Storm Born (8 page)

Glancing over, I saw a tall woman with long black hair worn in two braids. She inclined her head toward a young man whose arm extended gracefully outward. Above the palm of that hand, Wil’s spirit floated. A golden, viscous glow encased him, giving him the appearance of an insect stuck in amber. I had no clue what kind of magic it was, but I knew he was trapped. And at risk.

Damn it. This was exactly the reason I hadn’t wanted him along. He had indeed succeeded in getting both of us killed.

I glanced around. Seven of the riders were injured, unconscious, or possibly dead. Not bad for the four of us, I thought, as I assessed our odds of taking out the last five. My gun was still trained on my target.

The woman gave me a thin smile as though reading my mind. “You could kill him, but your friend would be dead before your next eye blink. As would you.”

“What’s it matter? You’ll just kill us both anyway. At least this way I’ll take company to the next world.”

A new voice spoke: “No one’s sending you to the next world. Not yet anyway.”

One of the unhorsed riders clambered to his feet. Presumably one of my spirits had fought him, because I didn’t recognize him. Yet…something about him struck me as vaguely familiar. White-blond hair hung to his shoulders, and ice blue eyes studied me carefully.

He approached slowly, a sly smile spreading over his face the closer he got. I didn’t know who he was and wondered what tactical advantage I’d gain or lose by turning the gun on him instead. Was he the bigger threat? When he was only a couple feet away, his face lit up, and he lost himself to great, booming laughs.

“I don’t believe this. I don’t believe this! The mouse has walked right up to the cat. Unbelievable.”

The black-haired woman fixed him with an irritated glare. “What are you rambling on about now, Rurik?”

He could barely contain himself. “Do you know who this is? This is the Dark Swan herself. Eugenie Markham, right at our doorstep.” I flinched at the use of my given name, though I knew it shouldn’t surprise me anymore. “By the gods, I never expected this. I fought her only a week ago, and now here she comes, offering herself to me.”

“If you consider me shoving my gun down your throat offering, then yeah, I suppose I am.” I eyed him curiously, and then I knew. “It was you. You’re the ice elemental from the hotel.”

He sketched me a bow. “And now I’ll finish what I started. Happily, even. The sight of your naked body has haunted my dreams for many a night.”

“Yeah? The only thing I remember about you is how easy it was to kick your ass.”

Rurik grinned. “You’ll remember a lot more before I’m done.” Behind him, a few of the other men regarded me with renewed interest. I felt myself go rigid, despite my bold words.

The black-haired woman eyed Rurik distastefully. “If you think I’ll let you give in to your…perversions here, you’re wrong. You’re as bad as them.”

“Stop being so prim, Shaya. You know who she is.”

“It doesn’t matter. You can have her later if the king says so, but you’re not doing anything while we’re on patrol.
My
patrol.”

I didn’t quite take that as female solidarity, but it was better than nothing. I’d come expecting a grisly death, not a gentry gang bang. Wil might be a lost cause, but if I fired on one of the guys, my minions could probably do serious damage to the others. I tensed, ready to fire.

“Stop,” Volusian suddenly said, moving forward. “Don’t touch her.”

“We don’t take orders from you,” replied Shaya.

Volusian was unfazed. “No, but you do take orders from your king, and my mistress has business with him.”

I saw the men freeze. So did I. Business with their king? Ah, right. We were in the Oak Land where Dorian ruled, the king Volusian had originally wanted me to see. Suddenly I wondered if this winding way we’d taken had been a ploy of his to get us to Dorian after all. If so, I wondered if he’d imagined capture as part of the plan.

Shaya regarded me coolly. “King Dorian has no business with her.”

A few of the men looked like they doubted this, and I jumped on it, as well as what Volusian had said about Dorian earlier.

“Are you so sure?” I smiled, portraying the same smug confidence I used with the minions, even as my heart pounded in my chest. Too many eyes on me. It was like public speaking. “I’ve come a long way to talk to him. How do you think he’ll react if he finds out you’ve killed me before I’ve delivered my message?”

“Tell me your message,” she said impatiently.

“I talk only to him. Alone. I don’t really think he’d like you getting the gossip before he did. Or not getting it at all if you kill me.”

“We won’t kill you,” said Rurik cheerfully. “We have plenty of other things we can do. You’ll still get to the king…eventually.”

Volusian fixed his red eyes on Rurik. “And how do you think Dorian will feel when he learns you’ve been at her before him? The king’s tastes are quite…particular.”

In another situation, I would have decked Volusian. Whose side was he on anyway? Stupid question, I realized a moment later. He was on his own side. As always.

The gentry all appeared put out. They looked like they really wanted to kill someone. The woman verified as much.

“They’ve killed our people. We cannot let that go unpunished.”

One of the other female riders strode forward. “No, actually. Everyone’s still alive. Some just barely…but if we can get a healer out here fast enough, they’ll live.”

All alive? So much for Team Eugenie. I’d known gentry were stronger in their own world, but this…It didn’t bode well for our gallant attack on Aeson and his people. Next time I’d aim for the face. I doubted they’d come back from that.

“Let’s kill the weak human anyway,” suggested one of the others, “just for fun. We can still bring
her
to the king.”

“The king’s going to offer me hospitality,” I informed them, still talking out of my ass, “for my whole group. He’ll be pissed if you kill one of them. It’ll make him look bad.”

I was lying, and Shaya looked like she knew it. “You seem very sure of yourself, Odile, but I’m less convinced.”

The other woman crossed her arms. “We have to get a healer. We need to go back for help now.”

Shaya thought about this and then gave a sharp nod. She delegated people to stay with the wounded and others to escort my party back. Before she did, she ordered me disarmed. Rurik made a great show of this, touching me a lot more than was really necessary as he took away the athames—handle first, of course—and wand. When he wrapped his fingers around the butt of the gun, a look of shock crossed his face and he recoiled.

“Damn it!” he swore, cradling his hand. “It’s…I don’t know what it is. But it doesn’t feel…right.”

I smiled sweetly. Thank God for polymers. Almost as effective as iron.

The commanding woman’s eyes flashed. “Someone take it from her.”

No one moved.

“All right, then, one of you spirits. You take it.”

My minions didn’t move.

“They don’t take orders from you,” I said, parodying her earlier words.

“They do from you. Order one of them to do it now, or I will have the life squeezed out of your friend, regardless of King Dorian’s anger.”

I studied her, trying to decide if she bluffed. Wil suddenly made a piteous sound as the golden aura around him tightened. God, I hoped Volusian was right about this Dorian ridiculousness.

“Nandi,” I said simply.

She strode forward and removed the gun from me. One of the riders offered up a cape so she could bundle it up. When it looked like a smothered baby, he reluctantly took it.

As for me, I was hoisted onto Rurik’s horse for the trip back to Dorian’s. The spirits needed no such transportation.

He wrapped his arms around me, ostensibly to reach the reins, but I was pretty sure he didn’t need to touch my breasts to do it. His hold tightened.

“I wouldn’t want you to fall off,” he explained.

“I’m going to cut your balls off the first chance I get,” I informed him.

“Ah,” he laughed, urging the horse into motion. “I can’t wait for you to meet the king. He’s going to love you.”

The keep was like a cross between Sleeping Beauty’s castle and a gothic church. Towers jauntily sprang up to impossible heights, creating black patches across the evening sky. We’d lost our light now, but I could still see that a lot of the windows looked as though they contained stained glass. I imagined they’d be beautiful in full sunlight. And framing everything, of course, were those brilliant, yellow-orange trees. Volusian had told me that the kingdoms’ seasons were dependent on their rulers’ whims and could last for extremely long times. This was beautiful, but I couldn’t imagine living in a place that was perpetually autumn. I knew some claimed Arizona was perpetually summer, but, then, the people who said that didn’t actually live there. The seasons were subtle, but they were there.

I had to keep reminding myself I wasn’t in some kind of wacky movie as Rurik and his gang led us through twisted hallways lit with torches. People passed, giving us curious looks as they went about whatever one did in a medieval castle. Churning butter. Flogging peasants. I really didn’t know, and I didn’t care. I just wanted to get out of there.

“Wait here,” Rurik told us when we reached a large set of double oak doors. “I will speak to the king before you’re shown into the throne room.”

Wow. An honest-to-goodness throne room. He disappeared behind the doors, and a couple guards watched us but kept their distance.

“Volusian,” I said softly, “did you purposely lead us here?”

“My only purpose, mistress, is to keep you alive. Being here will increase your chances.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“You will also increase your chances,” he continued, “if you are nice to King Dorian.”

“Nice? They just assaulted me and threatened to rape me.”

He gave me an exasperated look.

“The king will see you now,” said Rurik dramatically, returning from inside the room. He held the door open for us. Trumpets wouldn’t have surprised me.

The throne room was not what I expected. Sure, there was a dais with a chair on it, just like in the movies, but the rest of the room was in a state of disarray. A large space ran through the middle, for dancing or processions, perhaps, but the rest had an almost lounge sort of look. Small couches, chaises, and chairs were arranged around low tables set with goblets and platters of fruit. Men and women, again dressed in sort of a goth-Renaissance style, draped themselves on the furniture and on each other, picking idly at the fruit as they watched me. I was put in mind of the way Romans used to dine.

More than gentry lounged around, however. Spirits and sprites and trowes and wraiths were also in attendance, along with an assortment of Otherworld creatures. The monsters of human imagining, side by side with magical refugees who had immigrated to this world.

I wondered then if any other shaman had been this far into gentry society. I remembered Roland’s warning, that I could be taken right into the heart of their world. If only our kind had some sort of scholarly journal.
The Journal of Shamanic Assassination and Otherworldly Encounters.
I could have used this “research” to write a compelling article to share with my fellow professionals.

Conversation dropped to a low hum as the gentry leaned over and whispered to each other, eyes on me. Smirks and scowls alike lit their faces, and I put on the blank expression I would wear going to meet a new client. Meanwhile, my pulse raced into overdrive and breathing became a bit difficult.

Volusian trailed near me on one side while Rurik walked on the other. Wil and the others moved behind us.

“Why all these people?” I murmured to Volusian. “Is he having a party?”

“Dorian is a social king. He likes keeping people around, most likely so he can mock them. He keeps a full court and regularly invites his nobles to dine here.”

We came to a stop. On the throne sat a man, Dorian, I presumed. He looked bored. He leaned into the arm of his chair, one elbow propped on it so he could rest his chin in his hand. It sort of made him view us at an angle. Long auburn hair, reminiscent of the trees outside, hung around him, highlighted with every shade of red and gold conceivable. He could have been autumn incarnate. He had the most perfect skin I’d ever seen in such a vivid redhead: smooth and ivory, with no freckles or rosy color. A cloak of forest-green velvet covered unremarkable dark pants and a loose, white button-up shirt. He had well-shaped cheekbones and delicate features.

“Kneel before the king,” ordered Rurik, “and get used to being on your knees.”

I gave him a withering glance. He smiled.

“I’ll be happy to make you,” he warned.

“Bah, enough. Leave her in peace,” intoned Dorian laconically. He didn’t change posture. Only his eyes portrayed any sort of interest in these goings-on. “If she’s been with you for the last hour, she deserves a break. Go sit down.”

Rurik’s smugness flashed to embarrassment, but he bowed before the throne and backed off. That left Dorian and me staring at each other. He grinned.

“Well, come here. If you won’t kneel, I at least want to get a good look at the ‘terrible monster’ they’ve brought to me. They all seem quite afraid of you. I confess, I didn’t really believe it was you when they told me. I thought Rurik had been into the mushrooms again.”

“Do you know how many of our people she has killed and forcibly banished, sire?” exclaimed Shaya from somewhere behind me. “She took out three in under a minute just now.”

“Yes, yes. She’s quite terrifying. I can see that.” Dorian looked at me expectantly.

I shook my head. “I’m not moving until you offer us hospitality.”

This made him sit up. He kept smiling. “She’s clever too, though, admittedly, asking for hospitality before you crossed our humble threshold would have been more clever still since any of my subjects could have attacked you just now.” He shrugged. “But we’ve made it this far. So, tell me, Eugenie, why—er, wait. Do you prefer Eugenie or Miss Markham?”

I considered. “I prefer Odile.”

That smile twitched. “Ah. We’re still clinging to that, are we? Very well, then,
Odile,
tell me what brings the shining ones’ most feared enemy to my door, asking for hospitality. As you might imagine, this is without precedence.”

I glanced around at all the watching, listening people.
Ignore them, ignore them,
an inner voice whispered.
Focus on Dorian for now.
“I don’t really want to talk about it in front of the peanut gallery. I’d rather meet with you in private.”

“Oh.” He pitched his voice for the crowd. “Well, well. Odile wants to meet with me
in private.”

I blushed, hating myself for doing it. Nervous laughter ran around the room, soon growing stronger and more confident as the king’s did. Interesting, I thought. I remembered Volusian’s comments about Dorian, and his soldiers’ hesitation about his wrath. These gathered people were sheep, obviously, ready to dance or laugh at Dorian’s command, but suddenly I wondered if they were sheep who also feared the whims of their capricious shepherd. I wondered if I should be afraid too.

I kept my silence, not acknowledging his joke. He leaned forward, putting both elbows on his knees, letting his chin rest in both hands now. “If I offer you hospitality, you must reciprocate in kind. I’ll see that no one harms you in my household, but in return, you can harm no one under my roof.”

I glanced back at Volusian. “You didn’t mention that.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” he hissed, displaying a rare loss of patience. “What did you expect? Take it before your imminent death becomes more imminent and robs me of my chance to kill you myself.”

I turned back to Dorian. I didn’t like this turn of events. I didn’t like being in a nest of gentry, nor did I want to be at one’s mercy. Why was I here again? In my head, I summoned an image of little Jasmine Delaney, imagining her being tormented in a similar way over at Aeson’s court. Only she would be subject to more than just mockery.

“I accept,” I said.

Dorian regarded me in silence and then nodded. “As do I.” He looked up at the crowd. “Odile Dark Swan is now under the protection of my hospitality. Anyone who so much as lays a finger on her will get his own fingers chopped off and fed back to him.” He issued the threat with as much cheer as Volusian might have.

A buzz spread through the crowd, not entirely pleased. “What’s to keep her from breaking her oath?” I heard someone mutter. Another said loudly, “She could slay us all!”

Dorian’s eyes flicked back to me. “Did you have any idea what a creature of nightmare you are around here? Mothers tell their children Odile Dark Swan will come for them if they’re bad.”

“Hey, I don’t seek them out. I only come for them if they come for me first.”

“Interesting,” he said, arching an eyebrow. “But if that’s how you like it, so be it. I always admire women who know what they want in the bedroom.”

“Hey, that’s not what I—” I hadn’t realized the extent to which our slang had permeated the gentry world. Theirs was a reflection of my own; things seeped through.

He cut me off with a gesture. “I gave you hospitality, now come up here. I want to see the terror that haunts the darkness.”

I hesitated, both from distrust and defiance to his taunting. Volusian’s voice whispered in my ear. “He will not harm you now that he’s given his word.”

“I don’t know if I can really believe that.”

“I do.” My minion’s voice was calmly serious. “You know I can’t lie to you.”

Turning back to Dorian, I took the steps until I stood at the same level as his chair. I met his gaze evenly. “Look at those eyes,” he sighed happily. “Like violets in the snow. You smell like them too.”

Beyond us, I heard another rise of murmurs in the crowd.

“What’s got them all worked up now?” They couldn’t hear our discourse.

His own eyes danced. They were golden-brown, the color of autumn leaves falling from the trees. “You’ve broken protocol. They expected you to stop one step lower. Instead, you’ve put yourself at the same level as me. The fact that I’m not chastising you means I’m treating you as an equal, like royalty. You should be flattered.”

I crossed my arms. “I’ll be more flattered when we have the private talk.”

He
tsked
me. “So impatient. So human. You’ve asked for my hospitality. You can’t expect me to not give it now.” He made a gesture with his hands, and spirit servants appeared, bearing serving platters of food. For some reason, I suddenly started thinking of the song “Hotel California.” “We were about to eat when you so kindly dropped in. Dine with us, and then we’ll have as many ‘private encounters’ as you like.”

“I’m not stupid. I won’t eat anything in the Otherworld. You have to know that.”

He shrugged, still sprawled out on his throne like a comfortable cat. “Your loss. You can sit and watch, then.” He rose gracefully and offered me his hand. I stared at it blankly. Shaking his head with mirth, he simply walked with me down the steps, not touching.

“Where’s the rest of my group?”

“Your servants and human friend are safe, I assure you. We’ve given them their own accommodations since they don’t have a guest-of-honor seat at my table, that’s all.”

He beckoned toward a low, polished table, a bit larger than the others in the room. Like the rest, it was surrounded by sumptuous-looking chairs and sofas, patterned in bright brocades and velvets. Dorian settled down onto a small loveseat and patted the spot beside him.

“Keep me company?”

I didn’t dignify that with an answer, instead sitting down in the chair next to his sofa. It was a single seat. No one could sit with me. We were soon joined by about a dozen others, including Rurik and Shaya. She reported to Dorian that the people I’d injured had been healed and were recovering.

True to my word, I didn’t eat any of the food set out before us, but I confess, it looked pretty good. Stuffed Cornish game hens. Fresh bread with steam still rising from it. Desserts I would have committed murder for.

But I didn’t give in. One of the first rules of the game was to never eat outside your own world. Stories and myths abounded about those foolish enough to ignore that precaution.

The other diners tried hard to pretend I didn’t exist, but Dorian was fascinated by me. Worse, he flirted with me. At least he wasn’t as crass as every other gentry I seemed to encounter, but I didn’t rise to any of it—even if it was charming at times. I took it all in with a stoic face, which seemed to delight him that much more. The other women at the table were less resistant. Any look, any word, and they practically melted with lust.

In fact, many other people in the room also seemed to melt with lust. Very explicitly so. During and after dinner, I watched as people—couples usually, but sometimes more—touched each other brazenly. It was like being in junior high again. Some of it was just kissing. Some of it was heavy groping—a hand fondling the breast or sliding up the thigh. And some of it was…more. Across the room, I saw one woman climb on top of a man and straddle him, moving up and down. I was pretty sure they had nothing on beneath the voluminous folds of her skirt. At a table nearby, one woman was on her knees in front of a man, and she was—