I took my time meeting his eyes. The rising sun sparkled behind him, limning his curls and highlighting the flush spreading down his neck.

“Of course,” I murmured.

Briar closed his eyes, a little frown forming between his dark brows like he struggled with some deep, innate pain. When he opened them, the pain mixed with longing. “I won’t be forsworn, Tanyl. Not again.”

I stepped into him, the knuckles of my left hand grazing his groin. “And yet you got on a horse and rode all the way to my kingdom.” As he breathed above me, I brushed past him and headed for the doors. “We should make our way to the river, Sir Briar,” I said without slowing. “I’m eager to see this new technique of yours for defeating Scarrok.”