Blackmark (The Kingsmen Chronicles #1): An Epic Fantasy Adventure Read online

  Ghrenna’s eyes blinked open, no pain behind them for the first time in ages. “I swear, Luc. But… the King’s dead. The Dhenra is supposed to ascend the throne in a few weeks.”

  Luc’s green gaze was fierce, mirthless in the lamplight. “I’m not her pet, either.”

  Ghrenna was silent a moment. She reached out, touching Luc’s bright blonde hair. “You’re a lord.”

  His gaze snapped to her, incensed at first, but then lit with humor. “Yeah, yeah, Ghren. Don’t rub it in, alright?”

  And Ghrenna felt herself smile, for the first time in ages. “I always thought there was something peculiar about you.”

  “I’m not peculiar.” Luc grumped, though his lips smiled now. “I’m handsome.” His hand settled at her waist, kneading her skin, stroking. His face went from teasing to stern suddenly, touched by fear. “You scared me tonight, Ghrenna. I thought I was going to lose you.”

  “I’m not yours.” She murmured, their regular routine. Though in this moment, after what he had done for her, Ghrenna felt her stillness recede. Luc was a good man, for all his ways. And in his fierce gaze she saw what he’d never say. That he adored her. That he loved her. That he would do anything, including throwing himself into danger, just to keep her safe.

  “Would you come to Lintesh?” Ghrenna murmured at last, half to herself.

  His body tensed. But then he gave a sigh, and it seemed like the fight drained out of him. Luc rolled to his back, staring up at the mildewing canopy. “I guess I have to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I can already tell you’re going.” He murmured. “I can see it in your eyes. You won’t be able to let this go. Not after tonight. I’d had my suspicions about your health for years, Ghren, but this? Visions?” He lifted his hands in a helpless gesture and let them fall. “I have to go. I have to go to keep you safe.”

  “You don’t have to do anything for me.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” Luc rolled to face her again. Reaching out, he trailed his fingertips down the side of her neck, slid them behind her neck to cup her nape. A blissful heat seeped from his fingers, deep into Ghrenna’s skin, down to her muscles, up into her skull. It was so thorough, so ecstatic, that Ghrenna found herself melting to his touch. Her head arched back until he held her, soft and firm by the neck. Her lips had fallen open, and she breathed softly, ease in every pore.

  And hunger. Luc stared at her with a need she could never match. But tonight, soothed by his gift, her heart opened in an answering need. She reached out, stroking his jaw, smoothing her thumb over his lips, which parted to her touch. His green eyes burned, hard upon her, steady. He pulled her close, cinching her tight against his body, his hand where it touched the small of her back radiating bliss. Slowly, he lipped her thumb, sucked it deep into his mouth. Pleasure ripped through Ghrenna, partly a hot flare of his gift, partly his own nature, seducing her. Making her need more.

  She came to him, languid and ardent, desiring something solid. Needing someone here. Right now. Pushing Elohl’s face from her mind, she melted into Luc, letting him draw her into a deep, radiating kiss. He licked pleasure into her mouth. He bit pleasure gently into her lip. He kissed it hard into her, and Ghrenna arched for him, needful, and far from still.

  CHAPTER 17 – OLEA

  Olea frowned in her dream, twisting in her sheets. It was the banquet again. Recalling everything with clarity, she saw it all as it had been nine years ago. The Throne Hall, bedecked with yhulen, their glossy spiked leaves and miniscule red berries catching the light of flames, throwing it back to Olea’s inebriation like they’d caught fire. The cavernous hall was clearing, the revelry nearly dead so close to midnight solstice. Roaring fires still filled every massive bluestone hearth, stoked by a veritable army of servants. The long trestle tables were filthy with spilled food and wine. The Soldier’s Ball, that first winter of Olea's tenure in the Palace Guard, had been a merry event for most. Many had brought wives, fiancées. Dancing and drink and roast boar had filled the evening, revelry for the lower classes to feel themselves very fine in the King’s own hall. A number of Olea's comrades had asked her to dance, but all had given up now, her snarl of temper less than alluring.

  The hall was nearly silent now. Olea languished in her cups at a trestle-table near one hearth, simmering deep in her hate. Two foolish women giggled their way past, leaning upon the arms of the handsome Aldris den'Farahan. He glanced Olea's way. Winked. Olea snorted in disgust, then regretted it as wine lanced up her nose, making her bleary eyes water.

  Yet again, she pulled the piece of parchment from her jerkin and fiddled with it, a pressed charcoal nib to hand. She blinked blearily, fuzzy, spinning as she set the charcoal to paper. A rough scrawl appeared, then another. Hashed shading created texture, swirling movements became trees and hills. Strong marks created walls and turrets, a practice yard and amphitheater. Absorbed in her creation, Olea’s hearing numbed to a bitter buzz, blocking out the hall around her.

  Going back to a better time, a better place, with every inelegant mark.

  Dulled by drink, she heard the scrape of a boot behind her, too late. A hand fell upon her shoulder. She startled, her charcoal scrawling over the page in a thick black mar. Knocking the bench over, Olea sprang unsteadily to her feet, whipping one longknife from its sheath with a hiss. To find herself leveling it at her King. A quick inbreath came from the only servant left in the hall. The fires were ashes, glowing embers now in every hearth. The tables were cleared, the wine and meat gone. And Olea was alone in the hall but for her King standing before her, tall and stern at the end of her blade.

  Clad in black jerkin and breeches, but for a white ermine set about his shoulders with a silver pin, he looked almost plain. But his bearing was regal, his deep-set grey eyes cold and steady, his body lean and sword-honed. Olea stood there, knife still brandished, hating him. Hating the way he stared her down, unmoved by the steel in her hand, hard as iron and chill like the north wind. Hating the way he didn’t react, like his heart was nothing but ashes. Like he cared nothing for the Kingswoman before him, and feared her skill not at all. Like she was beneath him. As if the Kingsmen had only been good enough to purge from the nation like rats.

  “A cup of Arinul wine for my Guardsman, then leave us.” King Uhlas den’Ildrian's voice was hard as his eyes and his grey-shot hair. The servant scurried to comply, and soon Olea’s knife-hand was filled with a cup, no longer with a weapon. She didn't remember her King disarming her. But her knife sat there, inert upon the table and glinting in the low firelight.

  King Uhlas den’Ildrian beckoned for her to sit. Olea sank unsteadily to the bench as he righted it, then sat next to her. He gazed at her drawing, pulling the parchment close. “Impressive. Is this someplace you know?”

  “Alrashesh.” The word ground out like broken glass from Olea’s wine-ruined throat.

  “I see.” King Uhlas sat back, regarding her. His gaze flicked to the parchment, studying it, then back to her. “I shall have to annex it, won’t I?”

  Seething anger flowed through Olea’s veins. A hot, rash temper she’d cultivated since being carted to the palace in manacles six months past. “By the Serthas Code three-six-oh-three, you can do no such thing. The Court of Alrashesh is private property, belonging to the yet-living descendants of the Alrashemni.”

  “You know your law.” The King's face betrayed nothing.

  “You’ve watched me in the Library Annals often enough. Stalking me, really.” Olea took a disrespectful mouthful of wine without asking her liege’s permission. But King Uhlas did not react, his ironshod gaze steady.

  “You have poured through more tomes of law and languages in the past year than I think my Chancellate have ever seen. You dislike my Summons, don't you? You think it unlawful?”

  Fighting the spin of the room, Olea indulged in the looseness of her tongue, not caring if it put her in the stocks. “Your Summons was shit, you bastard! And someday I’ll prove it.”

&nb
sp; King Uhlas's iron-hard eyes pierced her. Gradually, a smile lifted the corners of his lips. “Yes. I’m sure you will.”

  The dream shifted suddenly, the fire-lit gables of the hall diminishing until they were Olea's own chamber. A single candle burned to push back the deep of the night. The air through the open window was clear with the sweet cool of morning, like fresh river water. Olea twisted in her sheets, still dreaming but no longer alone in her narrow bed. Alden was there, holding her, cradling her head on his well-muscled chest, the fingers of one hand tracing the side of her breast. Dhenir Alden den’Ildrian glanced at the window, his glorious dark hair and alabaster skin lit aflame by the single candle.

  “Sun’s almost up. I should go.” But he didn’t move, his fingers still languid upon her.

  “Stay.” Olea sighed, sweaty and spent.

  “Father knows I’m not getting much sleep these days.” Alden’s mischievous chuckle could have made her ride him all over again.

  “The rumors you've planted say you're out whoring.” Olea snuggled in, and Alden cinched her close.

  “Dhenirs can go out whoring,” Alden chuckled. “What they can't do, is fuck Lieutenants in their Guard.”

  Olea grinned into his chest. “So make me Captain-General, and then we’ll be all set. You gave me my original promotion six years ago.”

  “Father gave you your original promotion.”

  Olea stilled in his arms. “What?”

  She felt Alden twitch. He gave his seductive chuckle. “Whoops. I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.”

  Olea raised up on one elbow to study him. Alden looked like King Uhlas, dark-haired, slender-muscled and tall. He was a near-perfect copy of his father except for the storms that roiled him, where Uhlas was nothing but calm precision. “I thought you promoted me, after I bested you that winter, my first year in the Guard!”

  Alden chuckled again, reaching out to stroke Olea’s cheek. “I told father that the Kingswoman trainee had bested me, the day after you and I fought. He and I were on a hunt in the Kingswood. He reined his horse, looked me in the eye, and said Promote her. Just like that. And then he made me promise not to speak a word of it, even to you. Ever.”

  “Why?”

  Alden shrugged, in that careless, handsome way of his. “Who knows? Father has schemes within schemes, secrets within secrets. He’s always been that way. But he’s been different lately. I catch him pacing sometimes, gazing at the walls, the mirrors, as if he expects brigands to jump out of them. He’s taken to riding out to the First Abbey on a weekly basis, even if it’s just for an hour, and he never takes the same men. I think he’s becoming paranoid.”

  “What does he do at the Jenner Abbey?”

  Alden shrugged again. “Fenton has been with him a few times. He says they go to the compound. But father never lets any of the guards come in with him past the gates of the Abbey. He’s always met by the Abbess, Lenuria den’Brae. Sometimes he’s there a few hours.”

  “Strange. But he’s always been secretive, Alden.” Olea settled back into the crook of Alden’s arm. “Did I tell you he used to watch me in the Library Annals?”

  “Did he?”

  “He watched me all that autumn, just after I got here, before you and I met. I used to go read to calm my mind.”

  Dhenir Alden mussed her black curls affectionately. “You do need a lot of calming, Kingswoman.”

  Olea bit him on his shoulder. “I’ll show you how much calming I need…!”

  Alden laughed, full-throated and amused, that joyous, daring sound Olea so loved. “I surrender! No, but tell me, what did my father say to you in the Annals?”

  “Uhlas? He didn’t say anything. Just watched me. I probably saw him there more than twenty times that autumn, all told.”

  “Twenty times? And he just watched you? He never said anything to you?”

  “Not then, but he approached me at the Soldier’s Ball that midwinter. I was drunk. I pulled a knife on him. But he offered me wine instead of having me arrested for pulling a blade. I had been sketching Alrashesh, and he saw it, asked me about it. I got loose-tongued and told him I thought his Summons was unlawful, and that I was going to prove it. I actually called him a bastard, right to his face. I thought he would have gotten furious, hauled me off to the dungeons. But he didn’t. He just… smiled. It was the strangest thing. And then I met you on the practice grounds not two weeks later.”

  “Huh.” Alden shifted next to her. “I’ve seen what father does to men who pull a weapon on him. Death is the least of their worries.” Suddenly, Alden sat up, forcing Olea to do the same. He settled back against the headboard, rifling a hand through his sweat-slicked black hair, then draped one arm casually across the headboard. A slight, incredulous smile played along his lips. “Father set us up.”

  Olea blinked. “What?!”

  A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. Alden shook his head, his storm-grey eyes incredulous. “Father set us up! He told me to go observe the first-year Guards that day on the practice fields! Said I needed to take stock of their mettle. He didn’t say that the most beautiful, dangerous woman I would ever meet was going to be there, half-clad in training halter and breeches, out in the snow and burning with passion.” His gaze flicked to her, seductive. “Which he knows I can’t resist.”

  Olea’s brows knit. “Why would your father set us up to meet? Why tempt you into someone’s bed who’s not a royal?”

  Alden chuckled, stroked Olea’s jaw with his long fingers, sexually. “Maybe I need watching. Maybe he wanted someone close to me… to protect me.”

  Alden was joking, but Olea sobered suddenly. She sat up, the sheets draping around her naked hips. “Maybe he did. That whole first year you spent trying to woo me. And when that didn’t work, you set me in your personal guard. And for how long now? Five years. For five years I’ve been your shadow, always at your side.”

  Alden chuckled, stroking Olea’s Inkings, the tops of her breasts. “Four of which I’ve had you all to myself, in my bed. What can I say? I can’t resist having the most beautiful Guardsman in the whole company near me. One who doesn’t give fuck-all about her Kingsman heritage and displays it proudly for everyone to see…”

  “I’m the only Kingsman in the Guard.” Olea's thoughts spiraled.

  “You’re the most beautiful Kingsman in the Guard.” Alden leaned forward, wrapping his arms around her, pulling Olea in, kissing her collarbones.

  Olea moved back, gripping his chin, forcing the headstrong Dhenir to look at her. “No. I’m the only Kingsman in the Guard, Alden. Your father knows it. He set us up to meet, if what you say is right. He set you up to see my Inkings when I was fighting that day on the practice grounds in just my halter. I bested you that day, and your father knew you couldn’t resist that. He set you up to take the only Kingsman in the guard into your bed. Don’t you see? To bind us close. Far closer than any of your other protectors. And Uhlas turns a blind eye to the things I’m teaching Elyasin… Fenton has told me Uhlas lingers in the shadows sometimes, watching Elyasin spar with me. He wants his daughter to learn Kingsman fighting… Kingsman arts…”

  Alden had turned thoughtful. “He wants us both to be close to the Kingsmen. To the only one we know. You.”

  “But it doesn’t make sense. Why Summon the Kingsmen and accuse them of treason, then cause them all to disappear if he wants his children to be close to a Kingsman now?”

  “Unless he… unless my father didn’t give the Summons. Aeon’s holy fuck!”

  “What is it?”

  Alden scrubbed a hand through his short black hair, his rakish demeanor gone. He rubbed his hands over his face. His storm-ridden eyes were churning, a thousand miles away. “Den’Selthir spoke the truth…”

  “Who? What?”

  Alden’s gaze snapped to Olea. “You know how I went last month to the Valenghian front? To do inspections for father? Well, one of the local lords in Vennet put our company up for the night before we got to the Aphellian Way. A Vicoute
, Arlen den’Selthir. He was a genteel fellow, but he had the way of the sword about him. Like an old commander. And indeed, we dueled at swords that evening for exercise, and he was probably the best swordsman I’ve ever come across. But as we sat in his steam-rooms that night, he told me something very curious. I was asking about the war, what he had seen come through his lands, how it had impacted them, being so close to the front. He told me my father had come through, just before the war broke out. That Uhlas had stayed with den’Selthir in secret, on his way through to Valenghia to treat at the eleventh hour with the Valenghian Vhinesse, in a desperate play to prevent war. But Arlen den’Selthir told me something else. That Uhlas had stayed with him the very night the Summons to the Kingsmen went out. And that Uhlas had ridden on to Valenghia the next day. I didn’t believe the man at the time… but now…”

  Olea let her breath out, astonished. Her gut cramped, sick to her core. “If that’s true, it would have taken Uhlas two weeks of hard riding to make it back to Lintesh. He wouldn’t have been at Roushenn Palace at all when the Summons went out, nor when the Kingsmen arrived! When they disappeared… he wasn’t here!”

  Alden looked green. “My father didn’t give the Summons. He didn’t want the Kingsmen dead. Someone else did. Someone else Summoned them, welcomed them here… and disposed of them. All before my father could do anything about it…!”

  “Someone with access to his seals, someone close enough to copy his handwriting, identically. That’s what Uhlas meant, when I told him his Summons was shit and someday I’d prove it, Alden! He told me, I’m sure you will!” Olea gripped Alden’s wrist, hard. “He was haunting me in the libraries watching me hunt relentlessly for the truth. And he put us together… so we’d find it!”