Warrior's Curse (Imnada Brotherhood) (37 page)

“What did he say?” David nudged Mac, who shrugged.

“The Gylferion.” Ringrose stopped dead at the edge of the table, staring at the disks as if they were the sun, moon, and stars tied up with a pink bow. “You’ve found them again.”

“You know what these things are?” David asked.

Ringrose swung around, eyes crackling with indignation. “Of course. My master and maker himself created the disks of the Gylferion.”

“Your master?” Gray asked, his face unnervingly blank of expression. “You mean Golethmenes?”

“He was the greatest of the Fey craftsmen. He
could forge magic from the very elements around him. Bring death with a thought. Create life with . . .” Ringrose worried his hands over and over, his beard quivering, his eyes darting round him in wild fright. “With . . .” He scrubbed at his face. Paced in a circle. “It’s in the blood. He said it’s in the blood. That’s what he told me. That’s what I know. More than that I cannot say. More than that I dare not say.”

“You’re saying you knew the chap who made these?” David asked slowly.

“Knew him, that’s right,” Ringrose answered. “He created the Gylferion at the behest of the Queen of the Fey, she who was wroth at the shapechanger for young Arthur’s death. The boy was her favorite. He was meant to rule. The Kingkiller ended that. He tore all she had worked for asunder. Like a blundering bear through the finest spider’s silk.”

“How did Golethmenes make them work? How did he use them to imprison Lucan Kingkiller? How did he overcome the Imnada’s resistance to Fey magic in order to get the spell to work?” Gray’s voice remained carefully neutral. Only Meeryn could know what control it took to hold to such a measured tone.

Ringrose grew more and more agitated, hands opening and closing, shoulders hunched as if he expected a beating should he answer wrong. “Four keys. Four souls. One door. That’s what Golethmenes said. That’s how he did it.”

“We’ve got the four keys, but what does he mean by . . .”

A new voice answered. “He means just what he says.”

For a big man, Lucan Kingkiller was incredibly
quiet. Meeryn nearly jumped out of her skin at the low rumble of his strangely accented voice just behind her ear. His mouth quirked and he offered her a small contrite nod of his head. “I’m sorry, my lady. I did not mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t. I just . . . I’m not used to people sneaking up on me.”

“I would think few things sneak up on you.” His gaze passed beyond her to settle on Gray with a dip of his shoulder, his voice pitched so that only she might hear.

She acknowledged his remark with her own half smile. “I’d been waiting a lifetime for that one and it still caught me by surprise.”

“Let us hope your wait is soon over.”

He strode into the room, his head seeming to scrape the ceiling, his presence charging an already explosive atmosphere. He faced down Mac, David, and Gray, who waited on him, their eyes hard as stones, their faces set. “Four keys”—Lucan recited as he took the gold disk from Gray’s hand—“Golethmenes created the four disks using all he knew of the alien powers of the Imnada shapechangers.” He picked up the bronze disk. “Four souls. He sacrificed four of the Fey to infuse the keys with the strongest of their magics. Stripped of their inner spirit, there was no way back through the walls to Ynys Avalenn.” He picked up the copper disk. “One door.”

“A thin place,” Gray answered, snatching up the silver disk from the table. “Golethmenes used a thin place to concentrate the energy into one huge cataclysmic force.”

“He used Badb, didn’t he?” Meeryn stepped forward, a horrible ache low in her stomach.

Lucan turned to her. “Aye, my lady. Badb was lost to the Summer Kingdom. But her imprisonment was my freedom. For she stole the Gylferion in retaliation against those who cast her out. Hounded for her treachery, she spent years and centuries hiding and running, and the disks were scattered and lost. It would be many centuries more before they were unearthed and brought together once more.”

“But why are Badb and Ringrose companions if Golethmenes was his master and Badb betrayed the Fey and stole the keys from him? Shouldn’t they be enemies?”

“Ringrose is a Realing; a creature spun from magic. He was created by the Fey smith to serve his daughter. Where she went, Ringrose followed. He was protector, adviser, servant, and friend. His service did not end with her exile. He did as he was trained to do.”

“You mean to say Badb is Golethemenes’s daughter? How could he sacrifice his own flesh and blood?” Meeryn couldn’t keep the pain from her voice.

This time Lucan’s gaze rested on Gray, with the weight of a thousand and more years behind it. She watched as his face reddened then paled, the bones standing stark against the hollowed skin, his hands curling around the silver disk like talons despite the pain, the blue of his eyes like the heart of an angry sea.

“I suppose he thought he was doing it for the good of his people.”

*  *  *

Gray stood at the door, watching Meeryn as she packed her belongings, with a sense of déjà vu as if he were reliving another scene from a previous life.
But this time there was but one thing she carried; a crystal sphere which she stitched into an inside seam of her gown with big clumsy stitches. “I’ve never enjoyed mending, but now I wish I’d spent more time at the pursuit.”

“Your hands are shaking.”

She bit off the final thread and poked her needle back on its cushion with a killer stab. “I’d hoped you wouldn’t notice.”

“Your pulse is racing. Pupils are dilated.”

Her brows furrowed with irritation. “I know I’m scared, Gray. I don’t need a physician’s diagnosis.”

“I’ve never thought of you as being scared of anything. That was always my purview. The cautious one, the timid one, the one who spent his days with his head in a book. You were the bold one who enjoyed skating the edge between naughty and downright wicked. I guess it still holds true.”

“Are you afraid of what’s coming?”

“No, I’m afraid of what’s already here in front of me. I’m terrified. I feel eight again and afraid to sleep without a lamp to chase away the dreams. Or twelve and too frightened to tell my grandfather how the coachman’s son thrashed me for a penny. Or twenty-one again and too afraid to . . . to show you how I feel.”

She touched his cheek, the scar at the edge of his mouth. “I’m not sure if I enjoy being compared with the bogeyman or a bully, but that last bit . . . I might enjoy that.”

He cupped her face, kissing her slowly and deeply, hoping she felt the depth of his need for her in every pass of his lips and teasing flick of his tongue. He took her hand, fingers resting at the underside of her
wrist, feeling her pulse skitter ever more rapidly. “I’m told the odds are stacked against me”—he sensed her stiffen in his arms—“but I don’t gamble unless I’m certain I’ll win.”

She lifted her head, eyes black with desire now rather than fear. “Together, we can do this. Jai Idrish will answer to my call. I know it will. And with the Gylferion . . . we’re close, Gray. So close I can taste it.”

“I wasn’t speaking of the curse this time.”

Her face softened into a smile so welcoming it made his heart turn over and he knew what David accused him of was true. He didn’t just need her . . . he loved her.

He leaned her back upon the bed, his hands threaded in the curling tangle of her warm honey-blonde hair, his thigh resting across her legs. She ran a hand over his face, eyes wide and shining with unshed tears as if she memorized him. “You won’t die. I won’t allow it.”

He chuckled. “The Voice and Vessel has spoken?”

“No, Meeryn Munro has spoken.” She lifted her head to take his bottom lip between her teeth. Her tongue plunged within, her body pliant and alive beneath him. “You might have been meek, you were never subservient. When you make up your mind to do something, there’s little that stands in your way.”

“A few hours or a few days will tell if I can reclaim my place untainted and unchallenged.”

She grinned, her hand sliding beneath his shirt to skim the rippled contours of his chest. “I wasn’t talking about the curse this time.”

He smelled her arousal on her skin, the scent of her desire inflaming him until he ached. But he took his
time, skimming her free of her clothing, taking care to offer her every pleasure, every caressing evidence of his own desire. Finally, she lay naked before him, hair loose about her shoulders and down over her breasts to tickle the flat planes of her stomach. But as he bent to taste, she suddenly rocked up on her knees, a devil’s grin on her kiss-swollen mouth. “You don’t think I’m going to let you stay dressed, do you? It’s my turn.”

She loosened his neckloth, tossing it away. Kissed the hollow at the base of his throat. Unbuttoned his waistcoat, sliding it from his shoulders as she pressed her body against him, the heat of her like a blast furnace. He reached for her but she took his wrist and held him away.

“If you’ve waited this long, you can wait a little longer.”

She released him to pull his shirt over his head. The breeze danced over his skin, and he closed his eyes to the coolness of it across his hot flesh. Her hands played over his body with a feather’s touch, her lips following. She took his nipple in her mouth, teasing it hard. Every drop of blood fled to his cock which was close to exploding. He hissed as she tongued him to the breaking point before moving to the other nipple. Her teeth grazed and nipped, her tongue swirled the sensitive skin until he growled with need. She met his stare, her own black as sin, her lips wet and full.

“Your breeches next, Your Grace.”

He kicked off his boots as she shucked him out of his smallclothes. His cock springing free, the tip dewed with his seed. She pushed him down upon the bed, his arms over his head as her eyes traveled with languorous ease over his nudity. She touched each
scar, followed by a kiss. Caressed the marred and ugly flesh at his shoulder. Traced each rippled muscle of his abdomen before taking his cock in her hand. He groaned and nearly leapt off the bed.

“I’d prolong the agony, but I don’t think you could take much more.”

He shook his head as she slid her tongue up the length of his shaft, once twice, her lips circling the head, her breath hot and soft and oh-my-god . . .

He groaned her name, tangled his hands in her hair and dragged her up to kiss her mouth, tasting his seed on her tongue, his other hand feeling the slick heat of her sex. She lifted her hips and sheathed herself onto him, deeper until he felt he must rip her in half. Rocked forward and took more of him. He squeezed his eyes shut, praying he didn’t humiliate himself by coming too fast, too soon. She rose and plunged again, hips tilted, face flushed. He rose to meet her, hands holding her waist, making her feel him, slowly, easily. She wanted faster. He’d not give it to her. He would take his time. If he could.

Each thrust curled tighter in his gut, each fluttering spasm of her inner muscles tensed his body like a drawn bow, every inch of him alive and awake. He drove into her once more as she cried out in a shuddering gasp. He exploded inside her as she rode him, drawing out her pleasure and his own, her sex tremoring against his cock, her whimpering gasps against his ear bringing him to climax again.

The shadows lengthened. The curse moved sluggish and slow through his bloodstream. He saw the blue and silver flames crowding his vision. But he pushed these away as he held her. The battle would
be joined soon enough. If he could not give the clans a future, perhaps he could offer them another son of Idrin, a boy who would take up the fight he might fail.

“He would be an eagle and strong as his father,” she said, sensing his unspoken thoughts.

“He would not be the Duke of Morieux,” he replied.

Her tears splashed hot upon his chest. His own stung his blinking eyes. “But he
could
be leader of the five clans. It’s in the blood,” she whispered.

It was past midnight when they convened in the foyer. With a few final instructions and a firm handshake for each, Gray sent Flannery, St. Leger, and Lucan into the night, each bearing a disk of the Gylferion.

Meeryn carried Jai Idrish, though she hid it in an inside seam of her gown, hastily stitched closed around the sphere. A bit bulky, but in the dark none would notice the odd drape of her skirts or the way her hand rested gently against her hip. At least that was her hope.

She and Gray lingered behind, making final adjustments to the traps he’d laid and the snares he’d set. Should the Ossine attempt another attack, they would receive more than they bargained for.

He kissed her in the dim light of a last candle. “If Ringrose is right, I can meet Dromon whole and unsullied by Fey-blood magic. He’ll have no choice but to accept my ascension.”

“He has an army of choices, and they still believe you murdered your grandfather and they still fear
you’ll destroy the clans through your alliance with Fey-bloods.”

“It’s the only way, Meeryn.”

He was so solid, so warm, so incredibly dear to her. She wanted to hold on to him and not let go. Escape back to their upstairs chamber, lock the door, and forget the world. Then a tremor passed through him, no more than a stiffening of his body and a tightening of his embrace, but it was obvious the curse fought to overcome the draught’s protection. That every day, as the draught’s effects weakened, the curse grew stronger. What they had hoped were months might be less than that. Weeks before potion and curse together did what Dromon’s forces had not been able to do in the last two years—destroy Gray.