Chapter 34 A Hollow Victory #2
It must show on my face, the incredulousness of it all. Bewilderment. Because he shifts me back onto the bed and sits down next to me but a fair distance away before trying again.
“There is power in sexuality, even more so for gods than humans. There is a phenomenon and, as I said, it’s so rare that most of the godly families don’t put any merit into it.
It’s a sort of power exchange that can take place between immortals.
But it can only happen once, during the first bedding after the marriage bond is made and sealed.
It has to be their first time—” he hesitates and a soft, disarming rush of pink tinges the hollows of his cheeks. “—ever. During this act.”
“Fucking?” I interrupt him. “You are talking about fucking, aren’t you?”
To my surprise, he grows even more flustered. Another emotion to add to my list, one I never imagined I’d see.
There’s an edge to his voice. “Sex, yes. Through sex with an immortal virgin, a power exchange can take place. Some of their—your—ability was transferred to me. But I promise you, Nymph, I didn’t mean for this to happen.
It never even crossed my mind, you’re only half.
Virgin couples in Skoyr attempt it frequently but it requires a bond. So rare. True, absolute, pure—”
“Love?” My voice curls maliciously around the word.
Pieces start to settle into place. It makes sense now, all of it. How could I be so foolish, have strayed from the one, true thing I could count on, that I relied on?
Trust no one. No exceptions, not even for roguish, devastatingly beautiful pirates with honeyed words and tongues of silver.
“That’s the lie you’re going to try to sell me on?
We love each other so much that my essence, my power, whatever the fuck this is, wanted to dwell inside of you, be part of you?
” A laugh. Something as bitter and cold as these eastern nights bubbles from me.
It all makes sense, everything he’s done up until now.
The wedding, the kiss, toying with my emotions until he got exactly what he wanted from me, just as Harlow had.
And I'm supposed to believe he hadn't known?
Just take him at face value that this phenomenon wasn't planned and executed as surely as every other calculated move he's made.
“How convenient.” It's another hoarse whisper bleeding off my lips, but I'm shaking now.
“So, so convenient that you've ended up with exactly what you needed.
That there's no risk of me messing it up for you, or laying any sort of claim to the crown piece in exchange for helping win it.
What a pretty web of lies you've spun for me.”
His shoulders grow rigid. Heat flashes across his face when he looks at me. An echo of power—faint sunlight—glows off the runes on his arms.
“Lies?” The word is clipped, baleful, like he’s holding his anger on a short leash. He moves closer, rough hand finding my jaw.
I don’t shy from the touch or move to stop him until his finger slips further up, but by then it’s too late. His callus skims over the raised mark behind my ear. A sharp knowing burns bright in his stare.
“You speak of lies?”
I wrench his hand out of the tangle of my hair. A feeling of dread, of ice pours down from the base of my skull, slips along my spine. “You knew? How—” A quiet pause takes root. “Mór told you?”
His gaze finally breaks from mine. “Does it matter? You’ve lied to me this entire time. You were marked by my brother, hunting the crown to save your own skin.”
The need to defend it all rises in me but crashes like a wave against high cliffs, morphing to bitterness.
To anger. “The mark, it—it changed after our vows. That’s why you married me, isn’t it?
The real reason. Not some parchment thin bullshit about not hurting each other.
You never feared me, not once. You wanted to bind me to you—”
“Oh, rest assured, you terrify me, Nymph. The level of deceit you’re capable of.
” A flash of something deeper than it all corrupts his face.
“I wanted,” his tone grows sharper, jagged and cold and pointed, “to clip the tether that anchored you to Harial. Through it, he could see into your dreams, hear, feel everything you did, whisper in your mind, find you on a whim. It was dangerous. Your bargain with him, borne of reckless hope. Whatever he promised you was a lie. He will go back on it. He will betray you and not even for a purpose, but simply because doing so will be fun for him.”
“He won’t,” I snap. “The deal we made is binding.”
“Was. The terms were broken, dissolved the moment we sealed our marriage vows. But I assure you, he would have found a way out of them himself, even if you’d brought him the finished crown.”
Panic seizes me. A terrible flutter that spreads through my body like crumbling ashes. The gravity of what it all means settles in like a sickness, as if the pox fever itself were burning up my blood.
“Do you realize what you’ve done? What he’ll do to my máma if he believes I’ve betrayed him?
” I stand, nervous energy thrumming so acutely it makes my fingertips go numb.
The cabin feels too hot again, and the air turns liquidy, sloshing in and out of focus.
“I’m entering the games, Rhyland. I’m winning them and I’m taking that crown piece to your brother, whether you like it or not. ”
To my surprise, where I expected anger, his expression softens. “I’m sorry, Nymph, but that’s simply not going to happen.”
“Try to stop me,” I snarl and make for the door, stomping over the creaky wood to rip it open.
Sabre’s smile greets me like an old adversary. Her arms are crossed and she’s leaned into one hip, non-plussed. Expecting me.
“Get out of my way.”
“I don’t think I will.” Her gaze lifts past my shoulder. She nods. “Captain.”
I can feel Rhyland’s heat at my back and despite myself stagger some when Sabre takes a menacing step towards me, slamming the door behind her.
“Sabre,” Rhyland’s cold tone is full of low warning, but his first mate only grins.
My fingers inch toward the hunting knife strapped to my leg, the warm hilt that fits perfectly in my palm now.
Sabre’s smirk melts away at the sight of the glinting Aurorean steel. “You want to test your mettle, eh?” She reaches toward her own blade, but Rhyland’s slicing voice is there again.
“Sabre. Just the sigil.”
She rolls her one good eye and huffs, resheathing her knife. I’m not sure what he means by sigil, but I’m not prepared to wait around and find out. My blade sings through the air toward her. She leaps back, narrowly avoiding its fury when her palm comes up.
“Halda.” She murmurs it quick and low. A flash of light sears the air between us—a bright glowing orange rune that slams into my chest.
Every part of me shudders then stiffens until I find that I can’t move at all and would have fallen flat on my back if not for Rhyland sweeping forward to catch me.
“What. The. Fuck?” I hiss it through my clenched teeth, as my jaw won’t even open to scream the words.
Daughter of Mór, that deceptive, magickal bitch. Of course Sabre has hidden powers. Sneaky, evil tricks.
“You can go.”
Rhyland doesn’t even glance at Sabre when she sighs and turns to stomp out of the room. His eyes are trained on me, cold but remorseful. He scoops my stiff body into his arms and carries me to the bed.
“I’m sorry. I thought you might be reasonable about this, but I couldn’t take any chances and you proved in the bay just how reckless you are.
How little regard you have for your own safety.
Ireus already has godlings on the hunt for you.
Now he likely knows what you are. He won’t stop until you are dead, or until I bring him Njol.
If you enter the colosseum, you’re signing your own death sentence.
Hels, stepping off this ship is a death sentence for you.
The enemies you’ve made—powerful, merciless.
My father, Harial, House Black. But Mór’s wards on the Nightingale will hold until the games are through. ”
“I can fight. I can win.”
“You’re strong, Avalon. A warrior if I ever saw one, but there are some things even a fighting spirit can’t survive. You can still hardly control your powers. Your sword work is sloppy. If I spend the whole time trying to protect you, I’ll find myself dead before the first bell tolls.”
“I’ll never forgive you for this, Rhyland Crow.” The words are chewed, spit out, as my tongue starts to paralyze as well.
“I know, but it’s the price I’m willing to pay to keep you alive, Nymph. And I promise you when I kill the beast and reap the crown piece from the Mad Queen, I will do everything in my power to find my brother and free your mother.”
One small mercy—he doesn’t make any move to touch me. I don’t think I could bear it, not now. Maybe not ever again.
I hate you. I hope my eyes are screaming it, because not even my lips and tongue will work now. Sabre’s spell has ridden me invalid.
“Her hold will wear off and you’ll be able to move again in a few hours, but there will be guards posted at the door. They are instructed to subdue you by whatever means necessary, save for death or maiming, until I return.” He pries the knife from my rigid fingers and sheaths it at his waist.
A hollow ache carves its home inside of me.
He lingers a moment, hovering over me, studying my face.
This handsome, cruel, wicked god. I could kill him.
I will kill him. Promises or not, my máma could already be dead thanks to his antics.
The lies. The scheming. His hand lifts like he might brush away the unruly lock of white blonde hair that’s fallen across my forehead, but then thinks better of it, tightening his fist. Pressing those full lips into a firm line.
I’m sorry, it seems to plead, that look. And gods it’s so pathetic, I could almost forgive him, but I can't. I won't.
He turns away, and the sound of the door closing is the lid on the proverbial coffin.