The Fire Prince (The Cursed Kingdoms Trilogy Book 2) (51 page)

“No?” Cora grimaced. “Very well.”

She healed Ebril until his body stopped trembling and his heart beat more strongly, then released his hand reluctantly. He needed more of her magic, but there were still Rand and Katlen and Cora to go.

“Don’t shift tonight,” she told him as she stood. “I mean it, Ebril.”

Ebril grinned faintly and sketched a salute at her.

Innis healed Katlen, her magic noting the rigid discipline that seemed to stiffen Katlen’s bones, the grumbling undertone of righteousness and the edge of asperity that flowed in her blood. Rand was next. He was marked by a deep and innate kindness, a strong sense of humor, a tingling, lively curiosity. Cora was last. As kind as Rand, and more weighted by the responsibility of leadership than she let show; deeply worried.

Innis sat back on her heels, weary, and looked up at the pale blur of Petrus overhead. “Should I heal Petrus? He barely slept last night.”

“That, I think, is the crux of this,” Cora said. “The only people who’re not affected are Petrus and you and Justen—and you’re the ones who were awake last night. Whatever caused this, it happened while we slept. And it may happen again tonight. Keep your eyes open.”

Innis nodded.

“We’re too vulnerable. If anything should attack us...” Cora rubbed her forehead, as if it helped her to think. “I want you and Petrus—and Justen too—to sleep as wolves, here, by the fire, when you’re not patrolling. I know it means breaking a Primary Law, but it will give us a few seconds’ advantage if something should happen.” She raised her voice slightly: “Ebril, Hew, no shifting tonight, whatever happens. Is that understood?”

Both mages nodded.

“Innis, you take first shift. When you finish, check in each tent, just to make sure.”

“I shall.” Innis stood.

“Night,” Ebril said, and Rand gave her a half-smile and a flick of his fingers.

I
NNIS FLAPPED SWIFTLY
upwards. There was no moon tonight, no stars. Clouds blanketed the sky. The campfire was bright to her owl’s eyes. Below her, Hew took off his boots and crawled into his tent, and the prince and Ebril entered theirs. On a physical level the three of them had felt similar—young, male—but on a deeper level they’d been utterly different. Hew so serious, Ebril cheerful even in his exhaustion, levity running in his veins, and Prince Harkeld halfway between the two of them, not as light-hearted as Ebril, not as ponderously grave as Hew.

Petrus stripped and became a wolf. He trotted around the island, sniffing, checking the barrier of driftwood, the piled supplies, the horses, the tents, then curled up by the campfire, his pelt silver in the firelight.

Innis circled, watching. Steam crept from the jungle and poured over the riverbank like water. It covered the island, gathering around the tents, moving in slow eddies. Tiny bats swooped and darted, hunting moths. The jungle was alive with noise. Frogs croaked and boomed. Crickets sang. Birds shrieked.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

H
ARKELD STOOD AT
the water lily pond, waiting for Innis. His memories of last night’s dreams were vague, but he was certain she hadn’t been in them. He always remembered the dreams she was in. He hoped she’d come tonight; he woke more rested when she visited.

The sky was a strange bruised color, yellow tinged with purple, and the garden was curiously still. No dragonflies hovered over the water lilies.

He heard footsteps behind him and turned. “Innis?”

But it was Broushka who came towards him, her sultry mouth curved in a smile. “Prince Harkeld.”

Harkeld gaped at her. “What—” And then he realized he was naked. He covered his groin with his hands. “What are you doing here?”

Broushka uttered a throaty laugh. “Don’t be shy.” She brushed aside his hands and reached for his cock, began to stroke him.

Harkeld gave an involuntary grunt of arousal. He felt his cock stiffen—

And then he was flat on his back on the grass and it wasn’t Broushka who rode him, but the serving maid from Gdelsk, her breasts jiggling deliciously as she moved, and his hands were at her waist, urging her on until he climaxed.

And then he was on top, but it wasn’t the serving maid beneath him, but Lenora, laughing and coy, kissing him with that skilled, sinful mouth. Harkeld groaned and thrust into her, deeper, faster, more urgently, until he spilled his seed. He closed his eyes, savoring the moment, and opened them to find himself on his back again. Someone was sucking his cock. He raised himself on an elbow. It was Lenora, her blonde hair spilling across his belly. He lay back with a sigh of pleasure—

The dream took him back through every sexual experience he’d ever had. By the time he lost his virginity again, Harkeld was breathless and exhausted. He stretched out on the grass with a groan and closed his eyes.

Footsteps came towards him. He slitted his eyes open. Broushka stood there. Harkeld didn’t have the strength to stand. “Enough,” he said.

But his dream ignored him. Broushka knelt on the grass and massaged his cock, bringing him to aching arousal—and then the serving maid took Broushka’s place, and he was burying himself in soft, warm, willing flesh.

When he’d climaxed, Harkeld staggered to his feet. “Enough,” he said again, more loudly. But the serving maid was gone and Lenora now advanced across the grass towards him.

Harkeld turned and ran, lurching and stumbling.

Lenora pursued him along the crushed marble paths, laughing, relentless, cornering him eventually in a rose bower. “No,” Harkeld said, panting, dizzy. “I don’t want to have sex with you.” He sank down on the silk cushions, too weak to stand, shielding his groin with his hands.

Lenora smiled and tilted her head to one side, voluptuous, beautiful, terrifying. “No?” She sat beside him and stroked his bare thigh with teasing, tickling fingers. “I think you’ll find I can change your mind...”

I
NNIS LET
P
ETRUS
sleep for two thirds of the night before gliding down to wake him. He stretched and yawned, showing sharp white teeth, and shifted into his own shape.

“How do you feel?” The words came out of her mouth stilted and awkward.

“Fine.”

The fire was little more than glowing embers. Mist swirled around them. Petrus’s face was shadowed, his green eyes black. “Seen or heard anything worrying?”

“No.”

For a moment she thought he was going to say something more, but he changed into an owl and flew up into the sky.

Innis twisted her fingers together, trying to follow him with her eyes.
Are you still my friend, Petrus?

She shifted into a wolf and padded through the campsite, mist billowing around her, thrusting her head into each tent. People breathed, sighed, muttered, groaned. Prince Harkeld whimpered, thrashing weakly in his blanket as if trying to run. Was he dreaming that his brother was cutting off his hands? Across the tent from him was Ebril, still and silent. A sword lay naked and ready between the two men.

Innis’s ears pricked forward. Was Ebril breathing?

Yes, very faintly.

She hurried to her own tent, changed into herself, threw on her clothes, crawled back outside. Without wolf eyes, she was practically blind. Innis groped her way to the fire, grabbed a smoldering stick, and ran back to Ebril’s tent, mist billowing around her legs. “Ebril,” she said, thrusting the flaps open. “Are you all right—”

Crouched on both men’s chests, leaning over their faces, kissing them, were plump, naked babies. No, not babies. The creature sitting on Prince Harkeld’s chest lifted its head and looked at her. It had a wizened man’s face, with a damp mouth and black, malevolent eyes.

“Harkeld!” Innis cried. “Ebril! Wake up!”

The creature leered at her, unafraid. The one kissing Ebril didn’t lift its head.

Innis threw down the smoldering stick and snatched the sword lying between the two men. “Harkeld! Ebril! Wake up!”

The prince stirred, groaned.

“Give me light!” Innis shouted, slashing at the creature on Ebril’s chest. The tip of the blade caught it beneath its chin, slicing but not killing. The wide mouth opened in a high-pitched scream. The sound echoed painfully in her skull.

Innis swung again, severing its neck. The thin, high scream stopped. A stench of sulfur and decay flooded the tent.

Prince Harkeld groaned again, struggling to push up on one elbow, dislodging the creature on his ch-est.

“I need light!” she yelled at him.

Light flared weakly in the tent. The second creature was scrambling over the prince’s torso. Innis grabbed one soft, plump leg and swung the sword. The prince jerked up his arms as if he thought she was attacking him.

The sword slid through the creature’s neck as easily as if its bones were made of lard. The head tumbled to the ground, the damp mouth still leering, the black eyes still open.

The prince slowly lowered his arms. He stared at the remains of the creature dangling in her grip, and then at the severed head, and then at her, his eyes wide and his mouth open, apparently speechless with shock.

Innis threw aside the creature’s body, dropped the sword, and scrambled over to Ebril. “Ebril! Wake up!” She shook him. “Ebril!”

Ebril’s head lolled limply.

Innis cupped his face in her hands, sent her magic urgently into him. “Ebril, wake up.”

But he couldn’t wake up. His heart wasn’t beating. Blood didn’t flow in his veins. He was dead.

“Is he all right?” the prince asked, crouching at her shoulder, golden flames flickering on his right hand.

“He’s dead.” Her voice came out thick with tears.

“What? No!” He pushed her aside, bent over Ebril. “Can’t you do something? Your magic—”

“His heart has stopped.”

“But he’s still warm!”

“I can’t heal death. Healers who try that die.”

She jerked around as someone thrust their head into the tent. Petrus, his face alarmed. “What’s wrong? I heard shouting—” He saw the small, naked, headless body of the creature that had been kissing Prince Harkeld and recoiled. “What’s that? His voice rose in pitch. “Innis, what’s going
on
?”

“I don’t know. But there were two of them, and they’ve killed Ebril.” She looked at the creature’s remains. The baby-like body was no longer quite so plump and dimpled. It seemed to be slowly deflating, although no blood leaked from the severed neck.

The creature lay on its front. Prince Harkeld picked up the smoldering stick and turned the body over, holding his right hand up to illuminate it. They all flinched from the sight of the swollen, ruddy, male genitals.

“How did it kill Ebril?” Petrus asked, his voice hushed.

“It was crouched on his chest, kissing him.” She glanced at the prince. “And you too.”

The prince looked as if he wanted to vomit. He scrubbed a hand over his mouth.

“When I checked as a wolf, I didn’t see anything. But Ebril was barely breathing, so I changed and came back to heal him, and then I saw them—” Tears choked in her throat. Innis pressed her hands to her mouth.
My fault
. If she hadn’t let Petrus sleep so long, if she’d checked the tents sooner, Ebril would still be alive.

“I didn’t see
that
until it was dead.” The prince poked the body again with the stick, flipping it back over, hiding the engorged testicles and penis. “I thought you were attacking
me
. I just about burned you.”

Innis shook her head. She turned back to Ebril and gently brushed the red hair back from his brow.
My fault
. Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks.

“Why aren’t the others awake?” the prince said. “Innis shouted loud enough. Did you see anyone out there, Petrus?”

“No,” Petrus said. And then, low-voiced, with a note of panic: “By the All-Mother!” He backed out of the entrance.

Prince Harkeld snatched the sword and followed. “Innis, come on!”