Bound to the Shadow Prince

Chapter 74

Chapter

Seventy-Four

N emeth 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.