Queen of Monsters and Madness Page 26

  With care, she rose from her chair. “I welcome all to the peace delegation that will change the very fabric of our kingdoms,” she recited from memory. “Today, we’ll embark on something historic that has not been attempted in one hundred years. Today, we strive for peace.”

  Silence settled over the solemn group of men and women as her words died in the echoing space. She curtseyed to the table. “It’s my honor to mediate this peace accord. It is my hope that we can reach an understanding that will benefit both our lands and peoples.” She held a hand out toward the warlord and the crown prince. “Please step forward to begin our discussion.”

  Tehl moved to her right side, and the warlord prowled to her left. “Please repeat after me: I pledge to seek the advantage for both our peoples as lord and ruler of my kingdom.” Both men repeated after her, and she held a hand out to each man. A measure of calmness settled over Sage when Tehl placed his hand in hers, combating the fear that the warlord’s grip instigated in her. She placed the men’s hands together. “Let it be done.”

  Tehl and the warlord shook hands in the Aermian custom and then kissed each other’s cheeks in the Scythian custom before moving back to their seats.

  Sage swept an arm out and sank into her chair, her wobbly legs grateful for the support. “Begin,” she announced.

  Relief washed over her. Her part was done for now. Now, she listened and watched.

  Her worry was for naught.

  The morning had started off awkward for everyone seemed reluctant to speak, but after an hour of stilted speeches, Sam had managed to crack a joke that broke even the most stoic Scythians’ demeanors.

  Each Aermian delegate had a speech prepared that was eloquent and overly polite, and each of Zane’s delegates followed by making a speech of their own. The first day was wasted on pretty words that were anything but sincere, but at least they’d gotten the ball rolling.

  She rubbed between her brows. A throbbing pain in her head made itself known just as the Scythian at the end of the table, Phoenix, finished his speech. The delegates had spent all day speaking, yet nothing seemed accomplished.

  “Are you all right, consort?” the warlord asked. Tehl and Lilja’s gazes turned to Sage.

  “My head hurts,” she said, offering a weak smile. All the stress of the day had led to rising pain that stabbed her eyes.

  “We’re finishing up here,” the warlord murmured. “Why don’t you retire to your room until dinner?”

  She glanced at the window, noting the sinking sun. “I will.” Sage stood, curtseyed, and slipped from the room. She stumbled a step and placed a hand against the rough red stone wall. The hallway lurched, causing her stomach to do the same, and the grapes she’d nibbled on for lunch threatened to make a reappearance.

  “My lady? Are you all right?”

  Sage glanced to the warrior who was watching her with trepidation. “No, I need to rest.”

  He nodded, and she forced herself upright and lurched after him. She managed to stumble into the room and crash onto the bed, the pain so overwhelming that stars dotted her vision. Nali grumped, but otherwise didn’t move when Sage cuddled up to the big animal.

  “Do you need anything, my lady?”

  “The curtains,” she mumbled, burrowing into the coverlet and pressing her face into Nali’s fur.

  A rustle of cloth reached her ears, and then blessed darkness closed over her. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Silence, and then, “You’re welcome.”

  The door clicked closed.

  She grimaced and prayed that sleep would claim her quickly.

  Cool skin touched her forehead, and she followed it, seeking comfort. Her hand shot out and wrapped around the wrist, moving it back to her forehead.

  “Wild one, I need you to let go, so I can give you something for your head.”

  “No,” she moaned. “No draughts.” A whimper escaped her as another wave of pain slammed into her.

  A curse reached her ears. “You’re so frail! Every time I turn around, there’s something wrong with you! Let me help. I can heal you.”

  A large hand slipped behind her neck and something cool was placed at her lips. Sage pushed through her pain and opened her eyes to stare at the warlord’s angry face.

  “What is it?”

  “Something for your pain.”

  “Are you telling me the truth?”

  His face darkened even more. “I’m not poisoning you.”

  “That’s not what I asked,” she croaked.

  “It’s only for the pain.”

  She searched his face, not sure if he was lying.

  “Drink it, or I will make you. Stop choosing to suffer when I can fix you.”

  And there it was, the threat to take away her right to choose. But even if she did choose, it wasn’t really a choice. Another wave of pain crashed into her. Attending the talks in this state wasn’t possible, and she needed to be there. It was an easy choice. By way of answer, she opened her mouth and drank the draught.

  He laid her down and brushed her hair from her face. “Not terrible, was it?” He placed a kiss on her cheek and rubbed his fingers along her scalp. “Why do you have to be so stubborn? You make no sense sometimes. Women are such fickle creatures.”

  She breathed a contented sigh as his fingers released some of the pain assaulting her.

  “I can’t miss dinner, but I’ll make excuses for you.” He stroked her cheek and then disappeared without a sound, leaving Sage to snuggle back into bed.

  Sage

  Sage woke up, tingling with awareness. She curled her hand around the dagger underneath her pillow. It was comical that the warlord let her keep it as she’d tried to use it on him once, yet he’d disarmed her so quickly that the dagger was more of a symbol of her helplessness than anything else. She was, however, thankful to have it this night—because there was someone in her room.

  Listening intently, she kept her eyes closed and her breathing even. She forced herself to stay calm and to not move a muscle. A Scythian assassin would be stronger and faster, and she was virtually blind in the dark. She needed to keep still and lure the assassin toward her. It was a risk, but at least if the intruder was close, she could attack first and catch them by surprise; then maybe she’d have a chance.

  Blessedly, the pain in her head was gone, so she could really focus. One breath, two breaths, three breaths, and there it was. The scent of mint. She snapped her arms out, clutching a shirt, and jerked with all her strength, throwing the assassin over her head. With speed she didn’t know she still possessed, Sage rolled onto her knees and threw a knee over the intruder. She grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked back, holding her dagger’s tip to the assassin’s throat.

  “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now?”

  “Because I’m your brother, and I love you.”

  She stilled and let the dagger fall from her hand. “Sam?”

  “And I’m much too handsome to die so young.”

  Sage scrambled backward, across the bed, her eyes darting across the darkness, seeing nothing. “You can’t be here,” she whispered urgently. If the warlord found him here, he’d kill Jasmine without thought and perhaps slaughter the entire Aermian delegation. She jumped from the bed and skirted around the furniture by memory to get to the window, pulling it back so just a touch of moonlight entered the room.

  Sam sat on her bed, watching her.

  “I’ve missed you.”

  Those were the last words she expected to hear. She both cherished and loathed them. He stood and held his arms out. Sage was ready to step into them but, thinking better of it, halted after only a pace.

  His brows furrowed, and he snuck a glance toward the door. “You’re right. We don’t have time for a reunion right now.” He stalked on silent feet to a trapdoor beneath the rug in front of the fire. “Let’s go.”

  She swallowed hard and clenched her fists. Every part of her wanted to go with him, to just leave this place a
nd the horrid memories, but she couldn’t leave Jasmine. And even if that was not an issue, the warlord was too cautious. If Sam was here, it had to be by design.

  “No,” she whispered.

  Sam froze and flew back to her side. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

  “No,” she said, watching emotions ripple across his face. Sam rarely let his emotions show. Sam clasped her cheeks in his palms and his eyes darted between hers. He dropped his hands and wrapped his arms around her in a fierce hug. “I don’t know what he’s done, or what you’ve had to do to survive, but none of that matters. All that matters is going home to your family and friends who love you. Don’t you want that?”

  More than he knew, but he hadn’t had to live like she did. “I won’t go with you.”

  His embrace loosened and slowly, he released her and stepped back; this time, his spymaster’s mask was in place. He reached a hand out and fingered her gauzy robe. “What is he holding over you?”

  She slapped his hand away, stared him in the eye, and lied. “Nothing that concerns you, my lord. Now, please leave.”

  “I’m not leaving until you explain yourself.” He gestured to her state of dress.

  She slid a glance to the closed doors and back to Sam, shame coloring her cheeks. “I owe you nothing.”

  Sam cursed, his jaw clenching. “You owe the kingdom everything, and the warlord nothing.”

  “I owe him much. He saved my life and has taken care of me.” The words tasted like ash on her tongue, partly because part of her believed that.

  “He’s using you.”

  “No more than the rebellion or the Crown did. Now, leave.” Before the warlord stormed inside.

  His face was a stone mask. “We can’t protect you from him if you don’t leave with me, right now.”

  A sad smile touched her lips. “No one can protect themselves from him.” Her words lingered in the air as Sam stared at her in silence. After a moment, he turned on his heel and snuck back to the trapdoor.

  He glanced over his shoulder, the moonlight turning his hair silver. “You’re playing a dangerous game. One that could destroy you.” He smiled carelessly, pulling the trapdoor down. “Be seeing you soon, sis.”

  Her heart dropped to her feet as he disappeared down the dark hole, the trapdoor closing soundlessly. She fell to her knees, the pain so acute she couldn’t breathe.

  She’d let her chance to escape slip away. Sage allowed herself a moment to mourn and then pulled herself to her feet. Wallowing served no purpose, and she needed to calm herself before the warlord arrived. She needed to have a clear head when he arrived. Muddled thoughts led to poor choices in words, and bad decisions.

  Sage stoked the fireplace and slid the rug over the trapdoor Sam escaped through. Not that it would make a difference. Zane was almost impossible to hide things from. She wilted into a chair and picked at her robe, pondering if she should change or not. The warlord would smell Sam on her like a bloody animal. There was no hiding his visit. She might as well just wait.

  Two hours passed before the warlord sauntered into the room, closing the door behind him. Sage ignored his entrance, staring into the flames as he moved to stand across from her.

  “How are you feeling, Sage?”

  “Better,” she said, still not looking in his direction.

  The crackle of the fire filled the silence that descended between them. Not companionable or comfortable silence, but the kind that is brewing with tension and unsaid words.

  “I’m proud of you, consort. You’ve done well.”

  She glanced at him, her face schooled. “Why are you proud?”

  He glided toward her, all Scythian grace, and cupped her upturned face. “You didn’t betray me.”

  Her suspicions were confirmed. “You knew he’d break in.”

  “I did.”

  She scanned his unearthly face and reached up to pull his hand from her face. “Why?”

  “I needed to know where your loyalties lay.” A breathtaking smile burst across his face. “I needed to know who you belonged to.”

  “I belong to myself.”

  “No,” he breathed, leaning closer. She could smell the wine on his breath. “I own you.”

  She shot to her feet and rounded the chair, putting it between them. “You made me lie to my family.”

  The warlord chuckled. “Your family? That boy isn’t your family.”

  “Do you even know the meaning of family?” she spat.

  His face soured. “Family means nothing.”

  “I understand that after what you did to Rhys.” Sage snapped her mouth shut, not able to take the words back.

  “There are consequences for betrayal. Family is no exclusion.”

  “What made you like this?” she whispered.

  “A sick old man and a twisted woman.”

  He sprang and grabbed her around the throat. Her hands pried at his as he lifted her and pushed her against a low dresser, the wooden top biting into the back of her thighs. He forced himself into the cradle of her thighs and met her gaze.

  “You’re a reminder of what’s wrong in the world.”

  Sage gasped when the warlord squeezed the collar, the thorns digging into her skin. He released his grip slightly, so she could pull in a breath.

  His gaze scanned her face, softening slightly. “And yet, you’re all that’s good.”

  “I don’t understand,” she whispered.

  The warlord’s chuckle chilled her. “You wouldn’t. No one could understand the deranged old man’s obsession with perfection or his covetousness of things that didn’t belong to him.”

  “Who was he?” Sage ventured, trying to keep him talking.

  His dark eyes emptied of all emotion. “My father.”

  She swallowed hard at the way he stared right through her.

  “Everything was flawed in his mind, except for a Nagalian beauty he managed to steal and take as his wife. She was his prize, his goddess. She became pregnant. He anticipated the birth of his son—surely, he’d be as flawless as his mother! But the son was born resembling himself, and looked nothing like his goddess. So, the experimenting began.” His empty black gaze focused on her. “Now, his mother had always hated the boy. He was a symbol of all that she had lost, all that was taken. But as the boy aged, he changed and grew into a striking figure, one who had no equal, except for his mother. And she took notice.”

  Her stomach sank. She hoped he wasn’t saying what she thought he was saying.

  The warlord smirked. “She couldn’t help herself. It was only reasonable she’d be attracted to him. He wasn’t really her son anymore, or so she told herself and the boy.”

  She thought she might throw up.

  “He didn’t know it was unnatural until his sister told him. Shame battered him every time she touched him, and he reacted, but his mother consoled him with logic. They were family. Naturally, they would love each other.”

  “Oh, Zane,” she breathed, nausea threatening to overwhelm her. “I’m so sorry.”

  He jerked, his hand tightening around her neck briefly. “For what?”

  “For your pain.”

  Anger darkened his face. “I don’t need your pity.”

  “It’s not pity. It’s sympathy.”

  He leaned closer, his eyes darting between her eyes. “I can see that.”

  “What happened to your family?” She needed to know.

  “They died, all but his beloved sister who protected him when no one else would.”

  “Maeve?”

  “So smart,” he murmured and trailed a hand down her bleeding neck. “Remember this, wild one, science doesn’t lie or manipulate. It is truth.” His hand skimmed down to her belly and caressed it. “But it does have consequences. Even I couldn’t anticipate how it would affect our women and their birth rate.”

  Oh God. The room swirled around her in a kaleidoscope of color. All the pregnant women at the execution flashed through her mind. When are you due? Bile burned he
r throat.

  “You look so much like her,” he whispered, still staring at her flat belly. “This time, it will be different.”

  His mother. Sage swallowed, trying not to gag. “I’m sorry,” she choked out.

  “It was long before your birth.”

  “How long?” she ventured to ask, terrified of the answer.

  “Since the purge.”

  The room spun. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible, but as Sage stared at the warlord, his dark, knowing gaze searched her face. The beautiful monster in front of her was far more dangerous than she ever realized. How was it possible for a man to live that long?

  “Why?” she croaked. “Why would you do such a thing? All those people.”

  “They wouldn’t let me cleanse them.” His gaze traveled to her neck. “You’re bleeding,” he said, as if he’d just noticed the damage he’d caused.

  She wanted to scream when he plucked her from the dresser and carried her to the bed. Her skin crawled at his touch. Sage panted hard as she tried to sort through her emotions. She’d been sleeping with the most notorious war criminal her land had ever seen. She’d let him touch her skin. Every part of her felt defiled.

  The warlord uncorked a vial, poured it into a cup, and held it out to her. She stared at the cup and weighed her options. Did she drink it to appease the creature of death and darkness before her? Or did she fight an ancient monster who had once been human? Her gaze lifted to the warlord’s, and what she saw there killed her. Not only could she see the monster, but she could also see the abused little boy.

  “No.”

  His hand clenched on the cup, cracking it.

  Sage shoved all the emotions down and reached out, touching the warlord’s trembling hand. “I’m not something to be fixed, Zane.” He stilled at her use of his name. She lifted her other hand to her throat. “You did this. It’s not fair for you to erase it like it never happened.”