Chapter 27 #2
Rion lifts his hand, and for a moment, it looks as if he’s waving Mabon off. Then tendrils of magic coil from his fingertips, wrapping around Mabon in a dark embrace.
Mabon’s eyes snap open, and he starts to moan and shake. His legs give out, and he falls to the ground, smashing his mead glass.
“I am suggesting,” Rion says softly, “that if you try to harm her again, you’ll discover how imaginative I can be when I’m annoyed.”
Mabon grunts, his eyes wide open like a terrified animal. Fear slackens his face. Panicked, he starts to smash his forehead backward on the rock.
“Rion,” I snarl.
He shrugs slowly. “What? He was going to poison my lover.”
“Those rocks are thousands of years old,” I hiss. “Please don’t destroy them.”
“Fine.” In a careless, lazy gesture, Rion flicks his hand, and his magic slips back around him.
Mabon looks up from the ground with an expression of fury. Blood spills down his face, staining his white cloak.
“I’m a direct descendant of the ancient king Vortigern,” he snarls, climbing to his feet.
“We’re not in Tintagol anymore. You’re not high lord here, and I could raise the dead to rip you to pieces.
When I win the crown, Rion, I will marry Igraine.
Then I’ll have you cut into pieces—slowly—and eaten by crows.
I’ll leave your head to rot on my castle gates. ”
“So, it all comes out now, Mabon. You were so deferential to me on Tintagol, but all this time, you thought you should be in my place.” Dark magic stains the air around Rion like ink spilling into the night.
“Your mead-addled brain is always feverish and incoherent. Your dreams of ruling as king are a fantasy and nothing more. Don’t expect to stay on top for long. ”
“I will kill you,” Mabon hisses. “In the next trial.”
He shoots me one last furious look and skulks away.
Smoke from the bonfire floats on the wind and coils around Rion. His dangerous, seductive scent slips around me—musk warmed with fire-licked oak, tinged with a faint honeyed sweetness. It’s a scent I want to taste on his skin, and I’m furious with myself for even having that thought.
Rion’s gaze slides to mine, and he gives me a lazy smile. “I see you’re making friends.”
I pour out my poisoned mead onto the bluebells at my feet. “I guess I’ll be needing a new drink. And to what do I owe this sudden chivalry, Rion du Lac? You nearly killed me earlier today.”
The wind lifts a few strands of his long, silver hair, and a fleeting smile touches his beautiful mouth. “As I said, you’re my new lover—as far as anyone knows.”
“Let me guess.” I sigh. “From a tactical perspective, you need me to help polish your brutal reputation. You’re the monster who cut off people’s heads on Tintagol.
I imagine you don’t get to overthrow a government without killing some aristocrats.
A usurper took the throne from Igraine’s husband.
You took it from the usurper. But are you better than he was, really?
The noble houses will want to know your lineage.
And you’re not like Mabon. He’s always held the title of duke. He belongs.”
“Now, now, Alis,” he coos. “I don’t believe you, of all people, object to killing aristocrats.”
Ice slides through my veins. “What makes you say that?”
He leans down, and his breath feathers over my cheekbone. “I think that’s how you got your halo.”
The ground tilts beneath my feet. “What are you talking about?”
He straightens again, his pale eyes narrowing. “Just hints. Your accent slips occasionally, enough to make me curious. And that outfit you wore when you first arrived, those distinctly mortal clothes that smelled of mortal soap—”
“Bollocks,” I hiss.
“Now I’m growing impatient with your lies.”
My breath hitches. “I picked these clothes up on my way from the Waste Land.”
“Such a shame what happened to Hermance for impersonating an aristocrat. Or whatever his real name was. Painful death, wasn’t that?
But we must have consequences for transgressions, don’t you think?
When a low-born peasant snaps and kills, a price must be paid.
” A half smile plays on his lips as he leans in closer.
“And I think it’s what you do sometimes, isn’t it? You lose your temper.”
“I’m about to snap right now if you don’t shut your mouth.”
He straightens. Idly, he rolls his glass in slow circles, swirling the mead.
“I think you relax around danger. Most people don’t.
You crave it. You miss violence when you’re not around it.
Chaos steadies your hands. So, you lean into the danger when you can find it.
A dark part of you seeks it out. I think you’re twisted, love. ”
My skin goes hot. “Nonsense. I’m just adjusting to being away from the Waste Land.”
“Right.” He sips his mead, then again swirls the glass slowly.
“Except I don’t think you’re from the Waste Land at all.
That first night we met, there were faint bloodstains on your clothes.
I spotted a scarlet drop drying on your thumb.
Everyone else is taking you at your word, but I don’t believe a single thing that comes out of your pretty mouth. ”
Is he a telepath? To ask him would confirm that he was correct about everything, so I keep that question to myself. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You’re not the sweet little romantic from a distant island. I think you’re a ruthless soldier, forged in the crucible of battle. You thrive when death is all around you. You’ve been away from war too long, and you miss it. That’s what I see. Am I close?”
Fury simmers in my chest. “I’m from the Waste Land,” I say through clenched teeth.
It comes out too loud, laced with fury. Because unfortunately, yes, he is close to the truth.
A slow, easy smile. “There it is. A glimpse of the real you. That anger simmering beneath a placid surface. And who has made you so angry?”
“What do you want from me?” I breathe.
A wicked glint sparks in his eyes. “I’m just a man looking for love.”
“And how many people did you kill on your way to power in Tintagol?”
“As many as I had to.” His smile is as beautiful as it is deadly. “Perhaps a few more.”
I stare up at him, trying to get control over myself. I breathe slowly. “And now you want me to help you win the trials by continuing the whole romance charade. Because if you don’t win, Mabon will stick your head on the castle gates.”
“And do you really want a drunken necromancer to win?”
“There are other options.” I fold my arms. “You want me to soften your reputation.”
“Would you really want to say no to a monster, love?” His sultry voice sharpens itself into an edge. “That sounds dangerous.”
He turns, stalking away from me.