Chapter 17

UNA

The way Goll looked at me across the table—the candlelight glowing in his dragon eyes, the predatory glint freezing me in place—I felt frighteningly caught. My breath quickened, and I wondered what was going on in that dark fae mind of his.

They certainly thought differently than we did in Lumeria. Their chief god Vix was seen as a marauding demon and philanderer among my people. But here, he wasn't that at all. He was a strong, powerful leader who apparently cared for his mate and his `

That had me wondering about our goddess Lumera. What they thought of her. What he thought.

Swallowing hard at the intensity of his stare, I broke away, catching sight of a shadow crossing the moon. Drakmir.

Standing, I stepped toward the stone balustrade and pulled his cloak tighter, wondering at the sensation of pleasure as I inhaled deeply, surrounded by his scent. I heard him move, then his heat was behind me.

A light breeze rustled through the silvery leaves under the moonlight, catching my attention. The leaves were just beginning to fall, the weather growing colder.

"We don't have trees with leaves of that color in Issos."

"As far as I know, esher trees only grow in this part of Northgall." He was so close but not touching. It felt more intimate than if we were.

"There's an old legend about how the eshers got their blue leaves." His voice was a silky rumble.

"Really?" I asked, hypnotized by this attentive, genteel side of King Goll.

From the start and specifically since we'd left Valla Lokkyr, he'd seemed either angry, indifferent, or mocking towards me. I wondered if his gentler manners were because he was now returned home, crowned and victorious. No matter the reason, I craved this side of him.

"Tell me," I beckoned.

He was quiet a moment then he said, "The story says that the first wraith king fell into deep mourning when his mizrah died in childbirth with their second child. He refused to burn her on a pyre as was tradition. Instead, he carried her alone into the woods behind N?kt Mir." He paused then continued. "His grief was so great that he sat beneath the oldest tree in the woods, slit his wrists with his dagger, and died with his mizrah in his arms. His blue blood mingled with hers and seeped into the ground, into the very roots of the forest. Thereafter, eshers bloomed blue leaves, stained from the blood and grief and love of the first wraith king and his mizrah."

Another wind gusted through the trees, more slender leaves pinwheeling down onto the forest floor as if in tribute to the story.

"It's a lovely but sad story," I said softly, "but did the wraith king truly kill himself over his mizrah? In real life, I mean." I couldn't imagine a wraith king grieving so much over a concubine.

Goll finally shifted to stand beside me, a furrowed vee between his brow. "Why would he not?"

Confused, since Goll himself had told me that a mizrah's purpose was nothing more than to bear the king's heir and would be one of many lovers to the king, I turned away. I couldn't maintain that intense stare of his, which seemed to try to glean all of my thoughts.

Instead of answering, I watched Drakmir circle lower, then spread his wings wide, soaring and landing in an open space between the palace garden and the esher woodland. The gray esher leaves on the ground curled into the air as he beat his wings on the landing.

The dragon tilted his nose up toward us, scenting the air, then he chirped in that guttural way. It sounded pleasant. I huffed a small laugh.

"What is it?" Goll was close to my left side.

"It's almost like he's saying hello."

"He is. Would you like to go down and see him?"

I looked over my shoulder, meeting Goll's questioning gaze. I thought that strange to ask. His cold mask was in place again, not the watchful hunter I saw just a moment ago across the table. Even so, there was a wariness in his expression. A vulnerability. He wanted me to get to know his dragon?

"Yes," I finally answered.

He blinked and dipped his gaze, a quirk lifting one side of his wide mouth. "This way, my mizrah."

Yet again, I winced inwardly at that moniker. I wasn't sure I'd ever get used to being called the title that essentially equaled "servant." A sexual servant.

Setting it aside, for what good was it to bemoan my new reality, I followed him through his bedchamber, wanting to slow down and marvel at the decor. From the ceiling down, the large room was draped in black and gold except the mantel, which was white marble like mine. There were intricate designs and figures carved into it, but he urged me to follow quickly.

I hesitated when he disappeared behind his dressing screen. He stepped back out of the shadows, smiling wide enough to flash his fangs.

"Frightened, Una?"

My wings flinched under the cloak. I tipped my chin up. "Of course not. Whatever harm you might've wanted to do me, you could have done at any time."

"This is true, Mizrah." His voice was low and intimate. "Come." He nodded his head for me to follow and turned away.

Behind his dressing screen, there was nothing more than a wardrobe to one side and a wall. He flattened his palm and pressed, then a door unlatched and opened inward to a dark, stone stairwell. A gust of cool air wafted into the room.

"Oh." I stepped up beside him and smiled. "Clever."

Those dragon eyes roved my face a moment too long, enough to stretch the tension between us before he stepped through the doorway first.

"Take my hand. The stairs spiral downward, and they're steep."

I took the hand he stretched out to me in the dark, and then he whispered, " Etheline ."

A ball of orange fire appeared in his other palm, the buzz of his magick sparking in the air. Being so close to him as he used his magick made my lips tingle. I licked my lips, wanting to taste his magick. It was so powerful I could feel it pressing against my chest as if it wanted to reach through my skin and latch onto my bones.

I yearned to have magick of that kind of my own. I did have a gift of the gods, the one that had replaced my healing magick, but I could never do something so extraordinary as breathe feyfire into the air with a whisper of a word in the dark.

I marveled that he could carry feyfire in his hand like it was nothing. He held it in front of him, lighting our passage as we stepped carefully down the stairwell till we reached the bottom.

" Nihilin ," he whispered, and the flame in his palm snuffed out.

He pulled me out into the moonlight, still holding my hand. I wasn't sure how I felt about that, only that I didn't want to disrupt the peace we'd struck between us.

"In one of my books, I read that feyfire has different temperatures and different effects."

He stared ahead, leading me through the garden, which was really more a grove of trees with twisted roots, dangling orange flowers, and a deeper orange fruit. Maragords. A sweet treasure. They grew in Hellamir as well, but that was as far south as the trees would take root. It wasn't the climate but something about the soil here that helped them grow better. We had the fruit imported into Issos each fall with their harvest. I suppose I wouldn't need to import the fruit now.

"It seems you finally read something in your books that was correct." His admonishment was light, almost teasing.

Heat flushed my cheeks. I kept my attention on the path through the grove toward Drakmir's humped back above the trees.

"Using feyfire is somewhat of an artform," he added softly.

"How do you mean?" I turned to him, curious.

He walked with his hands at his back, his posture straight, the moonlight gilding his black horns in silver, winking off of the golden jewelry.

"The novice user, or I should say the ones who are given a modicum of the gift of this magick, can only create natural flames that burn hot. But those who are gifted with exceptional abilities wielding feyfire can create flames that feel like no more than a whisper of wind against your skin. They can make the flames dance at will."

His voice was melodic and sonorous. I'd not yet heard him sound this way—at ease and almost tender.

"I presume you have such a power." I watched as Drakmir lifted his head from where he rested, noting our approach.

"I do."

Stopping, I turned to Goll. "Show me."

The watchful hunter had returned, the intensity of his gaze tapping on my senses. Still, I did not look away. I did not squirm but held his attention with poise.

Goll held out his palm between us and whispered a few words. A red flame filled his hand, flickering this way and that.

"Hold your hand out, face down."

"No," I instinctively snapped.

He chuckled, a deep rumbling sound that coiled tight in my belly. "Don't be afraid, Una."

Heaving a sigh, I held out my hand above his, palm down. He whispered another command in demon tongue. The red flame tripled in size, licking and swaying unnaturally until it reached my hand.

I gasped, ready to snatch my hand away, but all I felt was a light brush tickling my skin, like a feather twirling on the underside of my palm.

I laughed. "It is like its dancing." I watched the red flame tease along my fingers then wrap entirely around my hand with a gentle squeeze.

I inhaled at the pressure and the slight heat. Then he closed his fist and the flame disappeared.

"So you determine its temperature?"

"I can."

I remembered how he'd burned his enemies in the throne room after he'd beheaded his father.. My stomach dropped with a sickening thump.

"Come. Let's say hello to Drakmir." He guided me toward the giant, lounging beast. "Tell me, Drak. Have you any secret female fae lovers I should know about?"

Goll rested a hand on Drak's snout, smirking.

"Enough." I smiled. "You don't have to mock me."

The flicker of his smiling attention had my pulse racing again. "Tell me about Hava," I said, watching him pet his dragon.

"What about her? Is everything going well with her?"

"I adore Hava, but she told me she's half shadow fae. I thought wraith and shadow fae did not like each other."

"They do not," he assured me. "But that doesn't mean there aren't a few who won't choose to mate with one another, regardless of their cultural differences."

"I suppose," I admitted. After all, there were many fae of both light and dark, enjoying one another's company at the Borderlands.

And here I was mated to a dark fae king. It was simply unheard of inside the palace walls of Issos. Fae races typically stayed with their own kind.

"Hava came to me through another," he said gently, "one of my trusted military councilmen, Morgolith. He had served under my father, but he'd left under his rule to serve the shadow fae instead. Before he left, he'd heard I was in hiding and found me. He introduced me to Hava who was a servant in the palace. She pledged to serve as my spy for she saw the kind of ruler my father was and didn't approve."

"No, I wouldn't think she would. Hava is a kind fae."

Goll nodded. "He promised to return when I was king, for it wasn't as if he could help me in hiding. Everyone knew his face, and he'd be killed if my father caught him."

"Has he returned?"

"He has. Some told me not to accept him back as he'd been a traitor to the last king, but the last king had thrown me in a dungeon for decades because of a prophecy." He patted Drak, who'd done nothing but stare at us both. "Turns out the prophecy was right."

I stepped forward and reached out my hand. Drak immediately tilted his giant snout toward me. I pressed my palm along his jaw and rubbed his soft scales.

"As a child of two dark fae whose people despised one another," he continued in that soft voice that I found completely enchanting, "Hava wasn't welcome among the shadow fae. Both her parents had died, and she needed a new home. A safe place to land."

"I'm surprised Xakiel took her in."

"He took her as a servant. But I trust her as a loyal friend." He was quiet for a moment, no longer petting Drak, his gaze distant. "No one will trouble her in my palace."

"She is very endearing."

He smiled, turning his lovely expression upon me. For that was the only way to describe how he looked with a genuine, soft smile on his beautiful face. It wasn't a sardonic or lascivious one or the typical cold, hard fa?ade he wore so often. For the first time, I felt like I was with the young fae who saved me from death, from that infernal dungeon.

"She is," he agreed, his gaze dropping to my mouth. "As are you."

A spark of fear shot through me, but I wasn't afraid of the heady desire heating his gaze. I was afraid that I liked it. A wash of shame had me glancing and stepping away, closer to Drakmir. How could I so easily open my emotions to the man who forced me to give myself to him to save my people? How could I be attracted to the king who had killed so many of my own?

As I stroked Drak quietly, the dragon lifted his head, his glowing silver-blue eyes focusing intently on mine. That's when I felt the buzz of his magick rippling into my palm and fingertips. I gasped softly, and then I was no longer there in the moonlight. His thoughts became my own as I slipped into his mind, into his memory.

I growled and snarled, the chains cutting into my throat and back leg. The three demon fae with giant black wings and thick horns laughed at me. The one with a whip lashed it in the air, snapping it across my snout. It stung painfully.

I bellowed another roar, furious and frustrated. I was in a small cave somewhere with nowhere to run, no way to escape the cruelty of these demons who imprisoned me.

The big one lifted the whip again. I bellowed another roar in rage, awaiting the pain that had lashed me for so long. Then another demon stepped into the mouth of the cave and kept walking on silent steps. This one had no wings, but he seemed familiar. His gaze met mine, and I knew. He was a brother of old.

The new demon whispered an ancient word, and flames leaped from his hands, lighting the three cruel demons afire. A burning sensation deep in my chest told me that one day, my own fire would come and one day, I would call flames to my aid just as this demon had. I was too young yet.

The fire demon ignored the screaming, burning fae and stepped toward me with hands outstretched, saying soft words that calmed me. I did not fear when he lifted a blade, for I knew he was my brother. He sliced through the air and the chains fell upon the cave floor, setting me free.

I came back to myself with a sudden surge, the whisper of magick still coursing through my blood and my mind, speeding my pulse. My wings started to flutter, a wild energy poured through me to them. For the first time since I'd lost my wings, since these new ones had grown, I felt the urge to fly.

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat.

"Una." Goll, his voice gruff, reached forward to steady me, gripping my forearm. "Are you well?"

I swooned at the intensity of the vision. I'd never traveled into a dragon's mind. I'd only been in small birds before. What had happened?

I gazed up at Drakmir, who simply stared back, rumbling a soft purr.

"I'm fine."

"Una?"

"I'm fine. But perhaps I need some rest."

Without another word, Goll led me back to the castle, up the dark stone stairwell, through his chamber and into my own. Goll whispered something to Meck, then followed me into my bedchamber.

Goll looked about the room, lingering on my open trunk where Hava had begun to unpack earlier. I'd managed to pull my oracle book out from the bottom and stash it under my bed when her back was turned.

"You have everything you need?"

"Yes."

"Then I will say goodnight."

I watched as Goll left, the door clicking closed behind him. A pang of disappointment squeezed my chest. It wasn't until his cloak started to slip from my shoulders that I realized I was still wearing it. My hand instinctively went out to the soft pelt, trailing fingers along the edge.

Drakmir's magick lingered, a warm buzz beneath my skin as I turned to the arched window, which had been unboarded. The night sky was beginning to cloud over.

My emotions spun in a whirlwind as I tried to reconcile the King Goll whose army had battled and killed my people all the way to Issos to the man in my vision who'd saved an adolescent dragon from certain death. Who had also taken in a half-breed, considered an outcast, and had protected her, given her a high-ranking position in his home.

I realized with sudden and unwavering certainty that this was the true Goll, the compassionate one who hid behind a hard, brutal exterior. Or maybe that was simply what I chose to believe since there was no way out for me. Since this was my new home, no matter what I truly wanted.

I suppose time would tell who the real Goll was—the benevolent young wraith prince who'd saved me from certain death or the one who forced me to be his sex slave, the mother of his heir, without any regard to my own free will or desires.

I pulled the collar of his cloak to my face and inhaled deeply, savoring the wintry masculine scent I now knew as his.

"Tomorrow," I whispered to myself. I'd worry about all of this tomorrow and relish this small moment of peace between myself and the wraith king.