One Thousand Kisses (3 page)

Ani dug her nails into her palms, remembering the way Embor had looked when he’d realized Violet had peed on him, and said, “I think the Fiertags are doing well.”

Ophelia and Warran froze mid-toast.

“Explain yourself,” Ophelia said in frigid tones.

Ani swallowed. “In fifty years, they haven’t made any huge mistakes.” Not counting Tali’s escapade. “The leprechauns have accepted ambassadors into Greenland. The Sphinx rewrote their contracts, the survival training program has been fruitful, the gnomes are confined to the Outer Territories—”

“How can you say such things, you ignorant child?” Ophelia’s voice thinned to a near shriek. “You’re old enough to remember the Incident. How many did your clan lose? How many died in your household when the magic disappeared?”

Ani peeked at Warran. If he were as angry as his sister, she may have hit upon the exact scheme to disentangle herself. What she wouldn’t give to channel Tali’s skill at annoying people right now.

“I don’t recall how many we lost,” she said as flippantly as possible. Few of her kin had died during the Incident because the magically weak Serendipity clan had had more experience faring like humans. “It was so long ago.”

During the Incident, all magic had vanished. Obtaining food, water and medical care had been a challenge hardly any fairies were prepared to face. After a few terrible months, the magic had returned as inexplicably as it had disappeared. Since then, the Court’s highest purpose had been preventing another disaster.

“I’ll tell you how many we lost,” Ophelia ranted. “Forty-seven. Our clan is still struggling. Then those thrice-damned agents went rogue. Idiots. The least they could have done was kill Embor.”

Ani’s heart thumped painfully. How did the Elder Torvals know their missing clansmen had tried to commit murder? It hadn’t been shared outside Embor and Skythia’s immediate circle. She chewed her fingertip, her body tense. She should report this. What would Embor say if she came to him with this information?

What if he mocked her—said people were always threatening to kill him?

What if he stared into her eyes and asked how he could possibly thank her for her service to the Realm?

Warran stroked his beard. “Ophelia, really. We don’t condone assassination.”

“Gallows humor.” Ophelia’s teeth flashed in a grin that looked more like a snarl. “We have a plan for the election that makes such measures unnecessary. Anisette, it’s time you know how you’re going to help.”

Ani had the urge to grab her table knife and back away. “I am?”

“Darling,” Warran began, “you’ve proven yourself trustworthy these past months.”

She didn’t like where this was headed. She wouldn’t be part of any plan against the Fiertags. “I’m just a trainee. This talk of strategy is beyond me.”

“Once we’re together,” Warran said, “the Court will overlook the unfortunate situation with your sister.”

If he was set on her, why hadn’t he offered a consummation card so she could refuse it? Did he not want to take that chance? Some fairies tolerated bond tests out of guilt, gambling on the odds it wouldn’t take, but she’d not have done that with Warran. Hades, no.

Ophelia motioned for the server to replenish everyone’s wine. The level in Ani’s glass hadn’t dropped, so the server pretended to fill it the same way she’d pretended to drink.

“What I’m about to tell you is confidential,” Warran said. “We might not be in the Fiertags’ cabinet, but we know the Primaries have no idea what caused the Incident. Their investigation has turned up nothing. They tell the peasants it was natural and tell us it was humans. Blaming humans is their excuse to lock the rings.”

“I’ve gotten reports of Embor’s erratic behavior.” Ophelia’s voice dropped to a stage whisper. “They say he has nightmares. A known sign of instability.”

“Who says these things?” Ani asked. “I’ve heard nothing.”

Embor had taken a sabbatical after he’d been kidnapped five years ago. When he’d returned after a month, it had been business as usual. Ani hadn’t heard much before or after that maligned him—from anyone but the Torvals.

She certainly hadn’t heard he was afflicted with sleep terrors. The reassurance of the sibling bond, of never being completely alone, tended to scotch unpleasant dreams.

Ophelia sneered. “Why would you hear? We’re Elders, and you are, as you said, a trainee.”

Instead of arguing, Ani murmured, “I see.”

“You’d best see.” Ophelia finished her wine. “Soon you’ll be in a position to influence the Elder Court.”

“I can’t be appointed to Elder Court,” Ani reminded her, surprised how bitter it came out.

“A woman can sway a husband, dear.”

Anisette twisted her napkin into a thin snake of fabric. Surely they didn’t expect her to marry Warran regardless of the results of the bond test? She wasn’t even seventy.

She was going to have to end this. Somehow. Sooner rather than later.

“Ophelia’s being naughty.” Warran stretched across the table for Ani’s hand, and she busied herself with the napkin. “Your sib is a humanspace agent. She’ll tell you the Incident wasn’t caused by humans. They’re too stupid to have plotted such a thing.”

“My sister doesn’t share that view of humanity.”

“How can she not? She’s around them so frequently, their atavism would be difficult to ignore.”

How many humans have you been around?
she wanted to ask, but her best lines remained trapped in her head. Trapped by civility. Tali had always warned her that someday, her dislike of confrontation would get her into trouble. Before this, the only trouble in Ani’s life had been caused by Tali.

She was about to excuse herself when the server, with a nervous glance at Ani, placed a silver tray in front of Warran. Warran removed the cover with a flourish. Inside was a small gilded chest.

“I have something for you.” He slid it toward Ani.

“What is it?” The box was the size of two clasped fists, intricately carved. Aside from compliments, Warran wasn’t in the habit of bestowing gifts.

“Guess.” Warran was handsome, charming when he wanted to be, but he was hard to read. A man with, say, blue eyes wouldn’t be such a mystery. She’d be able to see his pupils contract and dilate with his changing moods.

Pale grey eyes would also work. They were often paired with blond hair.

While Ani considered the box on the table—as well as blond-haired, grey-eyed men—Ophelia waved away the desserts. Ani’s favorite part of the meal was the sweet, but she didn’t defy Ophelia and call it back.

Crackers and cheese. She was so weak-willed, it was a wonder she could sit upright.

“It’s smaller than a breadbox,” Ani finally said. “Alas. I like bread.” And dessert.

Warran flipped the clasp. “You’ll like this more.”

“It’s not my birthing day.” The last time she’d accepted something from Warran, it had led to months of celibacy and gloom.

“Quit being missish and open it,” Ophelia barked.

Ani whipped back the lid. Inside the box was a white card accented with sparkles. Hand-lettered on the card was the number 872.

A consummation ritual card. Her stomach cramped.

“I’ve made you wait long enough,” Warran said grandly. “The time has come.”

“An eight hundred?” She’d never been drawn to eight hundred-level rituals. Too many participants, not enough romance.

“Oh yes,” Ophelia assured her. “Warran wanted eight hundred and one, but that only involved the three of us. We needed a fourth person to…increase our chances.”

Ani stood abruptly, her layers of skirt knocking her chair to the solar floor. “I must go. Thank you for a delicious meal.”

Warran grabbed her hand. “Shall we begin?”

Eight hundred and seventy-two. Eight hundred and seventy-two. Anisette hadn’t studied the upper rituals as much as the lower ones. Was eight hundred and seventy-two a ritual that involved ongoing consent once the card was accepted?

“Take off her clothes and tie her up,” Ophelia ordered, rising from the table. She yelled at the servant. “You there. Fatty. Come with me. Time to prove yourself.”

Ani yanked away from Warran. “No.”

Warran laughed, his smile toothy and gleaming. “Perfect. The precise note of defiance called for. You’ve done this before.”

“I haven’t.” Ani’s panic grew. She was a healer. Earth and water. She carried no emergency spell globes that worked Realmside. Why would she need to? This was the stuff of lurid erotica…innocent fairy coerced into a bonding ritual.

In the stories, the bond always took.

As soon as Ophelia exited, Warran’s smile faded and he pulled Ani into his lap. Her dark blue dress billowed over his legs. “The eight hundred and one would have been better, but Ophelia’s the dominant twin. You know how that is. We can’t stand against them, can we?”

“I don’t give my consent,” Ani whispered. Her heart thudded in her throat, choking her. She wasn’t the dominant twin either. She wasn’t the dominant anything.

“I wanted our first time to be less strenuous. I even considered a four hundred and twenty-seven. I hope you rested well last night. By tomorrow we’ll be bondmates, and you can sleep the honeymoon away.”

He was that certain? With a shaking hand, Ani took the card from the chest and tore it in half. “I don’t give my formal consent. My answer is no.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do.” Ani squirmed until he released her. “I don’t wish to see you anymore.”

For a moment she thought that would be the end of it, but then his brows drew together. “There’s someone else. You’ve accepted a card.”

“Of course I haven’t. Our agreement had precedence.” Who did he think would be foolhardy enough to interfere with the affairs of Elder Warran of Clan Torval? That would be almost as bad as crossing one of the Primaries.

Unexpectedly, Warran shot out of the chair and secured her upper arms, bared by her puff sleeves.

Ani jerked at his grasp. Her survival classes hadn’t included self-defense, deemed unnecessary for civilized fairies. “I’m leaving.”

Rage blasted from his body like an icy wind. “Tell me who it is.”

She gasped when his eyes bled white. He’d called his magic, his ether. Cold seared her skin from his hands. Her teeth began to chatter as she wrestled him.

Ani called her own magic, earth and water. She wasn’t strong enough to numblock another Fey. Agony spells existed, seldom taught or used, certainly not by healers. How did one reverse-heal? Could she bring herself to cause pain instead of erase it?

She shoved her fingers at his neck, her sleeves constricting as she stretched. Before she could push him, hurt him, Warran staggered back, collapsing onto the ground.

His skin was pasty, crusted with ice, except for the scalded red of his palms and four scorch marks the exact shape of her fingers against his throat.

His sightless eyes rolled upward, and a voice so unlike his she hardly recognized it creaked out of him. “Hand of Fire.”

“What?” Blood rushed to her head and buzzed in her ears like a giant mosquito. “I have no fire. What’s happening?”

“I saw him. The Fiertag. He’s the one, isn’t he?”

Ani clutched her hands, fingers hot and cold at the same time. “Are you mad?”

“No,” he said grimly, “I’m ether. I have a touch of precog.”

His palms blistered and wept straw-colored liquid. If he weren’t tended quickly, it would grow worse. He could lose the use of his fingers.

“Do you need healing?” She reached out with more reluctance than she should feel when someone was in pain.

“Run,” he whispered, right before Ophelia, dressed in white fur from head to toe, charged into the solar.

“What in Hella’s name is going on in here? The ether surged like a cat was trying to…” Her mouth snapped shut when she noticed Warran prone.

In a dangerous voice, Ophelia said, “I told you not to use the damned spell, brother. What difference does it make who she’s meant for?”

“She refused consent.”

Ani, for the first time in weeks, felt hopeful. Warran was going to do as he ought.

Ophelia waved her hand. “It’s the eight hundred and seventy-two.”

“She refused consent,” Warran repeated. His white eyes turned pink, then brown. “It was my right to know, and it’s changed things. We can’t proceed.”

Of course they couldn’t proceed. She’d turned him down. Ani straightened her shoulders as Ophelia loomed over them like an ice spider. “I appreciate the time and attention you invested in me,” she said breathlessly, “but Warran and I won’t suit. I’m canceling our agreement.”

Ophelia glared down her long nose. “Don’t be a twit. Imagine how powerful you’ll be when you’re the bondmate of the Primary.”

Warran’s sudden laugh turned into a cough, as if his throat pained him.

“Only two in a thousand fairies—” Anisette began.

Ophelia sneered. “Do you think we care about sad little statistics that keep other fairies weak? They don’t apply to people like us.”

Was Ophelia convinced by the promises of
The Thousand Kisses
or by her own importance? “The number of high-level fairies who find bondmates is actually lower—”