Blinded by the Sun (Erythleh Chronicles Book 4) (17 page)

Kavrazel's thumb rubbed over the apex of her cheekbone as he spoke. There was comfort in the gesture, and tenderness. "I know now that I do not need blood, not yours, not anyone's, to raise the dead. I had thought, especially during that battle, that it was rage that I needed, but that emotion is impotent as well. It is fear. Fear drives my power. Fear for my country. Fear for my people... Fear for... for... you."

He picked up his knife. Lyssia watched him with curious, and not unwary, eyes. She was interested, but not foolish or naive. He held the blade to his wrist, the one that almost lay against her cheek, and in a sharp motion, slit his own skin.

"Drink from me." He angled his arm so that his bleeding wrist was pressed against Lyssa's lips. She had two choices: to refuse, or to accept, which was really only one choice. She parted her lips and touched her tongue to the seeping wound. As before, his blood caressed her tongue with the zing of lightning and the boom of thunder. His power was a storm surging through her veins. She could feel the niggling remnants of stiffness in her ribcage ease with every lick and swallow.

"That's it," Kavrazel crooned as she lapped. "Let me give you strength."

Lyssia drew back, but no more than a hand's span from the king's wrist. He did not withdraw his arm, but his brows drew down.

"You would gift me strength, but not freedom?" She was asking him now more out of curiosity, from a need to understand, rather than from a serious need to be released.

"Exactly." His answer was unequivocal.

"Why?"

"You're too important to me." Kavrazel resumed stroking her cheek. She noted that his wrist had healed. There was faint scar, visible only because it was slick and caught the light, but there was no other indication that he had so recently bled for her. "I raised armies, I slew an army, all for you. I've spilled rivers of blood... for you."

"Should I be flattered?"

"You should realise how much you mean to me."

"Am I more than just a slave to you?"

"Yes. You always have been." Kavrazel rose from his chair. "Come with me." The hand that had dropped from her cheek as he had risen was now offered to her in invitation.

She placed the last morsel of trust that she had to give in that proffered palm, and took Kavrazel's hand as she rose.

~o0o~

The season of growth had thrown its arms around the country while Lyssia had been convalescing. The land showed more green promise than Lyssia would ever have guessed for a country that seemed to be all black stone, grit, and smoke. The air was fresh with the promise of warmth and new life. The sky was crystalline, except for a few clouds - mere wisps of white fluff that skittered before the breeze. Kavrazel's blood was still potent in her veins, but the sheer newness of the day lifted Lyssia's spirits even higher. She was caught so thoroughly in the glory of nature that she didn't realise they were approaching the stables, until she smelled hay and horses.

Kavrazel pushed open the door, allowing the sunlight to flood the musty space. It added to the shafts beaming through the windows, which illuminated the dancing motes of dust. The stable lads all paused in their chores. Seeing that the interruption was the king himself, they made swift bows before resuming their tasks. Kavrazel nodded in acknowledgement, hooked Lyssia's arm through his own, and led her down to the avenue between the stalls.

It was lunchtime for more than just the humans; most of the occupants of the stalls had their heads buried in their nose bags. Korost, Kavrazel's black stallion, seemed to sense his master's approach and stuck his head over the stall door, whickering gently. Lyssia would have stopped to scratch his nose, except that another whicker, softer and yet more urgent, sounded from the occupant next door. Lyssia could hardly believe her eyes when Sensha stamped and pushed her nose into view. She sounded impatient, as if telling Korost to move out of her way.

"You're alive!" Lyssia gasped, and disentangled herself from Kavrazel. Sensha made happy horse noises and snorted wetly into Lyssia's hair as she threw her arms around the animal's neck. She buried her face in Sensha's long mane before anyone could see that her eyes were full of tears. She had not received any news of her beloved pet's fate since the day that she had been knocked unconscious whilst out riding, since the day she had been taken. She had presumed Sensha dead, and had not been able to bear asking about her in case she received confirmation of her assumption.

It took Lyssia some moments to remember that she was not alone. It was the feeling of presence behind her, and Korost's envious snorts, that reminded her that Kavrazel had not left. When she lifted her face, she found he was scratching Sensha behind the ear, and trying to give similar attention to a jealous Korost with his other hand.

"She found her own way home," Kavrazel murmured. "It was Sensha that brought the note from those Aelddean scum."

"The note?"

Kavrazel gave her a curious look. "Yes, the note."

"I was riding and something hit me in the head. I was knocked unconscious before I fell from Sensha. I know little of what happened that day, save from when I woke."

Kavrazel's lips thinned with anger and distaste. "We received a note, pinned to Sensha's bridle and stained with your blood. That's how we knew you had been taken. That all makes sense, I suppose. You're strong, and a fighter. I've been wondering how they managed to best you. Those thoughts have tormented me."

It was instinct, a need to soothe his discomfort, a need to soothe anything so much in distress, that caused Lyssia to reach up and lay her fingers against Kavrazel's cheek. Or, at least, that's how she argued the action with herself. He leaned into her touch, and turned to press his lips to her palm; she felt them move as he spoke. "I thought I'd lost you."

"I'm right here."

"Yes. You are," Kavrazel whispered.

She knew he was going to kiss her before he did. She knew she could have stopped him, if she had wanted to, but she didn't want to stop him. Her eyelids fluttered closed as his lips brushed over hers, the lightest touch, a request. She had to place her palm against his chest to steady herself against the dizzying rush of desire that she hadn't been expecting. She felt his arm slide around her waist, felt the solid strength of his body as he pulled her closer.

The sound, something between a gasp and a moan, that she couldn't hold back, seemed to be the sign of permission that the king had been waiting for. He held her ever more tightly as his lips slanted over hers, his tongue sliding between, seeking, demanding, until she opened to him. Lyssia felt the heat grow and rise between them, an inferno that threatened to burn out of control, fuelled by blood, and magic, and something else...

It might even have engulfed them, if the impatient horses hadn't made known their annoyance at their neglect by bumping both humans in the shoulder with their noses.

Lyssia had to turn away from the intensity of Kavrazel's gaze. Even staring at the sawdust-strewn planks she could feel it.

"Don't." His fingertip pressed under her chin, forcing her to look up at him again. "Don't turn away. Please."

"I... I..." Lyssia couldn't force the words from her throat, which was constricted with confusion and the lingering embers from their kiss. "I don't know..."

"Shhh." Kavrazel's thumb rubbed over her bottom lip. "You don't need to say..."

Sensha nudged her shoulder again, hard enough to make Lyssia stumble a step to the side, reminding her that her horse was happy to see her, too, and feeling ignored. Lyssia couldn't help but giggle at Sensha's antics, and her laughter seemed to break the tension, or the spell, or whatever knot was being tangled between her and the king.

"Will you let me attend to you at the evening meal, my Lord?" Lyssia asked, still smiling as she stroked Sensha's nose to appease the mare.

"Yes." Kavrazel's gaze was still hot enough to set the world aflame, although his lips were curved into a half grin. "I insist upon it."

Chapter Sixteen

Kavrazel knew that the chefs in the palace kitchens were skilled, almost to the point of magical ability. They had never yet produced a meal that he had not enjoyed, even when they had cooked something that he would have said he was not fond of. They had even managed to make sprouts palatable, and that was a warlock level achievement, as far as he was concerned. But on this night, he could barely taste any of the mouth-watering dishes that had been presented to him. All he could taste was Lyssia's blood. It coated his tongue, his mind, and flowed through his body, as viscous as lava. It solidified in his core, and gave him a new centre, a new focus.

From the very first he had always known that the blood of different people was as individual as vintages of wine. He had come to realise quite some time ago that, much as with wine, not everyone could taste and recognise such subtle nuances, so it wasn't something that he spoke about often. The blood slave that he'd owned before Lathriss, Alla, had tasted sharp and bitter. Lathriss, in accordance with her nature, had tasted almost sickeningly sweet. Lyssia... well now... his new slave tasted of something entirely different. Her flavour seemed to change with her mood. Overall, he would have said that it was spicy, but when she was relaxed, it was more mellow; when she was angry, it was piquant. On this night, he could most closely associate it with a mix of nutmeg, cinnamon, and cloves; it warmed the blood, but made it sing at the same time.

He had invited her to join him for the evening meal, and she had accepted with her usual regal grace. As always, they were under the watchful eye of Girogis, but Kavrazel knew that his friend had not seen the blush that had coloured Lyssia's cheeks as she had taken her seat. Kavrazel thought he knew why she was flushed, he felt an almost incendiary heat himself at the memory of their moment in the stables. Had it been only that afternoon? It seemed a lifetime away already, so greedy was he for more of her company.

Whilst she had been recovering, he had, at times, almost needed to physically tether himself to a chair to stop himself from going to her rooms. He hadn't wanted her to feel pressured to return to her duties. He had wanted her to have ample time to heal. The memory of her limp and lifeless body in his arms was still all too real in his nightmares, and he had not wanted to see her again until she had regained all of her verve and vitality. Selfishly, he had not wanted to be reminded of the moment that he had almost lost her.

When she had stormed into his luncheon he had been furious, but also taken aback. Before him had been the warrior princess, the woman whose eyes had flashed with defiance even though she had been broken and chained in the slave market. Before him had been the woman he had fallen... no... he could not admit such a thing. To say it, even in silence, even in his own mind, was folly. And yet he could not deny the surge of pride that she would defend her position by his side so strenuously, and that she would feel the need to be close to him as urgently as he felt the need to be close to her.

Such a thing as a monarch wedding their blood slave had never been heard of before. But then, no monarch had raised armies of thousands of the undead as he had. No monarch had raised armies from the warm corpses of giants, as he had. He wrote his own rules, and he would continue to write more. His story had not ended yet.

Kavrazel was impatient to be ended with this pretence of a meal. His appetite was dulled by the essence of Lyssia that he could still taste, that he could still feel. Lyssia also seemed to be lacking the desire to eat. She had barely picked at the food he had selected for her, although he knew that each morsel would have been delicious.

Kavrazel was aware that his life was ruled by different systems and routines than those of free men. He knew he was every bit as enslaved to the crown as Lyssia was enslaved to him. He would never try to explain it as such, but he felt her situation keenly. Part of his entrapment was the ceremony and rigmarole that he had to endure as part of the image of his station, but sometimes, only sometimes, he could break free.

"Will you join me? In one of the smaller apartments? I think, perhaps, we would both be more comfortable."

Kavrazel did not miss the lash of a smirk that crossed Girogis' face. His friend could think what he would; he would probably be right.

An expression flashed briefly across Lyssia's features, a hint of something, possibly apprehension, but it was soon gone. Kavrazel made note, but continued. "A smaller room would be warmer on this cold night."

The season itself was balmy, but the sun had not yet developed into the fiery ball that could lend heat to the night as well as the day. The frigid silver moon still held dominion over the hours of darkness.

"As you wish, my Lord."

Something about her change in address to him, the way she had altered the generic "Sire" to the more personal "my Lord" caused his cock to stir. Kavrazel tried to think rationally. Lyssia was his slave; he should not develop a connection, but by Taan he wanted to.

He rose. Lyssia mirrored his action. As he had in the stable, he tucked her arm in the crook of his own before leading her from the room. She was so tall, almost as tall as he. She held her spine stiff and straight, as if she had been trained in correct deportment since childhood, as he had. Her beauty was unlike any other. She was a queen among slaves. She had never acted as less than she was, a free woman who endured unfortunate luck. Her strength astounded him. He knew that a stranger seeing them for the first time would mistake their relationship. He knew that an ignorant man would see a queen and her king. That man would not be wrong.

The parlour that he led them to was more comfortable, as he had known it would be. Girogis followed them at a discreet distance, and stationed himself outside the door as they entered. The fire had been lit and was blazing in the hearth. Kavrazel bade Lyssia wait while he tossed several cushions to the floor in front of the mantle, making a snug and informal nest. He led her over to the pillows and indicated that she should sit. She did so without question. Kavrazel joined her, and noted in a corner of his consciousness that some of their uneaten meal had been brought in by a servant and laid upon a side table. But that they should be hungry for such a feast; such mortal morsels would be simple fare compared to the needs, the desires, that he warred against. Life would be so simple if they only wanted beef in wine, roasted chicken, and honeyed pork. Life would be so simple if a king did not crave his slave...

"I must say," Kavrazel commented as they fidgeted until they were able to relax, "That there was a time, not so long ago, when I would have struggled to imagine us ever sharing so close a space. I thought you might hate me forever."

Lyssia was quiet for a time, keenly observing the flickering embers. Eventually, she spoke. "Did you know? When you purchased me, did you think then that you knew me, or wanted to know me?"

"Yes." Kavrazel could only answer in truth.

"And did you think, when you handed over the coins, that one day you could make me like you?"

"No. I only hoped that one day you might decide so for yourself."

"I'm not sure, that for a slave, there is so very much difference."

"And I assure you, that there is."

"I think that maybe, perhaps, Taan deals in such miracles."

"You believe in my god now? You are devout to him?"

Lyssia turned to him, and in those emerald orbs he saw the intelligence that he knew would always best him. "No. I believe in Teema, but I also believe in balance. I think the god of fire and angst and the mother of comfort and quiet strength make quite a pair."

"I am no longer so sure that we speak of deities."

"Perhaps not," Lyssia agreed, her tone playful. "But perhaps we must speak on other matters."

"And what subjects might we converse on?"

"The gaggle of malcontents in the marketplace, and their insistence that they can surmount your power."

"Really?" Kavrazel asked in stunned disbelief. "Politics is what you would rather speak of?"

He might have expected her to rail against her fate as a slave, to request deference for her fellows, to enquire as to the resumption of her duties as scribe. This, his own political position, had not occurred as a topic.

"Why not?" Lyssia's tone was saucy. "For my fate to be secure, so must yours be. Therefore it is in my interests to ensure that security."

"And what surety do you have in mind?" He tried not to make his tone too teasing. That she was intelligent and informed were indisputable facts, but as far as he knew, she had never occupied or defended a throne before. He wondered what her suggestion would be.

"There is surety in distraction."

Kavrazel was sure that Lyssia was not wrong; after all, he was more than a little distracted by the way the firelight played against the flimsy folds of her robes. "Explain, please, to your ignorant lord."

He didn't miss the slight inhale at his volleyed use of her title for him.

"Distract your detractors. They are but simple men. If they were intelligent, stealthy, they would not proclaim their aversion for all to see and hear. Turn that which they would denigrate into a celebration. They would hound you for allowing the giants to breach our shores. Did you not beat them back? Did you not kill their queen? Did you not raise their own dead to conquer them? Were they not confirmed as weaker than you?"

"They were."

"Then that truth should be acclaimed across the country."

"And yet all anyone in the marketplace chooses to discuss, is the fact that their king has renounced Taan."

"But you haven't."

"No, I have not."

"They are ignorant. They require proof."

"You would have me slit my own throat in the temple?"

"Perhaps not quite so drastic a measure. After all, if you did that, I might have to do likewise."

Kavrazel was stunned for a moment by that sentiment. It appeared that Lyssia was equally as surprised to have uttered it, as though it hadn't been in her mind before it had passed her lips. She coughed discreetly, lifting the back of her hand against her lips. Kavrazel inhaled a deep breath and prayed to remain steadfast. He decided a polite diversion back to the main topic would be appropriate.

"So, how would you distract them?"

"Turn it into a celebration. Sacrifice at the temple. Let them see you be penitent. Let them see you drink from me. The people will forgive you."

"And you would allow that? You would let me exhibit you in that way?"

"Better the demon that I know."

Her look still held an element of humour, but also something of resolution. It made him think that Lyssia acted against her better judgement in order to preserve her skin, and he did not want that; he wanted her to need to preserve her soul, also.

Evidently, his expression conveyed his thoughts eloquently. Lyssia moved closer, dipping her head and speaking in a half-whisper as if sharing a great secret.

"If you were to be deposed, I would still be a slave, but with a new master, one I might not like half so much."

"You are agreeable to your situation now, because the alternatives are possibly so abhorrent?"

"No, because I feel less like a slave now than I ever have. When I was gagged and bound..." Kavrazel knew that Lyssia had felt him stiffen by the way that she paused and laid a palm against his jaw. He felt the tender touch of her fingers in so many other places. "Shhhh," she soothed, "When they had me, I realised that I had experienced - or could experience - more freedom with you than anywhere else. With you, I have known freedom from fear, freedom from oppression, freedom from responsibilities - for the most part. I realised that my true argument was against the price I was expected to pay for all of that."

There were no words that could encompass his feelings at her admission. He knew she had the wit and intelligence to escape if she wanted to; she had since she had regained the use of her leg and her strength. His hold on her had always been tenuous. Now she had revealed that she had stayed in the castle and by his side - was in this room with him at this very moment - because it was her choice. Her disclosure could not go unacknowledged, and yet no words that came to his mind were worthy. He turned, and touched his lips against her palm in a lingering kiss.