King's Folly (Book 2) (37 page)

“That’s odd. Is that when you started having visions?”

“I’ve always had the curse of foresight, but after the Shattering things—fell apart.” He frowned, head bowed, gazing at an unseen spot. Isiilde wished she had not asked; unfortunately, words could not be taken back, so she pressed forward.

“How so?”

“Do you remember that particularly fierce storm on the Isle that overwhelmed the shores?”

“There was a Blood Moon.”

“Yes, the ocean was fierce and the waves washed away entire sections of the city.”

“It was awful.”

Marsais nodded slightly, sending his coins echoing against the stone. “The waves were my visions, and I was the part of the city that was dragged out to sea.”

“How did you find your way back?”

“With help—eventually.”

“Who helped you?”

He smiled. “A good man.”

“With no name?”

“A wise Cleric of Chaim,” he explained, cryptically. “But a number of odd things happened during the Shattering. The disaster affected entire races—the fiends, the Fomorri, the Afarim.”

“Is that where Reapers and Grawl came from?” Isiilde asked, pulling off her clothes.

“No one knows for sure.” Marsais scanned the cracks and crevices with a careful eye, and then settled himself on a flat rock, folding his long legs.

“You don’t know?”

Amusement flickered through their bond. “I don’t know everything, my dear.”

“But you’ve lived so long.” She dipped a toe into the pool.

“Hmm, the younger you are, the more you know.”

Isiilde’s laugh echoed in the grotto, dancing with the trickling water. She grinned and dove into the pool, slipping beneath the surface with grace and poise. When she came up for air, she pressed on, “I’m serious, Marsais.”

“When you are young,” he explained. “You are blissfully unaware of what you don’t know, so you know much more.”

“Your reasoning has a number of cracks.”

“Was that ever in doubt?”

She splashed him.

“Was that an invitation?” he asked, shedding his wet jerkin.

“No.” She folded her arms on the edge of the pool, letting the swirling current tug at her feet as she watched Marsais strip off his clothes. “Tell me where Grawl and Reapers came from.”

“You are so sure I know.”

She stared at him, persistently.

And he relented. “Two theories rise above wild rumor. The first being that they are the offspring of fiends and faerie, or fiends and human, or whatever sordid coupling fantasy the theorist favors.”

“Is that possible—a fiend and a human?”

Marsais paused. “As possible as faerie and human,” he cleared his throat and hastily changed the subject. “The second belief is that Dagenir, after taking the Orb’s power, twisted the Gift and created the Grawl with the Void. And it’s said Death did the same with Reapers. I do think they are called Death’s children for a reason.”

Isiilde squeaked, pushing away from the edge of the pool. There was a creature perched on her boot. “Marsais!”

“It’s a lizard.”

“Lizards have scales.” She wrinkled her nose, studying the clawed creature. At least it wasn’t black. “I can see inside of it.”

“That’s because they are subterranean creatures. They live in the vines.” Suddenly, the grotto didn’t seem so peaceful. “Why don’t you cast a bolt at it, and scare it off.”

“I don’t want to kill it. Can I burn it instead?”

Marsais opened his mouth to reply, thought better of it, and closed it with a click, gently picking the lizard up by its tail and relocating it to the vines.

Isiilde retreated back beneath the water, deciding that it was too hot for anything to live in the spring. “I was serious,” she said at length.

“If you really want to burn the poor lizard to a crisp, you’ll have to catch it yourself.”

“I meant about our bond, Marsais.”

“I was too.”

“But I need to know how much is me and how much is you.”

“You’re still recovering from your near death, my dear.”

“It’s been seven days.”

“And I kept you alive by giving you my strength. I still am.”

Emerald eyes widened. “I’m
still
dying?”

“No, you’re not dying,” he reassured. “But we’re underground. There isn’t a drop of blood in you that isn’t faerie, and nymphs, most especially, were never meant to dwell under the earth.”

“Oh, yes, I nearly forgot, they are bed slaves for the gods.”

“You certainly don’t seem to mind my bed.”

“You are different, Marsais. And no, you cannot come in.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“You were going to,” she said. “Is that why you’ve been so tired?”

“Sharing my bed with you—yes.”

“Lending me your strength?”

“In part, and our baths, and your late night stirrings, and let us not forget your early morning appetites as well.”

“You never put up much fight.”

“Hmm.” The water’s reflection danced in his eyes.

“I could let you sleep, if you wish,” she smiled. “It’s not as if I need you.”

He snorted.

The seductive smile vanished from her lips. “Your visions?” she asked, turning serious. Marsais nodded in answer.

“You’ve been having one nearly every other day.”

“Yes,” he shuddered. “Sorting through my visions is an—exhausting process.”

“Then come in here with me, and I’ll make you forget everything.”

“You can, and do, but no—not today, I think. This morning, with the captain, it shook you.”

“You felt everything, didn’t you?” she accused. “That’s exactly what I mean. You know what I feel more than myself.”

“Isiilde, trust me, please,” he implored.

She wanted to, she truly did, but today, when she stood her ground—was that because of Marsais’ strength or her own? Where did she end and he begin? She no longer knew. He had not left her, had not held their bond at arm’s length since he had been healed. Their connection was not equal. She felt strong, sudden emotions from him, but rarely. The rest of the time Marsais’ spirit was brilliant and bright as the sun surrounding her. What did she feel like to him?

Had she even tried to explore their bond? Isiilde frowned in thought. Between vile Wise Ones, traitors, blood drinking Reapers, and Blighted, there hadn’t been a whole lot of time to ponder much of anything except survival. It’s not as if you’ve tried, a very small voice inserted. Isiilde basked in the sun’s glow, but never studied it.
 

Floating on her back, she drifted aimlessly in the spring, letting its bubbles tickle her ears and massage the ache from her bones. Her focus turned inward, towards Marsais’ glowing spirit. How did he push her away and withdraw so easily? Shouldn’t she be able to push him away as well?

If one could poke at her own thoughts, then the nymph began to, only it wasn’t herself that she prodded but the bind that tethered Marsais’ spirit to hers. A bind. That was exactly what their connection was. Every weave could be untangled; however, she did not want to untangle their spirits completely. It was only that there was so much of him inside of her. If she didn’t trust him so completely, the bond would have been terrifying.

Carefully, she focused on it, as she would any weave. Their bond took shape in her mind’s eye, a twinning serpent of fire, curled around the sun. She tugged gently on the serpent, easing it away, as carefully as she might coax an air rune to water.

The sun was bright, and she thought of privacy, of shelter from the heat. Without warning, the serpent slipped from the sun and a wall of darkness snapped into place.

Hands grabbed her, eyes roved over skin, her bones hit stone. She clawed at the weight pressing down on her, suffocating, striving towards penetration. Pain laced up her arm. She screamed, and was silenced by water, choking and gasping. Isiilde blinked in confusion and flailed in the water. Terror clawed at her heart.

Moments passed, but it seemed an eternity before the sun melted the icy dark. Marsais surged inside of her, reclaiming the flailing serpent, even as he darted around the pool, yanking the redhead from the waters by her hair. She flopped on the stone, coughing and gagging up water, trembling on all fours.

Marsais crouched beside her, watching and waiting patiently with a comforting hand on her back as she fought for air. As soon as she summoned the strength, she turned, wrapping her arms around his neck. He held her tightly.

“That was very unwise of me,” she whimpered.

“Hmm.” His hands trailed down her spine with gentle rhythm, coaxing her heart to follow suit, until her breath returned.

“There’s nothing left of me.”

“You need time,” Marsais soothed.

“For what?”

“To heal.”

“I was weak to begin with,” she growled.

Marsais pried her arms from around his neck, so he might look her in the eye. Steel met fire. “Stop this, here and now.”

“Stop what?”

“You are a newly awakened nymph, Isiilde. Your blood is stirring with a fierceness to match your fire. You are confused, you are lost, you are growing, and it is all quite normal. That is why the Sylph entrusted her daughters to the Druids.”

“Were you a Druid, Marsais?”

“I am now. And as your Druid, I have an obligation to watch over you, to support you whenever needed, in whatever way is needed. Nymphs draw from their Druid’s experience, from their strength, because quite frankly I doubt they’d learn a thing on their own.”

“How do you know all this if you weren’t a Druid before?”

He scowled, ignoring her attempts to distract. “With that said, I am going to order you on your bond—”

“No, please, Marsais!” Dread rolled her stomach, she tried to retreat, but he retained his grip. He had sworn not to take her fire.

“—Not to worry about anything.”

As the words sunk in, she stopped struggling, and eventually, relaxed altogether. Isiilde tilted her head, searching his eyes for deceit.

“That’s it?”

“Yes.”

Isiilde opened her mouth to argue, but clicked it shut in defeat. She felt strangely lighter. “Nothing at all?”

“That’s correct. Not Tharios, not myself, nor Oenghus. Not the past, the future, or even the now.”

“That’s a very odd order, Marsais.”

“I’m a very odd man.”

“You are,” she smiled. “But a wonderful one.”

“
THE
STORM
HAS
blown over, Seer.” Lucas Cutter blocked the entrance to their cave. Every day, for the past seven days, the scarred paladin had asked Marsais when they planned on leaving. And every day, Marsais had asked the same question: Where did he intend to go in a blizzard? The paladin was restless today.

Elam and Rivan glanced up from their game of King’s Folly. The small boy appeared to have a better grasp of the game than the paladin. The thought of Rivan and runes made Isiilde’s head ache. She had spent a good majority of her evenings trying to teach him the basics. And she vowed never to volunteer Marsais for anything ever again.

“I find your small talk on the weather tedious, Sir Lucas.” Marsais stepped around the keg-shaped man. Lucas grabbed his arm.

“It’s not small talk.”

Marsais glanced at the meaty hand holding him in place. A flash of irritation rippled through their bond, but she was not altogether sure it wasn’t hers. There was no sign of Acacia, and Oenghus had offered his healing talents to the tribe; therefore, he was rarely present.

“These heathens won’t let us near the river running through their valley,” Lucas declared. “It’s heavily guarded. There is a stairway beyond a gate. It must lead to the other side of the waterfall.”

“A wise assessment,” Marsais noted.

“Then we’re leaving?”

“I never said we’d leave once the storm blew over.”

“You used it as an excuse.”

“No, Sir Lucas. I simply pointed out that there was a blizzard. You took that as the reason for our delay.”

“What is our delay?”

“I’m waiting.”

“For what?”

“An opportunity.”

“We can make our own opportunity,” Lucas growled.

“And the guards?”

“We’ll fight our way out.”

“And afterwards?”

“We’ll keep going to Vlarthane as you said we would.”

“With a tribe of furious Lome who know every corner of the valley on our heels? That is suicidal.”

“Then what is your plan?” demanded Lucas.

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“Curse you!” Lucas spat.

“Oh, I’ve been cursed plenty, I doubt one more time would matter.”

Lucas tightened his grip on Marsais’ arm, dragging the rangy seer a step forward to growl in his face. The veins in the paladin’s neck pulsed. “There’s a Bloodmagi on the verge of opening a Portal to a dark god and you’d rather lay about plowing your nymph.”

Isiilde took a step back.

“Do not speak of Isiilde in such a manner,
swine
.” Marsias’ word cracked with power. A weave clenched around Lucas’ throat, dropping him to his knees. The paladin doubled over and clutched his stomach, frothing with convulsions.

Rivan scrambled to his feet and grabbed his sword, but one look from Marsais froze him in place. Elam darted out of a small opening, screaming, and Isiilde stood her ground, watching the transformation, following the runes. She had seen the weave before.

Lucas’ clothes became loose while he shrunk, twisting and thrashing, fighting the enchantment. Runes swirled around his form, obscuring him in a blueish glow, until he disappeared. A very scarred, black little piglet scrambled out from beneath the pile of clothing. It darted away with a squeal.

Rivan dropped his sword.

“Sorry about that, my dear. It was rather rude of him.” Marsais kissed her hand, slipping it into his arm, and led her to their room. She smiled politely at Rivan as they passed.

❧

Marsais’ heart thumped against her ear. Isiilde trailed her fingertips through the white hair dusting his wiry chest. She traced his ribs, and moved to his hip. He chuckled, squirming at her touch. The nymph rolled on top of him, a waterfall of fire fell around their faces, and she smiled, bringing his hand to her throat.

“Oh, forgive me, my dear,” he whispered, brushing her throat and lips, tugging his weave away. The pleasant, tingling warmth of the weave vanished, leaving a lingering memory of his touch.