Chapter 38
Icaptured the head chef, blind-folded him, and dumped him in a dungeon cell. Then, I really wanted to have Preysee deliver Dagen’s food to Kathreen. Let her own poison kill her, but Dagen has been trying to work things out with her. Sometimes that honorable heart of his is wildly inconvenient. He doesn’t know about the poison for two reasons: 1. I’m not 100% sure Kathreen is involved, and I will only deliver that kind of accusation if I’m positive. 2. Assassination attempts fall under the code of subterfuge. This kind of sensitive information would shatter the stasis. My point is, it’s not my job to tell Dagen. It’s to fix it. Dagen’s meals are being fed to one of five nasty prisoners that deserve bone problems. The head chef has been locked away for three days, and the first prisoner I fed the meat and biscuits to foamed at the mouth and died in less than five minutes. Whoever’s poisoning the food is getting a bit impatient it seems.
Tarella squeaks when the Jaxelli men enter.
The second general of the Light Jaxelli blazes with red light and tan skin before me. He and two of his warriors stop at the foot of the dais. One warrior behind him has light-blue glyphs, the other has green. I don’t need to look at Tarella to know she’s drooling. Liha is right. The general has a presence about him that does not exist in this realm. They all do.
The second general before me simply is power. Silent, but undeniable power.
My hands go clammy over the gold armrests, and I remind myself that his power is different. It doesn’t derive from spirits nor is it possessive and addictive like ours.
I take in his appearance, the angle of his defined jaw and warm lines of his face to the curves of his supple, rolling muscles beneath his leather plates and straps.
“I told you. Mouthwatering,” Liha purrs.
Lekk’s fiery gaze brushes over me slowly, his eyes warm, but calculating.
My father’s smooth voice booms through the throne room, speaking a language I’ve never heard.
“How does he know their language?” I ask Liha.
“Spirits who’ve been around for a long time usually pick up on multiple languages,” she says. “His spirit is probably translating what he desires to say.”
“Can you understand it?”
“Oh, absolutely. He welcomed Lekk to Zarr.”
I glare at the spot she hovers at my shoulder. It’s just like her to withhold such fascinating knowledge from me. How many languages is she fluent in? What lore does she know from other realms besides her home in Heshena?
Lekk does not bow, but instead brings a strong fist to his chest, and Liha translates as the conversation goes.
“My spirit tells me what you desire,” my father says. “But for the sake of courtesy, I request that you ask out loud.”
Lekk drops his hand to his side, bringing my attention to the leather straps encasing his muscled thighs.
“The Jaxelli do not mate for political reasons,” he says in his tongue, “I request time to court your daughter, to see if she speaks to my heart.”
“This is a betrothal, not a courting service,” Father says, leaning forward on his throne. “How do I know you will not take advantage of her?” He tilts his head. ”My spirit knows your desires, General. You find Nizzara very appealing to the lower half of your body.” Father sneers as if he”s saying this more out of a desire to insult Lekk than to protect me.
Lekk’s whole body tenses and the interesting patterns on his skin flare into a deep orange. “You insult my honor.”
Liha giggles. “Lekk desires to lunge across this dais and blacken your father’s eye for insulting his honor. Honor, a very deep desire for him, yes.”
Lekk’s jaw tightens. “Will you accept my request to court in the presence of a chaperone?”
“I will accept a chaperone and collateral,” Father says. “If you hurt my daughter, I will hurt your collateral.”
A pinch comes from deep in my heart. That is for my protection. This is one of those moments I want to believe my father is still there, the man who was so quick to protect me. Like the night a group of rebels tried to kidnap me. He killed all twelve men in my room before they could touch me, took me to the tower, and stroked my hair until I fell asleep. Brunar and his men were assigned to me the next day.
A red-hot cord snaps taut inside me. He does just enough to hold a place in my heart.
Lekk’s head snaps in my direction, and I suddenly remember the chapter on their ability to sense emotions. Shit.
His head tilts slightly. Is he still reading my emotions?
Father’s eyes find mine, and I know what they are silently saying. I fix my face.
Lekk unsheathes a mighty sword from across his back strap, its deep-red hue fading to orange near the tip. He reverently touches the sword’s tip to the ground and takes a step back from it, leaving it balanced without his hand. Its power thrums throughout the room.
Father chuffs. “A noble gesture. I understand the Jaxelli blade to have nothing of equal value across all the realms, but I also know that I can do no harm to your sword. I cannot even keep it against your will, Second General. My spirit tells me you can beckon it from across lands and it will come. I deny this collateral.”
“I carry with me nothing else, King.”
My father points. “Turn around. You have brought two very acceptable collaterals. They stand silent behind you.”
Lekk’s curious markings again plunge into a deep, angry red. His energy is near palpable.
Much power, indeed.
“You think it’s fair to claim two of my best warriors as a matter of insurance? I will not order their obedience to satisfy your insecurities, Mazzar.”
Father pushes up from his throne and raises a gloved hand, ladened in glistening black gems. “It is more than fair. Nizzara is my heir should death fall on me. She is also physically weaker than you. Neither of your warriors are heir to your monarchy, nor are they as defenseless or as tempting as my daughter.”
A warrior with blue glyphs clasps Lekk’s shoulder and speaks in a voice too low to be heard.
“What are they saying?” I ask Liha, and she darts over to listen before snapping back into my shield.
“The warrior with the scar insists he finds honor in the task. The other warrior with him agrees. They wish to serve. Very deep loyalty.”
The warrior with the long white scar over his light-blue eye steps forward. “My name is Korin, Light-born Son of Wind and Water. I accept your terms.”
The redhead warrior with green glyphs steps in line with Korin. “My name is Solis, Light-born Son of Nature. I accept your terms.”
Father smiles and waves for them to approach. “I assure you, Lekk. I will treat them as well as you treat my daughter. Now,” my father says, “it seems there’s one final matter to settle. Time. You’ll be given until King’s Final Duel, two moon cycles from now.”
Lekk’s eyes widen. “Two moon cycles?” he appears to count under his breath. “That’s only sixty days—”
“A king does not wait on other men. Two moon cycles. You can come and go as you wish, as long as your presence is announced to me and a chaperone of my approval escorts you alongside my daughter at all times.”
In fear of my father selecting Sorren, I blurt, “I want Preysee to be our chaperone.”
Father tenses in his seat. “Preysee is more helpless than you,” he retorts in our own language.
I flick my hand to where all seven of my personal guards stand at attention near the fireplaces, lunging distance from me. “Isn’t that what my guards are for?”
I meet his gaze, and something tiny softens in him. “Very well.”
He turns his attention back to Lekk. “If you could not call your sword, I’d insist on keeping it, but since that would be moot, I warn you not to reach for it or your collateral will suffer.” Father raises a brow. “My spirit tells me you have one more matter to settle, Son of Keirmon.”
The general’s neck muscles tighten. “Eighteen years ago, you aligned with our greatest enemy, the Dark Jaxelli Warriors,” Lekk says. “Why? Do you still consider yourself allies with them?”
I turn toward my father. Eighteen years ago. Could this be the unauthorized mission Lo mentioned in the journal? Before he stole the throne.
“If you’re referring to my attack on the Tatum realm with your Dark brothers, it was to correct a wrong done to me. That specific quest has been handled and closed.”
Lekk opens his mouth as if to ask another question, but Father waves his hand. “I’ve settled your matter. You are dismissed.”
I come to my feet. “Brunar,” I call. “Fetch Preysee.”
Brunar waits for a nod from my father then says, “Yes, my lady.”
When he returns, Preysee is with him. She comes to my side silently. Tarella’s eyes are wide as gems as they roam over Korin.
I descend the dais toward Lekk. Liha senses what I desire to say and offers me the translation. It comes out awkward on my tongue. “Can I show you the castle?”
Lekk gazes up at his warriors, then offers me a stiff nod before joining my side opposite of Preysee. My guards fall in behind us, and we leave the throne room.
Lekk is taller than I, with muscles wrapping every facet of his body, most of which are on display. Heat radiates from his glowing-red markings that move and swirl like veins of lava. But the most striking thing about him is his bright, russet eyes.
“Can you sense his desires?”
“Mmm. He desires the safety of his friends.”
I turn us left toward King’s Hall.
Lekk’s quick steps outpace mine two-to-one. Multiple times he notices his overture and slows back to my speed.
“What should I know about you, Lekk? Besides your hurry to walk?” I say, slipping on multiple pronunciations.
He halts amid the portraits in King’s Hall, a soft smile on his face. “I am sorry, Daughter of Zarr. My mind races, so my feet follow. It is my mother in me.”
His smile widens to show straight, white teeth. I idly wonder what a sensuous bite from his pointed canines would feel like.
Liha giggles in my shield. “I thought you didn’t want a betrothal.”
I huff. “I don’t. I want a roll in the sheets. That’s hardly the same.”
Lekk’s eyes widen slightly, and I remember how he can sense my emotions.
Heat floods my neck and cheeks. I ask Liha to translate what I wish to say through our bond and try to match her pronunciations. “Your mother,” I say. “What is she like?”
A sad smile pulls on his lips as he studies King Garrik’s portrait. “She was vibrant with one speed and one direction—as fast as possible and straight ahead.” His smile fades. “But she is no longer with us.” After a stretch of silence he asks, “What of your mother? She was not in the throne room.”
I start walking again. “My mother,” I say, rolling various answers around in my mind, ignoring the fresh stab deep in my chest. “My mother spends her days in the book coves. Her knowledge is on par with our best scholars in our realm, and she’s a big reason I love books.” I leave out the fact she actually lives in the coves and that my love of books stems from trying to earn her affection.
“What of your father?” Lekk asks.
My body goes rigid. “What of him?”
His brows furrow as if trying to find words in the air. “What kind of relationship do you have?”
I look up at him as we meander down the hall. “Our relationship is complicated.”
“How so?”
I stop and face him, opting to be as honest as I can. I hate lying. “My father is not a soft man. He is quick to anger, and is vastly powerful,” I say. “But when he cares for something—which isn’t often—it runs extremely deep.”
“So, he treats you well?”
My jaw flexes. “That is not what I said.”
Before he can ask more questions, I wave him over to the king’s balcony.
Brunar and two other guards haul the giant doors made of black glass open, inviting the icy-gray sky into the hall.
“Come,” I urge him. “The fog is thin today. See the kingdom.”
He strides onto the balcony that’s warmed by a large fireplace and approaches the smooth gold railing with reverence.
“There are a lot of buildings,” he says. “And a lot of gloom.”
I tilt my head up. The sky is a dark, silty gray, despite the early hour. “It is the winter cycle. Today is a rather good one. The wind is barely noticeable.”
I admire the visibility. Yellow light shines from the countless small windows, stacked six and seven levels high beyond the castle walls. The black buildings lean at slight angles poised to represent swords at the ready, their roofs pointed and some painted red.
I glance up at Lekk who appears every bit a general, his expression stoic—and as much as I hate to admit it—beautiful. Power clings to him. It takes up the entire balcony and, just like Sorren, he moves on planes unattainable to me. It’s easy to spot. His balance is centered, his movements are precise, and his eyes are ever-calculating.
Liha funnels her magic into my body.
“Really?”
She sniffs. “Yes, really. Have some fun with me.”
Pink smoke drips from my fingers, and our Mark settles over my face.
Preysee is unfazed, but Lekk notices the small zap of pink and takes a step back. He looks down at himself, searching for the repercussions of the cast.
A half-smile tugs my lips. “I didn”t cast on you.”
His eyes narrow, then widen when his gaze falls on my face. He traces my cheeks with those russet orbs and a zing of excitement trickles through me because he is not shying away from my eyes like everyone else.
“Freckles.” He smiles and clears his throat. “I didn’t notice them earlier. They are pretty, Daughter of Zarr.”
I can’t keep my smile from falling. I don’t have freckles. He eyes the golden vessel on my hand.
“I think he desires to know its workings,” Liha purrs.
I meet his fiery gaze. “How about we make a deal, Lekk?”
His jaw tightens. “The last deal I made cost me two of my life-long friends.”
“I am not my father,” I say, that red cord of anger tightening inside. “I think you’ll find my deal much more palatable.”
His eyes search my face, lingering on my fake, freckled cheeks, before he says, “What deal do you wish of me?”
Liha feeds me the words. A few are hard to pronounce because of the odd syllables placed so close together, but I manage to get out, “When you visit, I’ll answer one question you have with full honesty, if you agree to do the same in return.”
His brows furrow, adding intensity to his continually brooding expression. “I will answer which questions are mine to answer. No questions that could endanger the position of my people.”
“Agreed. You ask first.”
He leans against the balcony’s edge as if to face the gloom head on.
“His desires change, but I can”t quite hear them,” Liha whispers. “They are complex.”
It is a moment before he finds his question. “What do you desire from me? Do you wish for this betrothal?”
I nearly snort. “That’s two questions, and I don’t know if you’ll like my answers.”
He folds his arms, waiting so I answer both. “I am competitive. Part of me enjoys the challenge you pose by requesting to court me. Any Zarr man would accept my hand in a matter of a heartbeat.”
He raises a brow. Guess he doesn’t like cocky flirts like I apparently do. I smile, thinking of Dae, and tilt my head. “But I don’t like being told what to do, and my father is forcing this betrothal on me, so naturally, I don’t want to bow down to it.”
He shifts on his feet. I might be making him uncomfortable, but I’m used to having that effect on people.
“As far as my desires, physical relationships are a part of Zarr culture. All women my age have had lovers—as many as they wish—before they marry. But I’ve been placed in a cage of celibacy because of this betrothal. Your body does call to me. I desire to know what it’s like.”
His markings flush with a wave of orange-red, and I swear the air thickens around us. “I believe you’ve answered in full honesty,” he says, his voice tight.
“Are you born with those markings?” I ask.
He glances down at his glowing-red swirls. “Is that your question?”
“No,” I say, my eyes following the bold strokes of light over his tan chest. “But I am curious.” I find my head tilting as I say, “And why are your marks bigger than your friends’?”
He studies my face before sighing. “No, we are not born with them. They find us in our early years of life. Glyphs are sacred and unique. No two patterns are alike, and they appear on their own time, in their own way.”
When I continue to stare, he clears his throat and says, “You may ask your real question, Daughter of Zarr.”
So many more questions surge to my mind. What is it like to travel to any realm? What realms have you seen? How old are you? What is your entire history? What is the history of the Dark Warriors? But I rein in my insatiable curiosity and keep it relevant to the question he asked me.
“I told you a little bit about Zarr courting. What is the courting culture of your people?”
A soft smile takes his lips, showing those white teeth, and my stomach does a little flip. “Quite the opposite of Zarr,” he says. “I am in my hundred-and-seventy-sixth year and am only now entering the time to find a mate.”
I gasp. I did not make it to that chapter. I knew they lived long lives and were on the prudish side of things, but a hundred and seventy-six years?
“No one has called to you in all that time?”
He chuckles. “Nature isn’t so cruel as to tempt us for so long. The Jaxelli do not have the urge to mate until we near our second century of life.” He leans his lower back against the gold banister. “Some discover the urge as early as a hundred and seventy or as late as two hundred and thirty.” His gaze finds the neckline of my dress and falls to my abdomen. “Although I do not know if this would be true for our offspring. Half Jaxelli. . .” His sandy brows pinch in the center, and his lips tug down. “That is a discussion for a different day.”
I pluck a brow up, glad to skip the topic of children tonight. “How about you? Has the urge found you?”
He makes a face. “The urge found me last year, and it makes me want to take back what I said about nature and its kindness.”
A laugh slips out. “So, you’ve acted upon it then? The urge?”
He turns around and rests his lower back against the balcony, folding his arms and his face turning serious. “No. Taking a mate is a sacred process amongst our people. We don’t choose a mate for a night, or a few years, but a life of near millennia. We exchange these rings to announce our chosen mate.” He unwinds a sleek band from his wrist that holds two smooth bands of stone and places them in my palm.
I behold the foreign stone. Of all the minerals, stones, and gems in our realm, I have not seen this. Their white surfaces gleam, reflecting the nearby firelight as I turn them over in my fingers. They have a feeling to them.
An energy.
I swallow my spitefulness toward my father and this betrothal, trying to let go of my pride. “What attributes have called to you in the past?”
His red glyphs intensify across his muscular chest under his brown leather plates and straps. “You are asking more than your allotted questions, Daughter of Zarr.” His eyes hitch on my freckles once more and he sighs, “But if we only have two moon cycles to navigate our courtship, then I suppose more questions are best.”
I fold my arms and wait.
“Many things have called to me, Daughter of Zarr, such as a woman’s full lips or the angle of her hips against her waist. Some things, more important, such as a woman’s ability to bring peace into a room, or a woman who demonstrates humility and tranquility.”
“Humility? Peace?” I scoff inside my head. The two things I don”t have a drop of.
“Worthy attributes,” I say before finding those russet eyes.
We talk around a few awkward silences before I grudgingly do the thing my father ordered. I ask him to stay for dinner and the preliminaries.