Eversworn: Daughters of Askara, Book 3 (28 page)

No, she wasn’t without her own magic, but I’d hardly tell him that.

Resting my head against his thigh, I chuckled bitterly. “I was a fool to ask.”

“Yes, you were.” He appeared genuinely confused. “Now, your friend has a choice to make. We can either return to Tanith, to the castle, and begin negotiations, or we can end this here and now.” He rolled a shoulder. “Dillon, it’s your choice. Work with my raiders. Teach them how to circumnavigate your protocols. Increase my profit and, in time, you’ll earn her as your reward.”

Silver sparked in Dillon’s eyes. “I won’t betray the colony.”

“Goddess be damned.” Roland glowered. “Is that mantra spoon-fed to all legionaries?”

“Honor your word,” I beseeched him. “Stop talking in circles. Keep your vow. Let this end.”

“You’re right.” Roland lifted his arm. “I should have known this was a futile effort.”

When his hand dropped, black smoke ringed the cart. Wind snagged the fog, revealing four more guardsmen. Metal scraped as swords unsheathed, eager troops awaiting Roland’s command.

Struggling to my knees, I winced as my hair, my leash, was yanked. “Release him.”

“I think we both know that’s not going to happen.” His knuckles brushed my scalp where he tightened his grip. “Dillon, this is your last chance.” He drew a dagger from his belt. “She has no further use for me. She’s blown her cover, delivered my prize.” He pressed cold metal to my throat. “She lacks the stomach to use her talent, and whores are plentiful at court.” A line of fire blazed from one side of my neck to the other. “The girl will be sold. I have no patience for rearing a bastard, and my future queen will have no need of one.”

A bestial roar made the knife slicing my skin lower.

“He is a prime, a mated prime,” Roland seethed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You didn’t ask.” Husky laughter bumped my throat against his blade. His outburst banished my doubt he knew about Phineas. How else would he recognize a prime? Let alone a mated one.

“You used to be more agreeable, Isabeau.” His hand steadied. “I’m disappointed in you.”

“I used to allow fear to rule me.” From the corner of my eye, I glimpsed black skin and red wings. “I used to let you rule me.” Dillon’s nod eased the tight ball of fear in my chest and while Roland fumed, I drew back my elbow and sank it into his crotch. He roared a startled cry of pain, bent double and gasped. I caught his wrist, knocking it aside long enough to roll from his reach.

Then I loosed a shrill whistle, the kind I used on market days to snare Lindsay’s attention.

“You bitch.” He bent over, fingers sinking in his thighs. “Kill the Evanti,” he ordered. “Now.”

“No,” I cried. “You can’t do this.”

Heart pounding, heat built in my hands. I stared into my palms, calling my glamour, feeling my magic rise around me. I gagged at the stench of borrowed magic, death magic. The grimoire had eaten and eaten well before I sealed it. This surge in my power attested to that. Steeling my mind against repeating all the ways this could go wrong, I summoned all that power in my hand.

Rolling from the cart, Lindsay sank her curved blade into the gut of the nearest male.

Across from me, Dillon braced his legs apart and drew his sword. His silver eyes held mine for several heartbeats. Emotions mirrored within them. Love for me, hope for a future we might not see, a family we might never make, all of it reflected between us without him saying a word.

Roland’s broken laughter splintered the moment.

“You’ve made your choice. Live with it.” He snapped at the nearest guard, “Kill the girl.”

The male barely breathed before Dillon attacked. Winding his tail around the guard’s ankles, cinching tight, Dillon yanked as he shoved the male’s shoulder. When the guard flailed, Dillon plucked Brielle from his arms. With a vicious punch from the tiny fist atop his wing, the male landed with a thud at Dillon’s feet. While he adjusted his hold on Brielle, his tail lifted the dagger from his belt and sliced the guard from ear to ear before flicking with catlike annoyance.

I had told him it was a very nice tail.

Assured Brielle was safe, I spun on Roland. “You’ll pay for every day I lived without her.”

More grunts and groans rose behind me. Feminine laughter interspersed with screams.

Roland frowned at his dying guards. “I’m afraid any debt on my part is imagined on yours.” Lifting his hand, he vanished on a twist of black mist. I stepped and tripped over the bag of salt.

He was invisible, not intangible. No one could vanish and rematerialize. It was an illusion.

To break his spell, I needed his blood, a hair, something.
Think, Isabeau, think
. I lifted my hand, grinning at Roland’s blood caked beneath my fingernails.

I jabbed my finger with the point of my knife, cleaned from under a single nail and let our blood mingle as I chanted a brief spell with my eyes shut. When the final words left my mouth, I opened my eyes and saw through Roland’s illusion. His back was to me as he strolled toward his great black stallion. No cries arose as the coward escaped. No one saw him go. No one but me.

I had to stop him or we would never be safe.

My gaze slid toward Dillon. Brielle still lay crossways in his arms, cradled against his chest. He’d folded one wing over his shoulder and tucked the other under his arm. The resulting cocoon protected her as Dillon battled with his free arm and with the use of his viciously dexterous tail.

Tears sprang to my eyes at the sight of him, my glorious mate, defending my sleeping child.

Breaking that connection, I glanced at Lindsay, whose teeth were bared as her blade swung.

I cast about for a weapon to take Roland unawares. I held the advantage unless he noticed—and he would notice—the hole I’d punctured in his glamour. All the while, his steps never slowed. His head never turned. He was so certain he had outwitted us all. His confidence would be the death of him. I swore it. Never again would he ride from battle on his stallion unscathed.

Metal clattered as Lindsay hit the cart with bone-snapping impact. She rose in a bloody fury.

Her exit knocked the remaining bag from the bed onto the ground with an ominous thump.

It was then I knew what I must do.

I ran.

Toward the cart and until my hands breached the bag, withdrawing the grimoire and the few remaining drops of Aldrich’s blood. Heart thumping in my ears, I grew deaf to my surroundings as I pursued my oblivious quarry yards from where the others fought. I had no reason to run now.

Once I cracked open the grimoire, if it didn’t kill me first, it would drink Roland dry.

Dropping to my knees, I settled the book on the sand and prayed what skin and blood stuffed under my nails would do the job. I was close. I didn’t need much more than a clear direction for the grimoire once its pages and jaws opened. His consumption would square our debt most tidily.

His abuse of Emma, his neglect of Dillon, his endangering Harper, those cruelties were unforgivable, but he’d also killed my mother, stolen our daughter and kidnapped Queen Nesvia. If he lived, he’d never stop coming for those I loved. They deserved peace. Brielle and I did too.

Fingers trembling, I unscrewed the vial. Knife wavering, I cleaned from under my nails with care not to prick myself. Once I’d cleaned the blade on the book’s cover, I dipped my finger and inked my runes as the first notes of my chant pierced the air. A pulse, not unlike a heartbeat, had my skin pouring sweat. Louder, I lifted my voice until the sharp notes caught Roland’s attention.

He spun, his lips parting automatically on a counter spell, but his words spluttered and died. Horror lined his handsome face in the first show of true emotion I’d ever witnessed from him. Whirling toward his horse, Roland broke into a run.

Triumph made my voice soar. So his powers
had
suffered for his lie. No matter the cause of his impotence, he was unable to stop me. Filling my lungs, I hurled the final incantation at him.

He mounted the horse as the grimoire opened. Magic burst forth and sent me flying backwards. My head met stone, and my vision wavered.

Pages fluttered wildly and ravenous energy prowled toward its fleeing mark. The stallion screamed as I struggled upright. Blinking blood and dirt from my eyes, I witnessed Roland’s fall.

He didn’t get back up.

Static charged the air as his magic fizzled and his illusion dissipated. Cries from his men arose as they spotted his body and then me. Trusting Dillon and Lindsay to protect me, I ignored the guards in favor of the grimoire as its tendrils of sated power slithered back inside its cover.

Power pulsated from the tome. Roland had fed it well.

Temptation whispered in my ear.
Think of the power. Use the book. Protect your daughter.

“Isabeau.”

I started when Dillon tapped my shoulder with his tail. Blood trickled from his forehead, and sweat made his skin gleam. He was panting, but when his wings parted, Brielle lay nestled flush against him, unblemished. Fingers curling into my palms, I staved off the urge to snatch her from his grip, crush her to me and never let go. But I held firm. Once she was safe in my arms, I might never release her. Before basking in sweet relief, I had a task to perform. “Give me a moment.”

While he stood guard at my elbow, I used my blood to bind the book.

Too stuffed to protest, the grimoire settled into slumber without complaint, and I left it at my feet while I embraced Dillon over my daughter. Words of thanks, of love, tangled on my tongue.

Soft sighs of protest drifted up from Brielle, and my heart twisted, torn between the desire to touch her at last and fear she would vanish on the mists on contact. Curls clung to Dillon’s arm. Red tinged one side of her face where it rested against him. Those things were real.
She
was real.

Meaning she was really here. She was mine. Our nightmare had ended.

Pink cheeks weakened my resolve, and I rained kisses on her sleeping face and soft neck.

“I’ve missed you.” I stifled a sob against her hair. “So much.”

Breathing in the sweet scent of violets, I shook as Dillon’s wings enfolded our small family.

Chapter Eighteen

Loathe as he was to acknowledge the panicked guard’s cry, Dillon raised his head from the huddle of warm limbs pressed soft against him. He spotted one of the two remaining guards easy enough. The male stood at Roland’s feet, throat working convulsively, sword arm sinking lower.

“He’s dead.” His eyes met Dillon’s. “She killed him. She killed Prince Bernhard.”

“Looks that way,” he agreed.

Roland’s death had been coming. Dillon doubted Harper would kick up too much of a fuss over it, and neither would the queen for that matter. Even her consort, Rideal, who was Roland’s younger brother, would be hard-pressed to shed his tears after what Roland had done to his wife.

“She…” The guard pointed at Isabeau with his sword.

“Killed him.” Dillon settled Brielle in her mother’s arms. “Yeah, I got that part.”

His wild gaze bounced from Roland’s body to Isabeau. “I can’t return without him.” Sight ping-ponging between the slain guardsmen, he finally returned to Dillon. “I can’t return alone.”

“I suppose not.”

Shouts rose behind them. Lindsay must have caught their runner. Bet he hadn’t made it far. Not with her breathing down his neck. A short scream rose behind them, ending on a wet gurgle.

The male before him flinched.

Dillon read the moment the guard decided it was worth risking his neck to bring his queen Isabeau’s head. As if his failure would be buffeted by such a gift. Doubtful considering Sere had just lost its future king. God only knew what that meant for Rideal, for Nesvia, hell, for Askara.

And right now, he didn’t care.

“Head to the cart.” He nudged Isabeau behind him and gave her a push toward Lindsay.

Seeing his opportunity at vindication escaping, the guard lifted his sword and charged.

Tired of it all and ready to go home, Dillon sidestepped as the male rushed past. His tail shot out at the last minute, winding around the guard’s ankle and tugging until his prey smacked onto the ground. Snatching the short sword from his lax hand, Dillon skewered him through his heart.

With that threat handled, he approached Roland’s body with caution. He’d seen death often enough to recognize it, and the prince was a goner. Damn their luck. Nothing for it now, though. It had either been Roland’s life or both females’ lives, and Dillon wasn’t losing Isabeau or Brielle.

He rubbed at his chest. That girl was the spitting image of her mother. What a little beauty.

“What do we do with him?” Lindsay knelt by the body, checked for a pulse and frowned.

Dillon rubbed his face until he noticed she was staring at him. “What?”

“What the hell are you?” She eyed his tail.

Why did they always notice the tail first?

“What I am is none of your damn business.” With effort, he shrugged his glamour in place.

Still staring where his tail had been, Lindsay pointed out the obvious. “We need to leave.”