26
The hallways were cool, and the chill had Valine’s nipples standing at points as she sought out her clandestine meeting. At midnight, she was to ascertain information within the Lunar Meadow, a stretch of lush grass interspersed with white flowers strewn like stars below a sacred view of the triad of moons glowing high above. The meadow was false, tended by mages to allow its continued prosperity and vitality, located upon one of the many towers where a minaret should have surely gone. Instead of the religious tower, the flowers and sky-filled arcade took up its residence.
Valine was still in her flimsy crimson gown, and the night air brushed her as she crossed to a shadowy alcove, courtesy of the veritable wall of arches crowning the space. There, she waited with a ruby-encrusted dagger strapped to her thigh and a vial of silvered viper venom tucked into her hair. In the darkness, she summoned her necromancy, unwinding the magic from her core and threading it through her fingers and across her black-painted nails.
She had gone out on a limb, employing a servant she hadn’t known where their loyalty lay, but she guessed by the treatment of the ones around them that it was likely they weren’t content with the cards they’d been dealt. The fact that she’d slipped the man a gem probably hadn’t hurt her odds. Even so, she wasn’t one to risk unnecessarily. Which was why she continued to pull her necromancy to the surface.
It was only minutes later when the servant who’d been attending her scurried into the moonlight, a harried look on his face as he cast frequent glances about. He was in his early thirties with a head of dark hair that had the beginnings of silver at his temples and a soft build from lack of exercise but plenty of standing. There, he stood in the center of the light. In the very middle of the grass, and unseeing of her in the dark. When she stepped out, he startled.
“If I promised you immunity from any fallout, would you believe me?” Valine began, walking out of the dark, and she imagined just what she looked like. Blood and smoke, and night and stars. She was mysterious with her dark, long-lashed eyes, and she was seductive in her provocative dress. But more so, she was dangerous in so many forms, and it became more and more evident as the curiosity in his eyes slowly seeped into fear. She could see the instinctive part in his brain telling him this was a predator, despite the way other parts of his brain were warring with such a fact.
“That depends on why it would happen,” he answered, clearing his throat of the gruffness that belied his anxiety.
“That’s fair. How about I start somewhere else.” She paused, bringing up her non-tangible smoke-wreathed hand by her face, examining the lethal magic. “How are servants treated in Talloh?”
He swallowed once. Twice. “We…we are paid.”
“All of you?”
“No.”
She cocked a brow. “Paid, credited, or indentured?”
“We are glorified slaves,” he admitted. “We are given pennies while they eat the finest foods, sip the most expensive wines, and sit on the most luxurious velvet while wearing the softest of silk.”
“I have seen that. And mages?”
“Pardon?” He seemed taken aback.
“Mages, magic users, wielders, the like. How do they fair?”
Sweat began to bead on the man’s brow, and Valine had a realization.
“You are a magic user.”
He inhaled sharply, animal panic alighting in his eyes. “No, no, I am a lowly servant. I—I am nothing.”
She advanced; he stumbled back. She continued; he went defensive. His nostrils flared, and his gray eyes turned steely as his jaw tightened. She could practically hear the teeth grinding behind his thinned mouth.
It was then she sensed the change in the air. It was charged. A soft cracking sound permeating the night as she felt the hair on her head lift, and a buzzing overtake her skin. Valine didn’t think, she just acted. Lashing out with her necromancy, and anchoring the servant to her, she created a tether in the blink of an eye, and squeezed. He gasped, and staggered. Clutching his chest, he looked at her in abject horror.
“You are a fulgurmancer,” she announced, poorly restrained fear widening her eyes at the lightning and storm mage. Had she not been prepared, the servant could have killed her in a flash, and it would be coined an unfortunate, tragic accident.
She would’ve been dead in a red dress beneath three moons in a false garden.
“What did you do to me?” he choked, opening the buttons on his shirt to search his bare chest. Nothing was there but a sparse scattering of hair.
“I created a tether, and it will remain there for the duration of this conversation. Should you threaten to bring down the heavens on me, your living will allow my survival. For now, you cannot kill me, and I forewarn you now not to attempt again in the future.”
“You’re a necromancer.”
“Yes, now that these pleasantries are out of the way, what can I call you? Servant is demeaning, fulgurmancer is so indifferent, and Gifted-One-of-Barak-and-Styrmir is a bit of a mouthful, don’t you think?
“Hanish,” he introduced curtly with a lowering of his black brows.
“Lovely to make your acquaintance,” she said placidly as she twisted her fingers. She crossed her index and middle and then touched her littlest finger to her thumb, securely knotting the tether, and lowered her hand. “I’m Valine.”
He scowled; this was information he already knew.
“So, I’m assuming from the hidden nature of your magic that mages are not well revered here.”
“No,” he bit out, practically spitting. “Unless you are a stellaemancer, you are forced into servitude without pay. They justify this slavery by telling them that the Stygian Ones have blessed them with these gifts to better serve the gods and the rulers. You saw all the mages on the front line. The four elemental types along the mountain pass and vitamancers there to heal the wounds they may sustain. Fulgurmancers guard from the minarets, warding off sand serpents and striking down fleeing prisoners, as well as anyone else that manages to get across the Sands. Luxmancers keep the palace lighted like an eternal sun when the whim takes the king. Umbramancers give the gardens shade or are forced to discipline misbehaving servants and prisoners by shrouding them in darkness so thick and impenetrable to drive them near to insanity. Hydromancers and aethermancers are forced to cool the palace, draining their magic for twelve hours until they collapse from exhaustion. All so the king and queen can wear their heavy fashions and protect their bloody white skin.”
Valine had seen this, and it was what had tipped her off to the poor care of the people. The swaying on the feet, the empty eyes. And while the breeze was nice, it was not required for all time all days. Continuous use of this magic would surely kill the mages. Didn’t the king know this? She asked just that.
“Of course, but they don’t care. They just outsource more mages from beyond the Sands as far as Luneth and Runell.”
Valine stiffened at that. People with magic in Runell kept their mouths shut because the Old Faith deemed magic a sin, and it could be punished to the greatest degree. She knew that Runell hid its depravity below a sheen of grace and traditionalism. The beautiful structures and lace-like towers built on blood and bones. But to know they were knowingly and willingly sending mages to their death for cool air in Talloh…was reprehensible.
“And the rest of the mages? The clairvoyants, empaths, telepaths, and vision wielders?”
Of all the mind mages, vision wielders—or psychomancers—were the rarest, able to alter all perception to those around them with varying degrees of effectiveness and potency.
“The mind mages are kept in camps for ‘safety’. Their abilities are deemed too dangerous to the public to be unsanctioned and unsupervised.” Hanish snorted. “They pose a threat to their rule and the actual will of the gods—should they truly exist.”
“And the last ones?” What she and Freyja were.
Hanish’s light eyes were like stone as they met her dark depths. “They are killed on sight and without hesitation.”
Valine’s nostrils flared as she breathed sharply.
“I don’t imagine you’re threatening to turn me over?” she asked, tightening the tether—not enough to hurt, but enough for him to notice.
“Not if we can make a deal.”
“I’m listening.”
It was there, on a faux rooftop garden, that Hanish and Valine laid out the agreement and the plan. Valine would help Hanish and his wife and children escape the oppression of mages in Talloh—his second daughter was already showing signs of inheriting his lightning—while he would feed her intel and gossip the other servants passed along. She hammered in the stipulation that she was not to be named nor revealed to secure the information and that her necromancy be kept secret. She warned should anyone discover her identity from his mouth, she would kill him. They both agreed and went their separate ways, with Valine carefully untying and removing the tether from Hanish’s person after leaving him with two directives.
Valine, evasive of guards, and light on her feet, followed the necromantic tether she’d made earlier, letting it pull her along in the maze of corridors. As she realized exactly where she was, she donned a new guise. One of drunkenness, as she staggered around the corner. She found herself facing four guards, standing armed to the teeth before the King of Talloh’s golden arched doors.
“My apologies!” Valine slurred, stumbling in her heels. “I left my rooms for some air—I think…I think I had too much wine—and I must have gotten turned around, and now I am so lost.” She turned heavy-lidded, glossy eyes on a guard a few years younger than her—likely the newest recruit. “Would you be so kind as to tell me where I am? Or perhaps guide me back?”
“Sure,” he agreed, his voice rough but in a forced way. “It would be my pleasure to guide you back. Do you perchance know which room in the Vesper Wing is yours?”
“It’s—”
A shriek filled the air, and Valine startled at the sound. Immediately, her gaze flew to that grand door and the crown and moons embossed on the top of the lintel. She understood exactly what kind of outburst she’d just heard and ducked her head to hide her grin. Faking embarrassment. “Oh, dear me, I really am in the wrong place. And to think I could have stumbled in on someone!”
Pretending to fall against the wall, she twisted her fingers and undid the tether, letting the black, smoky magic spiral out from under the door, and back into her person. The guard seemed very concerned, and stepped away from his post, and held her elbow as she babbled nonsense and thanks.
Obediently, she followed the guard and played up her intoxication as he “saved” her from falling with a quick steadying of her shoulders—very politely, she may add. As he guided her to the peacock room, she thanked him in the hallway and made her way back to her rooms. Behind the door, she sagged against it. With her head against the wood, she slipped off the heels, casting them aside while she sighed.
“Who was the lucky soul who had you all alone dressed like that?”
Valine started at the voice, eyes zeroing in on Malik who was lounging on one of her armchairs, facing the door with a whiskey in hand. His shirt was unbuttoned scandalously low now, and his hair tousled as if he’d been running his hands through it. He was backlighted by the moons, and Valine’s heart flip-flopped at the stunning image he cut. His feet were planted, knees wide, and his arms relaxed on the chair’s edge. The drink dangled carelessly from his fingertips.
“Hanish, a servant hiding his fulgurmancery. We struck a deal. And a guard who was so chivalrous to guide a lost, drunken maiden back to her room.”
“Really?” He seemed impressed. “Not even a day has passed.”
“I’m good at what I do.” She shrugged.
“Yes, I can see that.”
His gold-blue gaze turned hot, and he licked his lips. She had the overwhelming urge to bite his lip, to kiss him, and the space between her legs throbbed as she took him in. Watching him tilt his head, toying the glass with long fingers, had filthy thoughts racing through her. She composed herself to the best of her ability and crossed the room, standing before him with heavy, dark eyes. Keeping his gaze pinned with hers, she reached for his glass. He let her take it, and she took a small sip.
“Just in case,” she whispered past the burn.
“Your commitment is invaluable.”
“Thank you.”
“So, your meeting with Hanish, how did it go?” the king asked placidly as she returned his drink.
“Well, he nearly brought Barak’s wrath down upon me, but after I tethered him, he seemed to come to his senses, and we vowed to help each other out.”
“I’ll kill him,” Malik declared evenly. Despite his tone being so careful and guarded, the stiffness that bled through him and the anger a conflagration behind his eyes, belied the truth.
“That’s not necessary. He’ll be our in if we can get him out.”
There was a question on Malik’s face, so Valine filled him in on the treatment of the mages and the supremacy in Talloh, adding that she had promised to help Hanish and his family flee the forced subjugation.
It was ludicrous that the Mayar family had come to power, and even more mind-boggling was the fact that they were holding onto it. Their ancestors had arrived by sea from a strange continent, fleeing unknown peril or punishment, and had declared Talloh sacred, gods-blessed land. Within three years—their self-professed sacred number—they had conquered the land, ruling one of the most northern kingdoms of Enneive for more than three centuries. How they battled or won over the people were lost to texts and word, the winners having written the history as they perceived it—or wanted it believed. Still, Valine wondered, because the Mayars were some of the only fair-skinned people from the mysterious land north actually living in Talloh, it wouldn’t have been overtly difficult for the native people of the first Talloh to rise up and crush them. So, the question was, why didn’t they?
“They won’t be able to leave with us, but I’ll arrange it,” Malik finally told her after she explained the full case of her meeting with Hanish. “Is there anything else you learned?”
“Perhaps.”
Valine hid her smile as she slid away, digging through a chest of drawers. Offering the king an excellent view of her backside as she let him see the back of her gown and how it exposed the entirety of her spine and the dimples in the small of her back. Valine felt the heat of his gaze and sensed it warmer as he moved toward her, the soft pad of his footfalls alerting her. There was a light clink as he set his drink down on a passing table. She shifted her beaming smile into a sly smirk as she set her sleep clothes atop the dresser and turned to face the King of Adraali.
He was before her. Tall and imposing, and utterly intoxicating her. His scent was all heady tobacco and black orchid, the spice of cinnamon enhancing the aura of him. They stayed locked like that for a moment. Her breathing him in, him taking her in from her parted ruby lips, to peaked nipples, down her shapely legs, and surely to the liquid desire aching in her center. Malik’s eyes flickered to the small pile of ivory silk she’d deposited atop the mahogany, and he reached for her—past her.
She held her breath as he plucked up the small pieces of fabric, holding them out for his own personal perusal. The ivory silk was a skimpy pair of shorts, lace-edged, and a short-sleeved blouse with mother-of-pearl buttons—this, too, scandalously short on its hem.
“May I?” he asked, extending the pieces towards her.
She didn’t think she could manage words in that moment. She just nodded.
Malik went down on a knee and looked up at her from underneath a lock of black hair. She thought that she would come undone right then and there. The potent look in his eyes held a promise as he slowly reached for her ankle. Propping her foot on his knee, he skimmed his fingers delicately on her calf.
“You were saying?” he asked politely as his fingers made circles on her ankle—it had her thinking very not polite things.
“The king is having an affair,” she managed, her voice breathy.
“Is he now?” Malik inquired as he threaded her foot through the leg hole of the shorts.
“Mmhmm,” she confirmed, quite distractedly as he set her right foot down and exchanged it for the left, doing the same thing.
“Interesting.”
His fingers were doing interesting things all over her legs. She fought back a moan as he slowly began lifting her shorts up her legs, beneath her lusty dress, featherlight on her knees, before he reached her thighs. He watched her breaths quicken, and surely, he knew how slick her core was with desire. His fingers were so tantalizingly close, and she felt the lack of his presence there like a physical ache, her empty center begging for him to fill it. Those fingertips turned to palms as he dragged the silk over her ass, thumbs grazing the crease of her thighs. The silk immediately soaked as he settled the shorts into place. His fingers were tucked into the waistband, pausing before pulling away and standing in front of her once again.
She swore she wore imprints of his fingerprints.
“With who?”
Wordlessly, he took her hand and slipped it through the sleeve of the top, and then caught her wrist and gently nipped at her fingertips before he let it fall back to her side. He repeated this—minus the nip—on the other side, but only this time he kissed her knuckles, his tongue darting out to flick between her fingers.
Her knees nearly buckled from the erotic threat it held.
“With his daughter’s lover, Pandora.”
Malik quirked a brow. “How scandalously messy.”
“I was thinking borderline incestuous.”
“Yes, I suppose you have a point there.” He paused regarding her, and she couldn’t tell if he was calculating the next move in their plan or how to ravish her. She hoped it was the latter. “How did you discover this?”
“The way he looked at her at dinner, and then I tethered her and followed it to the king’s bedroom where I heard her climax—that’s the second one I was present for, just tonight.”
“You also saw Jacira pleasuring her during dinner?”
“I did.”
“She’s insatiable, apparently.”
“Apparently,” she echoed.
So, there she stood, the silk shorts damp with her arousal beneath a scarlet dress with a silk sleep shirt unbuttoned over it. But with gazes locked, Malik slid his fingers behind Valine’s neck, found the tiny clasp there and the entire dress fell in a crimson puddle on the floor. He quickly found the catch for the bralette, and that, too, fell.
“I think Pandora is the key to unravelling this royal line. She must have a good reason for fucking both the king and the princess. Perhaps she is eager for the throne?”
Valine shivered as Malik’s hands found the buttons on her blouse, his knuckles grazing her sternum. The skin between her breasts electrifying. It was embarrassing how hard her nipples were, and it was only more apparent as his hands brushed against one. She bit her lip to keep the low sound from escaping her throat as he passed the buttons through their holes. He was on the third of her five buttons, and all she wanted was for him to tear the fucking shirt off her, but instead, for some unknown reason, she allowed him to do quite the opposite. And it was one of the most erotic things she’d ever experienced. On the last button, his hands were on the smooth skin of her abdomen, taking his time as he appraised her and her restrained reactions.
“You don’t think just plain fucking is her motivation?” Malik questioned as he threaded the last button and let his hands wander to her silk-clad hips. “Incredible sex can make even the most level-headed of people do the utmost questionable of things.”
“Would you possibly know this from experience?” Was that her voice that was so thready? And her brain that was so addled?
“Mmhmm,” he murmured in answer, pulling her in close, and she felt her eyes roll back in her head when she felt his insistent length, hard and hot on her belly through the pants he still wore. “One day, I think I’d like to show you—if you’ll have me.” And with that, he reached between them and cupped her over her shorts, the heel of his hand pressing right on her clit.
She couldn’t help it. She cried out as a bolt of pleasure fissured through her, her tightly wound nerves begging to explode. He groaned in satisfaction, and immediately, her dampness seeped through the shorts and onto his fingers.
“Little Liar, you’re so wet already,” he murmured. His voice was so husky, so sexy. She wondered how she’d survive the encounter. His one hand tightened on her hip while the other languidly circled, and she found herself clutching at him, feeling the hot and hard feel of his chest and abdomen rippling beneath. Her breaths were coming in short, and thoughts were beyond her. Words non-existent.
Slowly he dragged his hand up, rubbing that bundle of nerves with his hand, as he brought his finger to his mouth and slowly sucked it. Tasting a hint of her through silk on his skin, and Valine felt everything in her go hot and liquid.
“Well, I think this meeting has been most revelational. I look forward to tomorrow’s visit.”
With that, he detached from her and stepped away, leaving her in a lusty haze so thick it took her several moments to navigate the fog and understand what he’d just done. He wasn’t going to sleep with her? He wasn’t even going to kiss her? He was just going to tease her and leave? Her sexual frustration must have shown on her face because Malik smiled—still clearly aroused, himself—and walked slowly back to the adjoining door.
“Goodnight. Sweet dreams, Little Liar.”
“Goodnight, cruel man.”
He laughed softly as he slipped through the door, and Valine stayed stood in the center of a discarded red dress, hot and bothered and alone. She couldn’t think past the arousal turning her blood hot and thrumming potently at her core.
Angrily, she stomped over to her bed and got on it, pushing down her soaked silk shorts, and bared herself to the moonlight. Reaching between her legs to circle that little nub that Malik had so callously teased, she thought of the king and his skillful fingers. Imagined it was him dipping his fingers into her wet sex. Him stroking her pussy before coming up again to circle.
Minutes later, she was panting, a sheen of sweat on her skin, a hand fisted in her sheets as she used the other to fuck herself. Valine sensed she was on the brink of that peak, and as she reached it, it shattered through her, and she bit down on her hand to muffle the cries. Her hips rolled against her right hand, still working herself as she came down from the climax. It was several minutes later when she began to ponder what Malik’s goal in getting her so riled up had been.
But it was several moments after that—after she’d pulled her shorts back on, and settled into bed, mostly sated—she realized that, while she’d told Malik all that she’d learned that day, he had divulged nothing, despite his promise to do so.