Hels's Gauntlet [Forbidden Legacy 3] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (20 page)

She bit into the cookie with reluctance, but cinnamon, nutmeg, and oatmeal flavors exploded against her tongue. She almost groaned. She washed down the first bite with a sip of tea and then ate another, and another. It took her less than a minute to polish off the cookie and she half-finished the tea. The surges of restlessness slowed, and Cassie glanced at the cookies and tried to remember her manners.

“If it would please you, I would eat another.” Bad enough she ate the food, but they trusted Leitha. Leitha wouldn’t harm her. The thought spurred another spasm of unease in her belly.

The Brownie held out the box, and Cassie selected one. “How many babies, Leitha?”

“Just two. But two fathers deserve two children, yes?”

Cassie barely heard the question.
Two babies. Twins. Two fathers.

“I’m pregnant by both of them?”
Was that even biologically possible?

“Of course.” Leitha clucked her tongue. “Eat.” She stared pointedly until Cassie took another bite.

“Yes, you are carrying twins. Lord Helcyon and Wizard Book each fathered one of the babies, but that was as it was always meant to be. Prophecy, as our Danae shall soon learn, is not something that may be harnessed to one’s own purpose. You are the gateway, m’lady. You were foretold before the Danae’s birth. Would that our Queen paid attention to her own history, but she did not. The schism between Fae and Wizard was but an extension of deeper factions and wars that stretch back many millennia. Power calls to power and demands all. We created a species in the Wizards, a faction of the Fae that cannot procreate.”

The tiny tremors and quakes shivering along her nerves subsided. The growl in her stomach settled, and she ate the second cookie slowly, savoring every bite. “The Wizards do not consider themselves Fae.”

“Does it matter what they call themselves? Your world believes the Fae to only be Elves, but we are more than just Lords and Masters. Many humans carry some Fae blood and not all of it Elven. But that matters little here because magic always demands balance. The first Wizard may have been an accident of birth, but most were not.”

The Brownie’s words made sense. “But how is an accidental pregnancy magic that must be balanced?”

“All life is a product of magic for all magic is created by life.” Leitha leaned forward. “We created life and did not give it the ability to create more. Yes, they fathered human children, but what happened to the magic? Energy must go on, it must find new pathways, and that magic left unchecked…that is what called you. That is what the prophecy spoke of when it told us that life would be restored in the child of all three. Through you, the Fae will be renewed, through you the Wizards will discover their true destiny, and through you, humanity will be blessed with the bounty of both.”

“No pressure.” Cassie shook her head slowly. “How can one person do all that?”

“It only takes one to open the door. It is up to everyone else to follow. Your followers flock to you already. You are opening the door, and your children will pass through it and they will bring us so much more than you know. So much more than you can understand. That is why you must stop this fighting with the fathers. You must seal your bonds and balance your energy.”

“Wait a minute.” Cassie set the empty teacup to the side and leaned forward. She already felt more like herself. “We are bonded. I mean…I can feel them both. They can sense me. We share power.”

“You share what they allow you to take. They can also take it back. There are too many opportunities for those doors to close, misunderstanding, anger, resentment—they are there. You insist upon blazing your own way, but it is not just your way. It is all of your ways. The three of you must be in unity in that common purpose. You must firm the oath that binds you finally and totally.”

So much of this just seemed over her head. “Why aren’t you telling this to them? They would understand it so much better than I.”

“Perhaps. But they are both locked in a cycle far older than you. You carry that new life within you, nursing the possibilities for all in your womb. They still fight ancient wars, whether they intend to or not. Your Wizard struggles with the fealty to Lord Helcyon, with what it means to his loss of identity. My Lord rediscovers himself, but he is changed from the being he once was. He can never be that again. He must be who you all are now.”

“They can handle anything.” She glanced at the door. Jacob was terrified of a human baby. Terrified that they would all outlive it. How the hell was she supposed to tell him that along with the rest?

“Do you truly believe that?”

“With all my heart.”

Leitha nodded slowly. “Good. They will need your faith, and you will need it even more.”

“Why?”

“Because in moments they will be taken by the Danae and her forces and you must let that happen.”

Cassie jerked to her feet, knocking the chair over, but Leitha seized her arm. “You must, my lady. What happens next will decide all our fates, but you have opened the door…you can do nothing else.”

“But the Danae could kill them.”

“Can she? Or will they persevere?”

Fear snapped from the reins of her caution and raced through her. Outside, the first clang of sword sounded on sword. Jacob swore, and magic flared. Every hair along her body stood on end, and tension stiffened in her spine. She tried to tug free of the Brownie. “I have to go to them.”

“Cassandra.” The Brownie’s voice gentled to an almost motherly note. “Stop. You said you had every faith in them. You have done all you can. You have built the bridge to end their animosity. You have guided them to the steps. You have engaged them to walk across and through the doorway that stands wide. But you cannot push them through the door. They must choose to walk through it. They are so close.”

Was that a plea in the Brownie’s voice?
More cries of battle rang out, and she flinched with ever clash and clang. Tears pooled in her eyes.

“So what do you want me to do? Just sit here? Do nothing?”

“No. I want you to drink your tea and to eat the meal I will prepare, and then you will sleep, a guest in my home. You will grow those babies in your belly, and you will save all of us.”

“What about them? Leitha, I love them.” The fear clawed at her heart, fear and loneliness.
What if they died?
She couldn’t bear to lose them.

“You must believe, Cassandra. They will need that belief now, more than they ever have. Can you do it?”

A sharp groan and a thud bruised her soul. Tears spilled down her cheek.

Stay in the cot—
Helcyon’s mental voice cut off, and her chest squeezed.

Stay in the cottage.

Stay safe.

“Cassandra?” Leitha demanded an answer, but Cassie couldn’t speak. Tears flowing down her face, she leaned down to pick up the chair and sat down.

She would stay, and, by God, she would believe with everything she had. She swallowed, trying to push the words past the lump in her throat. “If she kills them, I will rip out her heart.”

“You will not be alone in that mission.” But Leitha’s sympathy couldn’t help Cassie or her men. She had to believe.

She did believe.

She would never stop believing.

Pain screamed down his right side in fiery, stinging stripes that wrapped his chest and plunged down his flesh to dig into his thighs. Helcyon blinked past the blackness, bringing the stone chamber into focus. His numb shoulders promised the sear of pain beneath the tingles. His wrists were shackled to the wall above, his own slumped weight dragging his shoulders too low. Sharp pebbles bruised his feet, but he pushed upward.

The pressure on his shoulders eased, but lances of agony through his legs drowned out the relief. He sucked in a noisy breath, and it whistled through his teeth as he stood. His vision blurred and a blackout threatened, but he refused to give in to the pain. Pain could be controlled.

“Welcome back to the land of the damned.” The rough, raw notes in Jacob’s voice dragged another harsh reality across Helcyon’s mind. The Danae had arrived with more than a hundred strong of her most elite warriors.

Grimacing, Helcyon spit the blood from his mouth. Their incarceration spoke of the Danae’s success. She captured them, but did she have Cassandra? Not even the Danae would risk the wrath of the Brownies and their refined manners and protocol, or would she?

“How long?” Glass seemed to dig into his throat with each word, so he chose only two.

“No. Fucking. Clue.” Strain snapped between each word. Helcyon sucked in another breath and forced his legs straight. Two hard metal cilices dug into his thighs, rippling skin and muscle as blood oozed between the silver.

Iron.

The Danae shackled him in iron.

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to turn his head slowly. Jacob lay shackled just two feet away. Metal barbs wrapped around his chest, his arms, and his legs. They’d been stripped of most of their clothing.

Helcyon frowned at the Wizard’s condition, four ribs showed in sharp relief against his side. He’d broken them. His chest rose and fell in swift, shallow breaths. Blood speckled his lips and a thick bruise ringed his right eye.

“You look like hell.”

“So do you.” Jacob smirked, and a cough cut through his harsh chuckle. “Of course, you look like Hel every day.”

Wry humor twisted around his heart. Helcyon leaned back against the stone wall. The granite was cold to the touch. The hewn stone face rasped against his skin, driving awareness of more injuries.

Dread licked its way through him, “Did she take Cassandra?”

“I don’t know.” Jacob’s words trembled. “I haven’t tried to reach out to her…not sure how much they can sense here.”

“Wise.” Helcyon didn’t comment on the weight of the shackles, or how they muffled his own reach. Jacob flickered like a guttering candle in his mind, barely perceptible in the darkness. The bond to Cassandra lay quiescent and silent.

But not gone. It hasn’t been severed. Wherever she is, she is alive.
He tested the strength of the shackles biting his wrists. They didn’t even budge. But there were other ways out of iron. “Has anyone been to see us?”

“Nope. There is a guard at the door, but he hasn’t come inside.” Jacob nodded toward the wooden door with a narrow one-foot square, slatted peephole. “He’s still there. His face is almost expressionless, empty.”

“A drone. The Danae prefers those for her most valued prisoners. They are utterly loyal and empty of thought.” Helcyon began to twist his right hand in half circles inside the shackle. Warm heat trickled down his arm. The manacle inched upward over the blood-slicked skin.

“She’s a real bitch. Have I mentioned that?” Jacob’s wheeze of laughter turned into another wet cough.

“I seem to recall something of the sort, not too long ago.” A thousand needle-sharp pins stabbed awareness back into his shoulders. Helcyon allowed himself a thirty second respite from loosening the cuff on his wrist and breathed through the pain.

“I think I broke my collarbone or maybe I just dislocated my shoulder, but my left arm is pretty useless at the moment.” His low, conversational tone trembled with torment.

“How are the ribs?” Helcyon began to twist his wrist again, every scrape of his raw flesh inside the iron throbbing. He risked illness if the metal shavings made it into his blood. But iron poisoning took hours to kill. He could use that time more effectively if he freed his right hand. His palm itched with the need to call his sword, but bound, it was just out of reach. The manacle shifted higher, trapping his thumb against his hand.

“I think your Fae buddies got a little kick happy.” A wet cough punctuated the words this time. Helcyon paused to look down at him. The gray fatigue from earlier turned Jacob’s color to ash, and his eyelids were only half open.

“You will not die.” He would not allow it. “Do you hear me, Wizard?”

“Yes, your lordship. Whatever you say, your Lordship.” The whisper was almost inaudible beneath the hiccupped coughs flecking more blood on Jacob’s lips.

Had one of those ribs punctured his lung?

Helcyon pushed his arm upward, sliding the manacle over his bloodied wrist and then jerking down until his thumb snapped. His eyes crossed at the fresh pain soaking through the rest. His vision glazed, but his right arm dropped to his side to create new spears of agony through his abused shoulders.

His swirling black tattoo inched over his skin and tried to repair the damage, but seemed almost confused by the wealth of it. The Wizard’s silence preyed on his mind. “I mean it, Jacob. You will not die.”

He closed his eyes and reached inside himself, ignoring the black spots marring his magical vision. The iron fuzzied the image, but Helcyon didn’t need “to see” what he was doing with accuracy. He only had to know, and he knew his body very well. He sent the tattoo streaming down his right arm. Blistering heat scored through his blood as the tattoo slithered down his arm, the dance of a thousand throbbing, thrusting needles prickling awareness into his damaged muscle, bones, and skin.

He hung by his left arm, sweat dripping from his forehead into his eyes as he opened them to see the black tattoo gloving his right hand.