Chapter 83
Chapter
Eighty-Three
W hy am I even surprised Meryliese is here? Of course she’s here. She keeps showing up like a pimple on the night before a dance. As I stare at her, Meryliese twirls a key on a chain, toying with it.
That bitch. She’s got Nemeth’s key. I lift my chin and give her a dismissive look, all the while trying to figure out how I’m going to get it away from her. I set my lamp on the sill of a nearby door so I can free my hands. “Hiding, dear sister?”
Her mouth twists in a smile. “Ajaxi’s idea. While he protects his throne, I’m hiding. Or so he thinks. More like I’m protecting my interests by keeping his brother alive.” She makes a face. “Or at least I thought I was until he started shaking with sickness. Now I’ve got to figure out who inherits if all of First House dies.” She sighs dramatically. “These Fellians are truly such a bother.”
I’ve never hated anyone as much as I hate Meryliese in this moment. “Why are you so evil? Why are you doing this?”
“Me? Evil? For trying to take control of my own life for once?” She gives me an incredulous look. “You can’t be serious.”
“You don’t think your actions are evil?” I slide my hand under my shawl, trying to reach for my knife without seeming like I’m reaching for a weapon. Keep Meryliese talking, I remind myself. Keep her focused on her anger.
My sister gives me a withering look. “I think I’m being selfish for once in my life and I’m enjoying it. How do you think it feels to grow up, knowing that your life isn’t your own? That your head is filled with prayers to a goddess that demands all of your time and people that insist upon training you on the right prayers to give and how to make your food stretch, all so you can be an obedient lump in a tower to a jealous goddess? So I can save everyone else in the world while sacrificing myself?” Meryliese shakes her head, her eyes blazing with righteous indignation. “It’s shite, sister. No one ever asked me if I wanted to do any of this. No one ever asked me if I cared about the fate of the rest of the world. I wanted to be a princess. I wanted to marry a king and have babies.” She sniffs haughtily. “And I don’t see why they didn’t make you take my spot.”
“Because I was sick ?—”
She waves a hand, dismissing that. “Yes, but they figured out how to treat it. You could have been the sacrifice and I could have gone to court and everything would have been perfect. But no. Mother kept you instead of me, and then Erynne never suggested we switch. I was forgotten. No one wanted me…until Ivornath arrived.” Her eyes flare with intensity. “The Fellians wanted to work with me. And when I suggested we trigger the curse to destroy Lionel’s fleet, Ivornath thought it was an excellent idea. He was going to make me his queen, you know.”
Her cold expression flares with something like hurt, the first real emotion my sister has shown other than pure viciousness.
I can’t help but push just a little more. “But he didn’t .”
“He was going to!”
“When?” I press. “You’ve been here for over two years. When was he going to marry you? When was he going to give you his bite?” I show her my hand, the mark on my palm, just under my thumb. “I was with Nemeth for no time at all and he took me as his?—”
“Silence!” my sister cries. “You don’t know our situation! You don’t know anything!”
I give her a smug look, hoping it hides the hammering in my heart. Hoping it hides the fact that I’m reaching for the dagger tucked into the front of my dress, hidden by my shawl. “I know he would have mated you if he’d wanted to?—”
“Stop it!”
“I’m just saying that this could have been you.” I rub my stomach with one hand. “If he’d really wanted you, that is. It sounds to me like he was just using you, too?—”
Meryliese snarls and lunges for me.
I let her grab me, using this moment to pull my knife free from my dress. It falls into the folds of my gown, and panicked, I claw for it even as my sister pulls my hair and claws at my face.
“Bitch,” she cries. “You don’t get everything! You?—”
The moment my fingers close around my dagger I thrust upward, into Meryliese. She grunts, and then hot liquid splashes over my hands. Blood.
She stares down at me, her mouth tinged with red. Her eyes are still filled with hate, and she reaches for my neck, her nails scratching at my skin. I shove the knife in deeper, hating the wet resistance I feel against it. “I’m sorry,” I whisper to her. “But Nemeth is mine and I’m going to save him.”
Her hand rests against my throat, and for a long moment, I think she’s going to recover and choke me, and I’ve got no strength left, either. We stare at each other, and then Meryliese’s body slumps over mine, heavy and limp.
I tremble.
I just killed my own sister. I just stabbed a person. Meryliese, who should have been dead. Who never had her own life to begin with. I want to understand her—and some part of me does. After all, I left the tower, too. Does she deserve to die for that? Do I?
Doesn’t matter. She tried to come between me and Nemeth and I’d kill her a thousand times if it meant saving him.
I bite back a sob, pushing at my sister’s dead weight. For all that she was slender like Erynne, Meryliese feels as if she weighs a thousand pounds in this moment. I thrust her off of me with my last bit of strength, and her body crashes into the door. The light I perched precariously on the ledge of the door’s window crashes to the ground and breaks, splintering into a thousand pieces near my head.
“Shite,” I mutter aloud to the darkness.
But I’m no longer terrified by the pitch black. I sit up, brushing blood and glass off of my clothes as best I can, and then I reach for my sister’s dead body. With searching fingers, I find the necklace with the key on it, and yank it free. I get to my feet and visualize the doors. I just need to find the one that has Nemeth behind it.
“Nemeth?” I call in the hopes my mate will answer. “Are you here?”
There’s no response. But I have the key now, and I know he’s close. I touch each door, and when I find the wall, I backtrack. He was in the second to the last cell, if I’m correct, and I run my fingers over the door, looking for the lock. When I find it, I pull the padlock off and toss it aside and then step in.
“Nemeth?” I take a step forward. “If you’re not in this cell and I touch a dead body, I’m going to be really mad at you.”
There’s a rustle of wings close by, and then green eyes flare to life, shining in the flat darkness around us. They look fevered and cloudy, but they’re still my Nemeth’s.
Before I can say anything, a familiar hand curls around my neck. “Good,” he says in a thick voice. “A hostage.”
And then he collapses to the floor at my feet.
“Nemeth!” I squeak, moving to his side. He quakes on the ground, his entire body trembling. I hear the sound of scratching and grasp his hands in mine, stopping him before he can claw at his neck. “I’m here, love. It’s me. Candra. Are you with me?”
He groans, and for a moment I think he’s unconscious again. Then, ever so softly…
“Milettahn.”
Hot tears spring to my eyes. “That’s right,” I say. “It’s me. I’m here and I love you and nothing is ever going to separate us again.”
“Dying…”
I shake my head, flinging my arms around him and hugging him tight. I can feel the roughness of his skin from the rash, the heat blazing through his form, the quaking of his body. “You’re not dying,” I whisper. “Your blood saved me, you know. Meryliese tried to poison me, but your blood and my Fellian blood saved me from the poison.”
A brilliant idea flashes through my mind. If his blood saved me…maybe my blood can save him.
For three days and nights, I lie in the bed next to Nemeth’s as he tosses and turns, caught in the grip of the plague. His skin is covered in a terrible rash and he sweats constantly, moaning and delirious. He has to be strapped down so he doesn’t hurt himself in his thrashing, and a magical collar placed around his neck to nullify his ability to teleport, so he doesn’t do something dangerous while lost in the fever.
I give him blood several times a day. I don’t know if human blood will kill him or not, but maybe the thread of Fellian that runs through my veins will be enough to save him. I watch my mate struggle with the plague, and I pray to the Golden Moon Goddess for what feels like the first time.
Strangely enough, my resentment of the goddess is gone. I no longer hate her or feel trapped to a fate I want no part of. Fate is just that—fate. It happens and sometimes we’re in control of it, and sometimes we’re not. It’s a relief in an odd way to know that the goddess’s anger has never been focused on me or Nemeth. That the constant storms and flooding and the wrath of the goddess was focused solely on Meryliese, who deliberately woke the tower’s curse to punish a people she felt had betrayed her since birth.
But Meryliese is dead now. Ajaxi, too. He’d barricaded himself in the highest reaches of Ivornath’s palace, only to be shivering and scratching frantically at his neck when he was found. Caught in the grips of the plague, he faded faster than Nemeth did.
We tried giving him some of my blood, too, just because it was the right thing to do. Erynne refused. It didn’t matter—the plague tore through him twice as fast as Nemeth, and I can’t say I’m disappointed that he died.
I’ve been told the uprising is a success, with Second House in control of the palace and the humans freed from their bonds. Things are chaotic right now as Second House tries to establish order. The humans are looting and being a menace, stealing food and whatever they can. I don’t blame them—I’d be an absolute arse to my former slaveowners as well—but eventually things will settle and we’ll have to figure out how to live together again, Fellian and Liosian, under the mountain. This is the only place with food and shelter from the incessant rain, so like it or not, we’re going to be companions for the next few years.
I gaze over at my mate, who is covered in sweat, a thin blanket over him. “Please wake up,” I whisper. “Please talk to me.”
“How are you feeling today, my lady?” Riza asks, bustling into our quarters.
I turn towards her, managing a smile. “Tired. Weak. Waiting for Nemeth to open his eyes.”
She beams at me, a tray in her arms. “I’ve got food and your medicine. Eat something and we’ll get you fixed up, and I’ll tell you the news from the palace.”
Riza gives me my medicine and I obediently fold my arm up, listening as she chatters. She has a thick, savory porridge for me, made (again) with mushrooms, but I don’t mind the taste. I eat it and sop it up with bread, knowing that I need my strength if I’m going to keep giving blood to Nemeth.
“Two new houses are infected with plague,” Riza tells me as I finish my meal. “Your sister’s blood doesn’t seem to do as much for them as yours, so we’re going to need more vials when you feel you can donate.”
I nod and take another thick chunk of bread. “I don’t think Erynne has the same amount of Fellian blood in her that I do. I think it’s related to my curse.”
“Whatever it is, we gave them the last of your blood and it seems to be helping. They’re sweating but no rash so far, so the healers are hopeful. They’ve been quarantined and only humans are allowed in to see them, so the spread should be minimal.” She nudges a bit of meat toward me. “Eat more. You need to produce more blood as quickly as you can.”
I make a face, but put a slice of braised fowl on my plate. If I make more blood, I can give more to Nemeth. “How is Second House coping?”
“Not well,” Riza admits with a tiny smile. She props her chin on her hand and gives me a dreamy look. “I love Tolian with all my heart, but he doesn’t have the patience to lead. Says he’s a willing sword, but he’s not a king. And if one more person asks him about stairs, I think he’s going to lose his mind.”
I manage a smile at that. “Stairs are important. No one wants to feel like things are off-limits to humans and not Fellians. It makes humans uneasy.”
She nods. “That’s what I told him, and that he’s going to have to be patient. Made such a face, too.”
“How are the human quarters coming?”
“Very well. It’s a process, but you can see moods improving all around.” Riza smiles. “You were right that no one would want to move into the abandoned plague houses. I don’t know why Tolian suggested it.”
“Because this is his home. He means well, but he doesn’t understand that the Liosian survivors need a fresh start, and by that, a place to call their own. The city will get sorted in time. For now, the women need homes where they can feel safe to be themselves, and not be reminded that someone died there recently. I wouldn’t be able to sleep there myself.”
She grunts. “He’s a male and a soldier. He can sleep anywhere.” Riza gets to her feet, wiping her hands. “Feel well enough to give blood to your lover or do you want to wait a few moments more?”
“Now,” I say. It’s always my answer. Any time I’m allowed to give Nemeth more blood, I will. Riza won’t let me donate too much because she worries for my health and that of the baby, but we’ll manage. Nemeth needs me more than anything.
Riza just nods and then gets out the needles. She takes blood from my arm, moves to him, and injects it. I lean against him, rubbing his bare skin as if my touch will somehow make it circulate faster in his body.
“I’ll leave you alone with him,” she tells me in a soft voice. “The healers will come by again shortly. Call if you need anything.”
I nod, pressing my cheek to his shoulder. Is it just me, or is the rash on his neck fading? Or am I seeing that because I desperately want to see that? He’s still sweating and unconscious, his wings trembling against his back.
Forcing myself to sit up, I find the bowl of water Riza’s left nearby. It’s still warm, so I dip the towel in and wipe Nemeth’s skin down. “I know you’re sick and you probably want to join the Gray God in his realm, but allow me to tell you all the ways I think that is a terrible idea.” I keep my tone light and flirty, so perhaps he’ll hear it somewhere deep inside and respond. “First and foremost, you’re needed here. You’re the only one of First House that remains, which makes you the king. I know you probably don’t want to be the king, but I think you’d make an excellent one. You’d be kind and sympathetic to the humans because you married a particularly fantastic one, and the Fellians would follow you. Truly, if you were on the throne it’d be ideal for both parties.”
I continue bathing him, even though I’m so tired I want to curl up next to him and sleep for a week. But if I don’t bathe him, one of the nurses will come in and do so, and I’d rather it be my hands that he wakes up to instead of that of a stranger. I want him to be touched with love. If everything that’s happened is true—and I suspect it is—Nemeth broke ties with what his family wanted because he loved me.
That’s why he hid me when we arrived. Even then, he was protecting me.
So now I’m going to protect him. I stroke the damp cloth over his chest, then move to his other arm. “Let me tell you a bit of what it’ll be like if you decide to die on me. First of all, I have it on great authority that there is no war poetry allowed in the Gray God’s realm. You know how much he loves peace, and I’m afraid that war poetry is simply out of the question.”
I move the cloth over his fingers, my heart stuttering when I come across the bite on his palm. Mine hasn’t the sharp outline that his does on my skin, but he’s always been so proud of it. If he was truly using me, he’d have never had me give him my bite. He could have omitted it from our mating and I would have been none the wiser.
All the signs have been there all along that he truly has loved me. I lean in and press a kiss to his knuckles, then continue.
“Second of all, your brothers are probably in the Gray God’s realm as we speak. All the more reason to stay here with me a while longer.” I gaze down at him, but he’s so very still he makes my heart ache. Why won’t he wake? It’s been three days. Most that die of the plague die within a day or two. The fact that he’s survived over three days with the sickness is a good sign, I hope. I won’t know for certain until he opens his eyes and smiles at me.
So I continue.
“Third, the Gray God loves storms, and I know you do not.” I sit down next to him, tired and a little defeated. I towel his chest, forcing a smile to my face that I don’t feel. “Remember when we were back in the tower and you heard storms for the first time? You were convinced we were under siege and you were going to take me captive as leverage.” My voice breaks, and I catch a ragged breath. “You were so unnerved, and I never stopped to think that a storm might sound different above ground. Here I thought I was being so very brave and I never stopped to think how difficult it might be for you, too. That you were getting pressured by your family over me. You could have let me die a half-dozen times and solved the problem, and yet you always took care of me. You always looked out for me. If you were sent to seduce me, you did a shite job of it, love. I seduced you, remember? I was the one that pushed for us to have sex. For us to play together. For us to just enjoy each other’s bodies. And I guess that leads me to the biggest reason why you have to stay.” I suck in a ragged breath. “You can’t leave me behind.”
A knot forms in my throat, tight and hot, and I clutch his hand in mine, waiting for the stupid tears to pass so I can speak. I swallow hard and try to continue.
“I know it’s been tough since we’ve arrived here in Darkfell. I know you kept some secrets from me. But you’re not allowed to leave me behind. You’re not allowed to leave our child behind. I love you. I love you and I need—more than anything—to talk to you right now. So I’m going to need you to come back to me as soon as possible. I’m probably going to stomp my foot at the secrets you were keeping, and you’re probably going to tell me that you had no choice, and then we’ll fall into bed together and kiss and we’ll be together again.”
That stupid knot in my throat returns. What if the last memory he has of me is that awful scene at the dinner? What if he dies thinking I hate him? Tears spill down my face and I press desperate kisses to his knuckles.
He’s not allowed to leave me behind. That was never part of the plan.
“Don’t…cry…”
I gasp, clutching his hand tighter. Nemeth’s eyes are open, just a slit. “Oh! Nemeth!” His eyes flutter shut again, and I want to yank them back open, want him to sit up and talk to me. Something. Anything. “Nemeth?”
“This…is the part where…I should…be groveling at your feet…”
A sob escapes me. “You should, it’s true. But I’m in a magnanimous mood.” I cradle his hand to my chest. “You look like shite, love.”
He grunts. “Candra…”
“I know. Don’t spend your strength trying to explain to me.”
Nemeth frowns. “But…”
“You need to explain? Let me try to help you.” I bring his hand to my cheek, pressing a kiss to his thumb. My heart overflows with joy. “Your brother Ivornath concocted a plan with Meryliese to destroy the Liosian army and they triggered the curse and sent you to the tower anyhow. Am I right?”
He shakes his head. “Didn’t know…never saw your sister. Just knew Ivornath was up to something.”
I pat his stomach. “Then we amend that. All right then. Your brother was up to something. He sent you to the tower with instructions to seduce me and win me to Darkfell’s side. And when you met me, you hated the idea.”
Nemeth’s eyes flutter closed again. His skin is such a strange shade of gray, blotched with the plague’s rash livid and dark against his neck. “Didn’t hate…idea. Liked it…liked you…too much.”
“Dragon shite,” I tell him in a wobbly voice, near to tears again. “They might have told you to seduce me, they might have told you to report back on me, but you didn’t have to take me as your mate. I would have been happy to be your paramour. Instead, you wanted us together. You wanted us to be mated, to give me your bite. To make me your wife. You didn’t use me like Ivornath used Meryliese. You loved me.”
“Still do.” His fingers lift from my cheek and he traces my mouth. “Understand…if you…no longer love…me.”
“Dragon shite,” I say again.
“Or trust me.”
“More dragon shite. You’re going to get better. I’m going to keep giving you my blood, and you’re going to get better. You know my blood is the cure for the plague? It’s been keeping you alive. We’re going to get you well, my love. And then we’re going to rule Darkfell together. We’re going to combine our kingdoms and make the world a better place for those of us that have survived.”
He smiles at me, tired, but the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.
I press yet another kiss to his fingertips. “Now hurry up and get better, so I can ride on your knot once more.”
The rumbly, rusty laughter that erupts from Nemeth’s chest is the best thing I’ve ever heard.