Forbidden Forest (The Legends of Regia) (15 page)

“All right,” he said loudly, pulling his shoulders back and lifting his head up trying to shrug off his embarrassment. “I’m ready to go.”

The sunrise was clawing its way to the horizon. Forest locked the front door behind them, armed the perimeter alarm, and gave one last loving glance at her property before they passed through the gate and into the world.

Chapter Ten

TENSION HOVERED in the air of the Onyx Castle. The upper hand was being fought for with whispered orders and skilled manipulation. Queen Christiana was using her influence with the ogres in her service to try to undermine the King as much as possible.

Zeren, unable to veto the vote taken in the council, held a private meeting with the squad set to retrieve Syrus from Forest’s care. There he appointed Redge to lead the bogus mission. Giving authority to Redge was Zeren’s ace in the hole. Christiana could cause plenty of trouble, but Zeren squeezing Redge into the mix had trumped her best scheming.

Moments before the squad left the castle, Zeren met secretly with Redge.

Redge came quietly into the dark room and inclined his head to the king. Zeren strode up to him and grabbed him by the shirt. “Do what you have to,” Zeren said desperately. “Give them a chance. You spoke to Kendel?”

“Yes, my king. He’s with us. Forest and Syrus should be on their way now. I will delay as much as I can without invoking recalcitrance within the squad. We will track and protect them.”

Zeren eased his grip on Redge and smacked him once on the back. “Good. Good.” His eyes seemed to lose focus. “I have a premonition about this, Redge. It’s the strangest thing. I feel that Syrus is on a great precipice. He must be allowed to finish this. I feel there is more than his sight on the line. Does that make any sense?”

Redge thought back to the night that Syrus left. There had been something elemental in that room as soon as Forest had come in. “It makes sense, my King. I feel it too.”

Zeren backed away from Redge and began pacing back and forth. “You’re the best of them, Redge.”

“Beg pardon, your highness?”

“Syrus doesn’t consider you a servant. He thinks of you as a brother.”

“Yes. And I him.”

“You have the End of the Bridge, just in case?” Zeren asked.

Redge pulled the chain with the little red transparent ball on the end of it out of the front of his shirt. Zeren nodded and Redge tucked it back in. “I’ve never used one before.”

“It will only work once and you must not open it unless there is no other alternative. Keep it hidden, and if luck is with us, you will bring it back intact.” Zeren waved his hand in dismissal. “Go and keep your eyes open and your ears pricked. Remember Syrus is the future of Regia.”

Redge bowed and quickly left the room.

****

The hooded messenger trudged into Philippe’s apartments. With a small flick of his finger, the servant closed and locked the heavy doors, leaving them alone. The mole never came herself, she always sent sacrificial messengers. Philippe took a deep drink from a large goblet before standing up and approaching the messenger. He pulled the hood back and hissed, his lip curling in disgust at the female vampire. She gave him an equally disrespectful glare. Philippe stepped back from her and reseated himself.

“What crime did you commit, girl, to receive so great a punishment as to be sent to me?”

“Theft,” she answered curtly.

“You must have stolen a great treasure, tell me what it was.”

“Some of the queen’s jewelry.”

Philippe barked out a laugh. “Stupid girl.”

He narrowed his black eyes at her. Her skin was the color of warm cream, and Philippe thought she looked soft. Her platinum hair was wrapped and braided intricately around her head, her large amber eyes filled with insolence, and her pouty crimson lips twisted in a sneer. She was dressed plainly, but Philippe wasn’t fooled. He recognized the evidence of breeding. Maybe he’d keep her for a while after he retrieved the information she had for him. He hoped he wouldn’t have to torture her to get it. Not that he minded torturing, but vampires always seemed to fight longer than most.

“Are you prepared to deliver your message?” Philippe asked.

“I am.”

“What forms of torture would you prefer me to use to get the whole truth out of you?”

A small smile flashed through her sneer. “None, I’m sure.”

Philippe barked another laugh. “I know
that’s
the truth.”

The young woman lifted her arm, raising her hand towards him. The light glinted off the large gold ring set with a glowing orange stone. The ring was ornately carved and the stone gave off its own light, pulsing and flickering. Philippe gazed at it blankly. After a moment, she realized he didn’t know what she was showing him.

“It’s a collar,” she said emphatically as though he were a halfwit. “I have no choice but to tell you the truth and deliver the entire message.”

Philippe rose from his seat and grabbed her hand. His eyes danced with the flickering light of the stone and obvious greed.

“Give me the message.”

“The time is close at hand, but do not be hasty,” Her voice was flat, the words coming from her mouth like an automated recording. “The alliance between the Elves and the Vampires could undo all you have worked for. Zeren has a sting in store for you of a personal nature. Integrate the shifters; they will bring your killing strike. The Ogre’s are creating new weapons. I am working to destabilize from within. Gagnee can be trusted, but Frost is a traitor. Do as you like with the messenger, and keep the collar with my complements.”

Philippe paced in front of her as she talked, running his rough fingers through his beard. When he turned his lupine eyes on her, she held out her hand again, and the collar verified that she had finished her mission. The glowing stone turned as colorless as glass and slid easily from her finger. She sighed as Philippe took it from her, relived to be free of the cursed object.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Netriet.”

Before she could blink, he grabbed her, threw her over his shoulder, and carted her upstairs. She wished he’d have killed her. As soon as he dumped her back on her feet and grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, she made the mistake of screaming. His fist efficiently knocked her unconscious.

A wave of nausea rolled through Netriet as she regained consciousness. The room swam before her blurry eyes. The taste of blood was in her mouth and throat. She gingerly touched her face. Her nose was broken, and her lips were split and puffy. A generously sized knot throbbed on the back of her head where she assumed she’d smacked it against the floor after Philippe had punched her. Shock and indignation flared in her gut at the abrupt memory. She might be worth nothing, but she had never been brutalized like that before.

Netriet was sure Philippe had any number of unspeakable plans in mind for her, and she was equally sure that she would rather take her own life. She stood up slowly. The empty room swirled around her. A heavy chain pulled on her wrist. She looked down at it. He’d leashed her to the wall.

The night sky beckoned her through a wide-open doorway. It led out onto a balcony. The length of her chain allowed her to step out into the thin open air, but didn’t stretch far enough for her to look down. Still, she knew that she had never been up so high.

****

Kendel spent the second consecutive day ghosting around Fortress’ castle. He was extremely stiff from standing in a corner all day. It had been a fair few years since he had spent this long of a time invisible. He was certain there was a mole inside Fortress, and he was going to do his damnedest to find them out. Unfortunately, he couldn’t fully dedicate himself to the task because he still had regular duties to perform.

Kendel thought about Forest as his back achingly melded into the stone corner. Was she safe? Was she as uncomfortable as he was at the moment? Had she lost her temper and beheaded the future king? He wished he could contact her. And for the first time, he hoped she knew he was thinking of her, wishing her well. He wished she had been around the castle the last few days, because he knew she would have found playing with the new vampire weapon prototypes entertaining.

Chapter Eleven

“JUST LET it go, Syrus!”

“I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“Yeah, well, you wouldn’t,” Forest spat.

“Don’t start with that ‘cause you’re a vampire’ crap again.”

Forest bit down on her lip. “Fine, why don’t we just stop talking altogether?”

Syrus was quiet for a minute. “Why don’t you just tell me why you hate vampires so much?”

“Like I told you before, it’s because of what they’ve done to me.”

“I like how you’re able to generalize so elegantly. It’s the mark of a true bigot.”

“If you think I’m going to rise because you call me names, you’re wrong.”

“Racist, prejudiced, blinkered, narrow-minded, intolerant, unfair…”

“Let me know when you run out of synonyms.”

Syrus was quiet again for another minute. “Seriously, Forest, why can’t you tell me?”

“Just let it go,” she said again.

“No.”

She huffed out a breath. “The way it started is my business, but after that, I never met a vampire who swayed my bad opinion of the entire race. There.”

“So, you’re saying that you’ve never met a vampire you liked?”

“Yes.”

“Until you met me,” he said triumphantly.

Syrus ducked just in time as whatever she’d thrown at him went whizzing past his head. Forest wanted to stop up her ears as he laughed at her.

“Well, maybe the word ‘like’ is wrong. Infatuated, obsessed, madly in love with. How do those fit?”

Forest stopped walking and faced him. “What are you doing?” she demanded in a quiet voice.

“Just seeing how susceptible you are to the power of suggestion.”

“Stop it.”

“Ha! I must be getting to you.”

“Please! Please stop it!”

The obnoxious grin on Syrus’ face vanished, and he was instantly sober and contrite. “I’m sorry, Forest. I’m just really nervous.”

“So you’re way of dealing with anxiety is turning into a complete jackass?”

His lips twitched into a small smile. “I guess so. I’ll knock it off. I just have a hard time not talking when I’m nervous.”

“Here, maybe this will help.” Forest pulled her MP3 player out of her pocket and thrust it into his hand. “Can you follow me without your hearing?”

“I’ll try. I think I can manage it.”

Once Syrus had put in her ear buds, Forest walked at a slower pace for a while. He murmured and hummed along to the music but mercifully ceased talking. Forest was so emotionally distraught she felt like she had ripped in two. One half of her wanted as much distance from Syrus as possible. The other half wanted to burrow under his skin. And she wanted to beat her head against the nearest tree until she blacked out, because both halves of her were equally strong and equally demanding. She was so relieved when he had stopped talking and yet had mourned the loss of his voice, annoying as it was.

The beginning of their journey had passed easily enough. Forest decided to keep off the roads, knowing that decision would cost them time, but it maintained the low profile. The terrain was amiable for the first few hours, but now it was starting to become rocky as they began to ascend the oblique hills that would take them behind Kyhael, the elf city.

Forest’s eyes constantly wandered over her shoulder to look at Syrus. Every time she looked at him, she hurt. Her eyes ached for his, and a white-hot sting would snake and snap inside her core, not to mention her scars. Every time her heart would clench for Syrus, she would swear she could feel Leith’s teeth sinking deeper and deeper into her scars. She turned her eyes back to the ground, and her two halves started arguing inside her head.

You’re pathetic
!
Stop looking at him
!

I’ll look at him all I want. He’s mine.

He’s not yours, and he never will be.

No. He is mine…and he never will be
.

Looking at Syrus when she should have been paying attention to where she was stepping, Forest stuck her foot right in a hole. Syrus caught her by the hand as she stumbled. Neither one of them said anything. Syrus smiled companionably at her and gave her hand a little squeeze. It was as easy as breathing. He continued to hold her hand, and she allowed it. He continued to hum along to whatever he was listening to, his face casually relaxed as though holding her hand was completely natural. Forest could feel her heart running into her hand, and she would have sooner cut it off than let go. They passed the next hour without saying a word. His thumb ran back and forth over her wrist, and tears slid silently down Forest’s cheeks.

****

Redge stalled as his men shuffled along in formation behind him. He could see Forest’s wall in the dense trees ahead. How long could he draw it out? Were Syrus and Forest far enough ahead of them that they could follow without interference? Redge held up his hand and the troop stopped. “There,” he said, pointing out the wall for the rest of them to see.

The troop moved ahead until they reached the wall. “How do we get through the gate?” one asked.

“We don’t need to,” Redge said. “They aren’t here. Use your nose.”

Every vampire in the troop took a communal sniff.

“So what do we do now?”

Redge turned and gave his men a stern look. “We follow them.”

****

Forest insisted they take a break in the afternoon. They rested under a large tree and shared a snack. Forest tried not to think about how Syrus had held her hand all that time and then abruptly let go of it as if she had an infectious skin disease. She told herself to stop being stupid about it and it was nothing to feel injured over, but since it had happened, she now skirted around him, careful not to touch him at all. They moved about each other like magnets of the same charge.