Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
He had with me, but that had been different. He’d pushed the line of extreme emotion, but he and the beast had had some internal agreement, at least when it came to pleasuring their mate. My cheeks heat at the worst time, and Darrius’s midnight eyes snap to mine.
Stars, he shouldn’t look so fucking edible.
And I shouldn’t be thinking about eating him . . . or about him eating me.
Too late. His nostrils flare, and I cross my legs, definitely squirming in my chair as desire burns like wildfire through my stupid veins.
“Pátnī,” he says loudly, pulling his sword free and holding it across both palms. My stomach swoops at the very possessive, very meaningful, and very public address even as I swallow a surge of dread.
My ears burn, especially when the Aspa?anā leaders gape and a volley of whispers makes its way through the avid audience.
Elegantly, I rise, expression neutral. “Not yet.”
I expect him to be angry, but the conquering smile that cuts over his gorgeous face is anything but. No, instead it’s elated as if he relishes every ounce of my fight. I suppose the predator in him loves the chase, and I’m not making it easy for him, no matter what his prophecies or the fates say.
I know from my reading that the consequences of refusing a soul-fated bond will mean a gradual withering, or worse, increasing volatility, of my magic. But sealing the bond is still a choice. My choice.
If and when I decide, it will be mine.
A vortex of shadows surrounds the king as his magic makes him reappear at my feet.
People scramble out of the way, though many of the court nobles are well accustomed to his unique powers.
He kneels and grins wickedly at me as his delicious scent absolutely demolishes my senses.
To everyone else, a competitor is kneeling before the guest of honor, his sword aloft and flat in presentation.
But it’s more than that, especially when he licks his lips.
“My favorite position,” he mouths. His shadows tease over my ankles and calves, one even daring to venture to my thighs, making me gasp.
“Stop,” I warn. “And make your troth.”
“My steel and soul are yours.” His handsome face goes solemn, those fathomless eyes scouring mine and then dropping to the cuffs at my wrists.
“May your starlight always burn.” I think he’s done when he rises and sheathes his sword, but he reaches for my trembling hand, bringing my knuckles to his lips.
“May your simurgh always soar the skies. May truth always keep you from the lie.”
And then he’s gone in a whorl of darkness, the barest of kisses ghosting over my skin.
***
MUCH LATER, AT the evening feast, I sit at the edge of a long table and watch the horde children playing festival games. As with the adults, the competition is intense, and I cheer when a girl of about ten years of age bests one of the bigger boys at the archery targets.
Laleh sidles up to me, and I glance at my friend, nearly balking at her appearance.
She looks drawn and pale with dark circles under her eyes—a far cry from her appearance earlier.
Her hair is mussed, and for a moment I catch a thick line of bruising at her throat.
“What’s that?” I ask, pointing at her neck.
She looks at me, and her eyes take a second to focus as she draws her collar up. For a moment, it looks like spidery purplish veins are crawling below her lower lids, but when I blink, they’re no longer visible. She smiles, though something about it feels oddly unnatural.
“Nothing,” she says brightly. “An accident. One of my scarves got hooked on something. I’m so clumsy sometimes!” The bruise looks far too precise and thin to be caused by a scarf, but I don’t press, sensing her discomfort.
A memory yanks hard at my brain, though when I try to follow the thread, all I get is a sea of empty space, as if that particular recollection doesn’t want to be found.
There are only a few of those gaps remaining, thankfully.
But what could be so bad? Laleh is here and she has confirmed Amma and Papa are both safe and well. They’re all I care about.
She shifts closer and peers at me. “What does pátnī mean?”
I knew the question was coming. “It means ‘wife.’” I swallow and fight off another blush. I’ve always told my best friend everything, and now shouldn’t be any different. “The king thinks I’m his soul-fated.”
“Are you?” she asks.
“I think we might be.” When those spidery dark violet markings under the thin skin of her eyes reappear, this time I know I’m not seeing things. “Laleh, your face!” I say, alarmed. “Are you feeling well? Are you having a bad reaction to something?”
She blinks rapidly. “Perhaps. My eyes were quite itchy earlier. It could be the cider.”
“We should find a healer.”
Laleh nods. “Good idea.” She clears her throat. “But first, I need to tell you something. It’s important. The oracle—”
But then, I hear the slight whoosh of an object and register a small green dart sticking out of the side of Laleh’s neck.
Before I can yell, or even duck out of the way, a sharp sting pierces me in the same spot.
Within seconds, my limbs feel numb as some kind of nerve paralysis invades my bloodstream.
I know that my magic will sluggishly clear out whatever toxin it is, but Laleh isn’t so lucky. In slow motion, I see and hear her head crash into the wood of the table as she collapses. I realize how extremely vulnerable I am when I try to cry for help and no sound comes out.
One by one, all my senses start to shut down. My hands remain useless in my lap, and I can do nothing as I feel my limp body start to slump. Desperate, I will my magic to heal me faster so I can fight, scream, or do anything but just lie helpless.
Use the bond, call for the king, my simurgh says.
Darrius!
But there’s a strange wall between us. I feel it like a pulsing obstruction, a barrier of some kind refracting the projected thought back to me. It’s not on my end but the king’s. It feels foreign, like it doesn’t belong . . . like someone has created a mental blockade.
But what psionic mage here has the power to do that to the king? And who would even dare to mentally attack him? Unless . . .
Could Darrius himself have done this?
Vivid images of the beautiful Zahre and the king fill my head, visions of them tangled together, her body undulating over his.
What in the ever-loving stars? I don’t know where the horrible hallucinations have come from, but they’re not mine.
Despite his many flaws, Darrius has not lied about the Karkad woman.
Recognizing my weakness with my mental walls down, especially with a powerful psionic magi in the mix, I slam them back up. My simurgh is enraged. You are the Starkeeper. No mental magic is more powerful than ours. Break through it, Suraya!
I try to no avail, feeling as though I’m being pushed underwater. I make one last-ditch effort, reaching for the azdahas, knowing their otherworldly senses won’t be compromised by any magi.
Razulek! Indira! If you can hear me, we need you. Darrius and I are in trou—
But then something smashes into the back of my skull and pain explodes, my plea breaking off abruptly. I might be the Starkeeper, but I’m still housed in a castle made of mortal flesh and blood.
My eyes roll back in my head as oblivion strikes.