Bound By Fate: A Novel of the Strong (21 page)

With surprising gentleness, Toran had lifted the faine from the truck, the female’s body wrapped tight in a quilt to stave off the coolness of the day.

After making it perfectly, and viciously, clear that the faine would be seen immediately, Toran had left without another word.
 

Well, he had tipped his chin to the doctor who had stepped out to greet them.
 

There was
that.

The Tenn gone in a huff, Kellen had followed the doctor as she wheeled the faine inside.

But before Kellen could make up his mind whether to stay and spy or concentrate his efforts elsewhere, Toran had burst back through the hospital entrance.

Needless to say, Kellen had stayed.

The Tenn was now parked outside the room that held the faine, his forehead pressed against the door. Kellen had no doubt that Toran’s keen daemon ears were picking up each and every word.
 

And it seemed that whatever was being discussed was making quite the impression.

Toran looked as if he were being eviscerated alive.

From his perch a few feet away, Kellen could practically feel
the daemon’s agony.

Which was interesting, to say the least.

But, truth be told, Kellen had found the whole day interesting, starting with when he had watched the Elder Diogo intentionally trip the faine.

It was clear that Arman was stepping up his game.

But why would the old daemon want to hurt the faine? If she was injured, Toran would be compelled to feed her…
to heal her.

To give her his strength.

To Kellen, that made no sense at all if Arman was looking to thwart the Tenn’s path to the crown.

But here Kellen sat, bearing witness to Toran’s distress.

In a hospital.

Which meant that the faine refused to take his venna.

Strange.

But that was the least of the strangeness of what had been going on the past few weeks.

Kellen was now convinced the assassination plot against him was all a ruse. Wanting to know exactly what he was up against, Kellen had tracked down the Cutter himself and had studied the daemon from afar.
 

What he had learned had been baffling.

He had found no rush to arms, no focus on strategy.

He had uncovered no bloodthirsty urge to hunt him and his men down in return for a rich––
and much needed
––reward.

Instead, it was clear to Kellen that the Enoth assassin had another, much more pressing, matter on his mind.

Namely, a female of the Other persuasion.

Which left Kellen, all points considered, stumped as to what Arman had up his sleeve.

None of it made any godsdamn sense.

It was beyond time to feel things out himself, face to face.

Starting with the Tenn and where he stood on his impending marriage.

Days ago, Kellen had let it be known the specifics of his plans, confident the word would get back to Arman. Kellen was sure he had a spy within his midst. Given his own reliance on information gleaned from various camps throughout the years, he would have been sorely disappointed if he hadn’t.

Once Kellen came out of the shadows, he was confident Arman would tip his hand…

Toran’s cry of distress ripped him from his musings. Kellen looked up just in time to witness the Tenn barreling past him down the hallway, his face masked with anguish.

Hopping down from the gurney, Kellen’s eyes were glued to Toran’s back as the daemon burst through the doorway. Running after him, Kellen watched as the Tenn climbed into his truck and drove away, tires screeching on the asphalt.

Well now,
he thought,
perhaps there was some hope for Toran after all.

Feinting to the left, Toran slashed his arm up and out, the venna around and within him heaving with violent yet pinpoint precision.

The blast of energy barreled his sparring partner over, the daemon landing with a thump on the hard, cold ground. The acrid odor of scorched flesh and clothing polluted the open field that lay just outside the castle walls.
 

“What the fuck, Ales! Protect yourself!” Chest heaving, Toran stood over the male’s prone body. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing, my lord,” the male groaned as he rolled over onto his knees, his black shoulder-length hair curtaining his face.

Reaching a hand down, Toran pulled the daemon to his feet. He flexed his fingers. Raising his arms, he dropped back into a fighting stance. “Again.”

Ales dropped back to his knees.

“What the hell is going on?” Toran lifted his hands in question. “Who will fight me?” he yelled. Twisting his neck, he glared at the other males in the clearing. None of his fighters would look him in the eye.

“What the fuck is going on?” he shouted. “If one of you bastards doesn’t speak up…”

Merus stepped forward and called out, “Walk with me, cousin.”

Toran stared the male down.
 

“What’s going on, Merus?”

“Come, I have news on the rebels.”

Merus clasped a hand at Toran's shoulder and steered him down the path towards home. When they were some distance away, he said, “I see you’re determined to beat everyone into submission.”

It was true. Since leaving Liv in the hospital two days ago, Toran had been consumed with the need to fight.

It seemed nothing else could relieve his agony.

“You know you should go easy on Ales for now,” Merus said. “I’m sure he’s still recovering from his injuries. Besides,” he added, “you know our men can’t keep up with you when you’re like this.”

“And what would ‘like this’ be?” Toran shrugged off his cousin’s hold. He glanced over his shoulder to see Ales just now rising from the ground to limp off the field.

Merus pursed his lips but said nothing.

As they walked along the cool shadow of the curtain wall, an uneasy silence passed between them.

Toran nodded in agitated greeting to two females they passed along the way. He allowed them to get well behind him before turning to his cousin.

“What’s the news?”
 

“The rebels are encamped outside of Harringsbye, just a few miles away from Narcyz’s estate,” said Merus. “For whatever reason, it seems there’s been a break in their magic.”

“Any sign of the Cutter?”

“No, thank the gods,” Merus replied. “I took the liberty of speaking with the younger McCannon brother to see if I could get a better bead on Reighn. Rhedden said that neither he nor Rhahm have seen their brother in weeks.” Here, he paused. “Listen, I’ve been thinking…”

“Well, out with it already,” Toran snapped.

“It makes no sense to me,” Merus said, “that Reighn would risk drawing the Vimora into war to do my father’s bidding. Especially not when the Enoth are fighting for their lives against the Sumari.”

“The bastard would do it for any number of reasons, cousin,” Toran answered tersely. “For money, for sport. Hell, he’d do it just to stick it to Rhahm.” It was no secret amongst the Strong that the two elder McCannon brothers despised the very air the other breathed. “What about your brother?”

“As far as I can tell, he’s not encamped with his men.” Merus blew out a frustrated breath. “Look, you know I’ve always had issues tracking my own blood, even with magic. I’m trying my best to find him…”

“Unacceptable,” Toran declared. “I need this matter resolved now, Merus. I’m running out of time.”

As the wall opened up to the gatehouse, Merus slowed his steps. “You are indeed running out of time, my friend.”

Toran stopped walking.
 

“What is it?” he demanded.

“This was delivered to me yesterday.” Merus held a thick piece of paper, shoulder high, between middle and forefinger.

“What is it?” Toran repeated.

“Take a look.”

Toran took the proffered note from his cousin’s hand. Flipping the heavily gilded card open, he began to read an invitation…
to his own wedding.

As he read, the ground trembled ever so slightly beneath them, dust and debris sifting down the castle walls.
 

Willing his hand not to shake, Toran passed the card back to Merus.

“This is good,” he lied. “Everything is as it should be.”

“You’ve moved the date up a month.”

“I have,” Toran answered with an agitated nod. “Having the ceremony at the Blessing of the Thorns makes sense, regardless of whether my bride is ready to accept me.” He paused before adding, “Feliks will never suspect a thing.”

Merus studied his boots.

“Does everyone know?” Toran dared a glance in his cousin’s direction.

“No, not everyone,” his cousin answered softly. “Only the men who will serve as your honor guard are privy to the news.” He paused. “The public announcement will be made on Sunday.”

Toran squinted towards the setting sun.
 

It was Tuesday.

“Come Sunday, you’ll have two weeks’ time until the Blessing.” Merus let the gravity of that statement fill the air. “Will you be ready?”

What a fucking question.

“I’ll be ready,” Toran answered.

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Does it matter what I want?” Toran blew out a breath.
 

As Merus remained silent, Toran counted down from five.

Right on cue, his eternal optimist of a cousin spoke up.

“Toran, now that you’ve found Liv, doesn’t it change everything?”

“For fuck’s sake, Merus!” At last finding a crack in his dam of misery, Toran’s temper erupted to expose just the tip of the rage simmering within him. “Finding the faine has been the whole fucking point of the last six hundred years! Of course she changes everything!”
 

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Then spit it out, man. My patience is wearing thin.”

“I’m talking about Liv. She has a name,” Merus added pointedly. “And it’s no secret there is interest there.” He paused. “From both sides.”

Gods help me.

“You imagine things.” Toran spun on a foot and started to walk away.

Merus reached out and grabbed his arm. With a burst of blue, Toran's venna lashed out and knocked the hand away.
 

“Do not touch me, faine,” he warned.

Rare aggression hummed from his easy-going cousin, the violence of Merus’s venna rising up to match his own, pulse by electric pulse.
 

He got right up in Toran's face.

“Listen to me, you stubborn bastard. Really think about this. Your entire life you’ve thought there was only one way forward. Now you have a choice!”

“Merus, how has this ever been about choice?” Toran yelled as he shoved his cousin away. “This is about fate!”
 

“Fate? Says who? Your uncle?” Merus threw out his arms. “Who else believes that shit other than you, Arman, and a bunch of psychotic Elden desperate to hold on to the past?”

“Watch yourself, cousin,” Toran warned.

“Were you there when the prophecy was given?”

“You know I wasn’t.”

“Then fuck this ‘of like and purest blood’ bullshit, man. Do you think the Sorcieri and the rest of our enemies give a shit who you marry?” Merus laughed. “You deserve so much more than destroying any chance of happiness jumping into some fated,” his forefingers curled around the word, “marriage to my vapid shrew of a sister!”

“That’s easy for you to say, given you are free to marry––or fuck––anything that moves!” Striking out, he once again pushed his cousin away. “And, happiness? Are you fucking kidding me?” Toran yelled at the sky. “I do not have such luxury if I intend to take the crown!”

As his cry faded away into the growing darkness, his cousin spoke up.

“Well, I think you’re wrong about that.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You could plant a babe in her,” Merus ventured.

“What?” Toran's entire body went still. “In who?”

“The faine.”

“Have you lost your fucking mind?”
I want a family,
she had said. Against his will, the thought of taking her took seed, his mind racing back to the time he had seen the heaven between her thighs.
 

Toran slammed his mind shut tight. Venna blanketed his body like shimmering armor.
 

Merus ignored it.
 

“Nope,” he replied. “I’m completely serious.”

Toran stared blankly at his cousin, trying to cipher out why his soul had gone completely cold.
 

“Are you standing here telling me you wish to see her dead?” Toran asked at last as a whole new possibility––one he’d never bothered to consider––sharpened into razor-like focus.

“What? No,” said Merus. “Considering she’s faine, I don’t think there’s any way you could hurt her when you…”

“I’m not talking about that!” Toran tore at his hair. “I’m talking about the law! Do you not remember what happened to my father’s faine?”
 

Before, Toran had never considered the long arcane law that dictated death to any faine caught between the lines of propriety. So caught up in his own selfish wants and needs, he hadn’t given the smallest thought to what it would mean to Liv should he give way to his weakness.

“Don’t you remember what happened to your own mother?”

Merus fell silent.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” said Toran. Wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead, Toran started walking again.

This conversation was beyond out of control.

No matter how much he was tempted to act on his desire, Toran could never risk Liv’s life.

Not now.

Not with the way he was beginning to feel about her.

“The Elden would never invoke that law.” Merus’s voice was insistent as he brought Toran back to the present. “Not now. Not after everything that happened after the Cleansing. Besides, it was you yourself who said the Elden wouldn’t dare tempt your wrath.”
 

“Yes, but that was regarding a different matter entirely,” said Toran. “Since the return of the faine, the Elden have made it clear they’re eager for me to take my crown.”
At least most of them, Diogo notwithstanding.
“I’m sure they’d have a much different opinion if they found out that I had betrayed everything our people stand for and had gone and fucked my faine.”