The Darkness of Glengowyn (17 page)

She reached across to take hold of his hand this time, snapping his attention back to her. “Sometimes?”

“I suspect it’s a…fault in my character that I can’t feel regret for the deaths I bring. I should have some emotional reaction to it. Don’t you think?”

“Why? You’ve only ever killed those threatening your people, right? You’ve never killed for pleasure or fun. You don’t kill simply to kill. Where is there any call for regrets?”

He tilted his head as if he’d never considered her points and blinked slowly. “Other warriors, after the wars, talked about the…effect all the death had on them. I never experienced those same scars.”

“I actually envy you that.”

“So you do regret killing the two traitors?”

“No, no. Not them. At the start of the war, when my mistake in transporting the shrapnel arrows cost so many elves their lives? I’ve always felt a great deal of guilt about that. They were senseless, pointless deaths. But the traitors… No. With Sareena, I only felt a rage for her betrayal. When the arrow flew, I was terrified I’d kill the Sinnale surrounding her.
That
I would have regretted. But I just don’t seem to feel anything at all for her death.”

Einar’s frown turned fierce. “I have passed that to you too with our bonding,” he growled and stood to pace away from her. “The king was right to order me away from you. I have…infected you with my greatest fault.”

“Einar, don’t be ridiculous. Even before the bond took hold, I had no regrets about killing Byral. You haven’t ‘infected’ me with anything. Perhaps this is
my
character flaw. I’m not a warrior. Shouldn’t I be more affected by killing? Yet I’m not. I say that speaks very poorly of my conscience.”

She blinked and he’d crossed the room to loom over her.

“Never say such things. You are the most honorable and beautiful soul I’ve ever known.” He leaned down, putting his face close to hers. “And I will not have you speaking poorly of yourself.”

He was so fierce in his defense of her, she warmed all the way to her core. Taking his face in her hands, she touched her nose to his and said, “I feel the same of you. So stop talking of ‘infecting’ me, or I will have to get very cross with you.”

She kissed him to silence any protest he might make. As she swept her tongue into his mouth to tangle with his, she grew more and more annoyed that he would dare to insult his own character as he had. And then feel he could reprimand her for the same comments!

She took her annoyance out on him, standing to press tight to him and kissing him with a fierce possessiveness she’d never felt for any other man.

His arms tightened around her waist as she felt the
Shaerta
rising. A thrill of satisfaction roared into her blood.

“You are good,” she said between kisses. “You will never think otherwise while I live.”

She trailed hot, openmouthed kisses down his throat, nipping and biting, tasting the salt on his skin. “I love you, Einar. For everything you are.”

“And I you.” He tightened his hold in a convulsive hug before moving his hands to her ass and grinding her tight against his erection.

The feel of him, hard and solid, was a balm to her fears, regrets and lack of regrets. Though they were still in the armory, though the door was only nominally sealed since they were eating, she wanted him. There and then. To feel the rightness between them, letting the significance of what they had override all the other doubts and complications.

He didn’t resist as she backed him up to the wall, only grunted when they hit the solid stone a little harder than she’d intended. He never loosened his hold on her or stopped kissing her.

He ravaged her mouth, giving her exactly what she needed, what she wanted from him. Hard hands, desperate demands. Her tunic came up over her head with barely a break in their contact. She ripped material as she stripped off his shirt and vest. The heat of his skin enveloped her, making her moan as she rubbed her breasts against him.

She would have easily, happily fucked him against the wall, but he shifted and angled her toward the small cot she’d been using to nap on between magical sessions. Before laying her down, he dropped to his knees and wrenched off her boots and trousers. He licked into her core while still removing her clothing, and the feel of his tongue circling her clit sent a tremor of shockwaves through her body, making her knees quake.

After he stripped her completely, he moved from her sensitive clit back up her body along her stomach, kissing and licking skin now sensitive enough to ache with the pleasure. His teeth closed around her nipple, and he tugged gently before he licked away the brief sting. Then he sucked her nipple into his mouth, the heat and pull causing a fresh wave of wetness between her legs. She moaned, burying her hands in his hair as her hips jerked in reaction.

By the time he reached her mouth, she could taste her own skin, her own juices on his lips, and the flavor mixing with his moved her beyond needy to desperate. Though she attempted to assist him with his trousers, he pushed her hands aside and stripped quickly and efficiently himself. Then they were on the bed with his weight anchoring her to the mattress.

She couldn’t have him inside her fast enough, couldn’t taste or feel or squeeze enough, as the
Shaerta
drove them harder and harder. He slammed into her in a single thrust, and she arched up under him, stifling a shout. He filled her completely, in every possible way, and she welcomed every beloved inch.

He wasn’t gentle. She refused to be tender. She wanted him out of control, wanted to lose control herself. Only with Einar was she safe enough to completely let go.

She bit his shoulder to keep from crying out when her first orgasm hit. He reacted to the feel of her teeth by pounding harder into her, his own groan muffled against her throat. The increased speed and the feel of his coarse hair rubbing her clit sent her into a second orgasm almost immediately, only ever possible with Einar, even under the full influence of the
Shaerta
. She couldn’t hold back her shout this time and no longer cared if the entire hall heard them.

Digging her nails into his back, anchoring her heels on the backs of his legs, she clenched and thrust and chased his rhythm, feeling him storming to his own breaking point. When he hit that edge and threw himself off, she ground against him and came again, her body so awash in sensation all she knew for long moments was the spasms and euphoria of release in Einar’s arms.

They ended their dance more slowly than they’d started, panting and clinging to one another, warm in the heat they’d generated. She hugged him tight, refusing to let go, keeping him inside her for as long as possible.

Her brain would have happily shut down, but behind the contentment and sleepiness, the nagging thought remained to follow her into a doze—they couldn’t delay facing the king and queen for much longer.

Shortly after they woke up, they received word from Glengowyn via a messenger owl.

Their presence was required at Court.

Chapter Sixteen

Nuala stood with her back straight, careful not to touch Einar as they faced their king and queen side by side. They’d been given time to change and ready themselves, but not much longer before the Court guards came to collect them for their audience.

Silence hung heavily over the area. Surrounded by trees dripping with foliage, the Court was open to the air but sheltered from inclement weather by the thickness of the trees and one of the king’s spells. The thrones themselves weren’t all that grand—simple affairs of wood and soft cushions, set with winking jewels peeking from between the twists and turns of the wood. Neither the king nor queen required a background of grandeur to reflect their power. The very simplicity of the Court highlighted just how spectacular the royal couple was.

Nuala had never been so nervous in her life. She wanted desperately to grasp Einar’s hand, for support and comfort. But she didn’t dare. She held herself motionless and waited for her sovereigns to begin—she was forbidden by Court etiquette from speaking first but wouldn’t have even if she could.

She found it impossible to read either of their facial expressions. Though that wasn’t unusual, it was the first time those blank, neutral masks had been directed at her while she knew she was facing punishment.

The queen was stunning, her hair a silken cloak around her shoulders, several shades darker than the lightest blonds in Glengowyn but full of sparkling life like it was a creature all its own. Her face was narrow, her cheekbones sharp, her full lips set in a neutral line, her eyes a piercing violet that was unusual among the Glengowyn elves. She had her long-fingered hands resting at the edge of the armrests on her throne, and the single ring she wore—a bejeweled indication of her position—winked in the glowing bluish-white lights coming from the surrounding trees.

The king was almost innocuous in his appearance, if one didn’t take the time to really look at him. He was of average height for an elf, with hip-length brown hair and dark eyes that tilted up just a little at the corners. His jaw was solid and his lips thin and firm. The golden torc around his throat, which announced his position, highlighted the firm musculature of his upper body, at once powerful and understated beneath his heavy silk tunic.

His power emanated from him in an unseen aura, breathtaking in its strength. Simply standing before him had driven many an elf humbly to their knees without the king having to raise a finger or exert any magical force.

Together, the royal couple had ruled Glengowyn since well before Nuala’s parents had been born. They had a timeless feel about them that brooked no disobedience.

And here she stood, having disobeyed them because she could no longer deny her love for Einar.

Just as their silence stretched her nerves to the snapping point, the queen spoke.

“We are disappointed, Nuala. Einar. Our position on your relationship was clear.”

Nuala ducked her head in a slight bow without taking her eyes off the queen’s face. To look away was to open herself up to an unexpected attack.

“Your Majesty,” she said, as firmly and humbly as she could manage, “my magic still produces the weapons you wished to protect. Despite our…lapse, you have not lost anything that I can give to Glengowyn.”

“We understand that contrary to losing, you have gained,” the king said, the deep power of his voice commanding her attention. “The council is asking if we will trade in this ‘experimental’ weapon of yours.”

She swallowed and risked a glance around the hall. Other elves circled the perimeter, members of the Court, important advisors to the sovereigns. This hearing wasn’t open to all of Glengowyn, but she wasn’t sure how much to say out loud, how much the royal couple would want her to admit in front of the audience.

“My magics have been…affected by the bonding, Your Majesty. A new type of arrow has been created.”

“And this arrow does what, exactly?” the queen asked.

Nuala still couldn’t read either of their moods from their expressions. The lack of feedback tightened the tension crawling through her gut. She made a point of gesturing to the surrounding Court and asked, “May I explain now? Or would you prefer a private explanation?”

“That deadly?” the king murmured.

“That dangerous,” she affirmed as quietly as she could.

For the first time, a slight expression broke through the king’s neutrality. His features didn’t exactly change, but she thought she detected a hint of approval in his eyes.

“Should we share such a weapon with the Sinnale, do you think?” the queen asked, her demeanor still scarily neutral.

“I would leave that decision to the wisdom of Your Majesties.”

“Of course it will be our decision. Would these weapons compromise Glengowyn if we were to share them with the humans?”

Nuala was silent for a long moment. Without explaining what the arrows could do, she wasn’t sure how to answer. “These weapons are deadly in any hands. Elf and human alike.”

Queen Rohannah tilted her head to one side. “You imply elves could use them…in unforeseen ways?”

“I state outright that these are the most
specifically
dangerous arrows I have ever created.”

The queen’s eyes narrowed, having caught the emphasis Nuala placed on the word “specifically”.

She exchanged a look with her king, then swept her gaze over the Court. Immediately, the area cleared so that only the guards remained. Then she turned her piercing violet gaze on Nuala.

“Explain ‘specifically’.”

Nuala did, revealing not only what the arrow had done, but that she’d killed another elf with it. She didn’t mention that she’d managed to kill a traitor elf when they’d first been attacked, and she didn’t bring up the fact that she’d witnessed Einar kill an elf.

It was enough for their small remaining audience to know that a humble weapons maker had been able to kill another elf simply by murmuring that elf’s name to an arrow.

“So. An assassin’s instrument, then,” the king said.

“Just so, Your Majesty,” she affirmed.

“Would this arrow destroy a Sorcerer?” the queen asked.

Nuala tilted her head to one side, not surprised the queen had hit on the same possibility she and Einar had discussed earlier.