Torrent of Tears (Scourge Survivor Series Book 3) Page 6

  I sniffed cautiously. Beyond the tang of incense and the earthy musk of moss, the heady bite of alcohol filled my head. I stepped further into the shop.

  The woman lowered the bottle and swallowed. Ahh, cherry brandy . . . and by the kick and burn that hit the back of my throat, it was quality stuff. I swallowed reflexively and moved toward the long wooden counter that ran the length of the room. When I got close, she clutched her hand shut and stiffened. With narrowed eyes, black in the dim cast of the candle’s glow, she swept a suspicious glare around the room.

  Cool. Could she see me? No, she stared right through me into the glow of the candles beyond. After a shake of her head she took another swig and really focused on making some deposits into her mindless buzz account.

  Why was I here? Usually visions showed me something important, something that needed to be stopped or interrupted: a Scourge raid on an unsuspecting village, an exiled race about to be reinstated . . . or occasionally where I left my cell phone. From time to time I got a voyeur’s look into the personal lives of the people I was close to. Sometimes real personal, but hey, I had no control. The Fates showed me what they showed me and I had no choice but to sit back and enjoy it—no matter how naked people got.

  I stepped over to the sideboard on the opposite wall and snooped: candles, herbs, essential oils, charms and potions.

  Wing of bat and eye of newt.

  After downing the majority of her liquid relief, the numbing blanket began to settle over my bones. It did nothing to ease my mind, but interactive boozing was an unexpected perk and the tension in my muscles and bones eased. When a clock in the distance struck noon, the woman got to her feet, took a quick balance check and then brushed back the tangle of chestnut and fuchsia hair that fell behind her shoulders.

  Abandoning the near-empty bottle for a freshie, she blew out the candles and scooped soil from the dirt floor with her boot to smother the fire. Straightening, she reached for the edge of a glass fronted cabinet and I expected her to pick out some kind of sleep remedy or hangover cure. She didn’t. The entire cabinet pivoted from the wall.

  Behind that neat lineup of bottles, herbs and potions was a hidden door. Before I could get close enough to follow her, she slipped through the opening and pulled the cabinet to right itself against the wall.

  ***

  “All right, Terran, here she comes.”

  I followed the soothing timbre of two male voices. As they whispered, warm fingers brushed against my brow and pressed against my neck. I hated to wake up. There was an inverse relationship between the clarity of my mind and the distance between my head and the floor. When I came back from my little trips to vision-landia my head spun and I wouldn’t have the strength or the capacity to sit up.

  “Lexi.” Terran’s voice was much higher pitched than usual. “Lexi wake up. Please Princess. Wake up.”

  I pried at my eyes but the best I got was a weak-ass flutter before they closed again. Yep, the centrifuge had started and my brains were scrambling in a cyclone of the dizzies.

  “Lexi?” The second voice was much deeper, richer. “Try to open your eyes again, Princess. Come on. Your guard heart will surely fail if you don’t come around soon.”

  Poor Terran. I didn’t want him to stroke out. I tried to lift my hand but it weighed a thousand pounds. Did I manage to flex my fingers? I must have because someone clasped my palm. I tried again to open my eyes.

  “Hello again. Welcome back.” It was the looker with the loose brown curls. No. In the buttery light of the gold-leafed sconces there was quite a bit of copper in his hair. Nice.

  I blinked fast and swallowed hard. Gods, please don’t let me puke on him again. A low moan escaped my chest before I could stop it. I breathed deep. There it was . . . that delicious scent he had. Male spice blended with clean masculine sweat and coal smoke.

  Mmm, you smell delicious.

  He raised a brow and chuckled.

  Shit. Did I say that out loud?

  “Now Princess, would you like to sit up?” My head bobbed heavily on my shoulders as he sat me up. When I listed to the side he slid behind me, wrapped a solid arm across my collarbone and pulled me against his chest. Warmth leached from his chest to my back and everywhere else his body made contact with mine. “Better?”

  I nodded. “Chocolate.”

  “You’d like chocolate?”

  I nodded again.

  “I’ll be right back,” Terran said and disappeared in a blur.

  With my eyes closed and my head cradled under Rowan’s jaw I let the world spin in whatever vortex it wanted to. After what could have been hours, but was probably only a few minutes, the worst had passed. I forced myself to give up my happy place and sit up.

  “This is becoming a bad habit,” I muttered.

  “Or a good one,” he smiled. It was genuine and lit his hazel eyes. “I’ve always had a bit of a white knight complex. Swooning damsels are my specialty.”

  “Dream on. I’m no one’s damsel. You just happened to be—” I looked around my suite and then back at him sitting on my plush gold rug. “What are you doing here?”

  “You passed out.”

  “No. Not in my suite. What are you doing in the palace?”

  “I was checking on one of the other Eligibles. Seems she had a nasty run in with one of her sisters and a hot iron. First degree burns to her forehead and ear.”

  “Really? And they called for you?”

  He narrowed his eyes. The hesitation was subtle, but after years with the Talon, I heard the lie before the words were spoken. “Seems so.”

  “Don’t they have medical staff within the palace?”

  He leaned forward until we were almost nose to nose. “One would hope, though I do specialize in burns. Dangerous things, straightening irons.”

  The air crackled between us. “If I was intending to do damage to someone, I’d use daggers.”

  A smooth brow arched as his features softened. “Right, I forgot. I brought you something.” Rowan launched to his feet in one graceful motion and strode out of my ensuite. He returned a few seconds later holding the cloth bag Stitch had given me to hold my belongings. “Peace offering. You rushed out of the townhouse so fast, you forgot them.”

  Dragged out, was more like it. “Thank you.”

  Rowan handed me the bag and took a step back. “It’s all there, I assure you,” he said, as I had a quick look, “leather pants, boots, a well-armored vest . . . oh, and my personal favorite.” He reached into the bag and fished out my black leopard print bra.

  I snatched it from his hands and stuffed it into the depths of the bag. “You went through my stuff?”

  He shrugged, unrepentant. “I was curious about the mysterious ‘missing Eligible’. The whole city is talking.”

  “I honestly don’t care.”

  He laughed. “Most of the Princesses—no, all of them—would die to be the talk of the city.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not much like the other Princesses if that giggling display of skirts and estrogen was any example.” With an assessing gaze, he held his hand out to help me up. Ignoring the offer, I got to my feet and moved to the living area of my suite. Those bright hazel eyes continued to scrutinize me to the point of thoroughly checking me out.

  I pulled out my battle-vest and shrugged it on over the figure conforming robe.

  The corners of Rowan’s mouth twitched. “Better?”

  Clutching the two hilts sheathed over my navel, I drew both daggers. I flipped and turned the weapons in my palms like a bored kid with two pencils. “Better,” I said and slid the blades home.

  “Interesting look.” Terran kicked the door closed behind him and strode to my side. After a quick once over, he handed me a big-as-your-head wedge of chocolate cake. “Are you well? You scared the stuffing out of me.”

  I snorted, choking on the cake I’d just shoveled into my mouth. “Stuffing? Oh, man we gotta work on your warrior vocab.”

  Terran’s smile was short li
ved before he grew serious. “Are you, Lexi? Well?”

  I swallowed the chocolate ambrosia in my mouth and licked my lips. “Sure. Happens all the time. No biggie.”

  “No biggie?” Terran hissed, his arms now animated and flailing in the air between us. “I thought I’d failed you on my first day as your personal guard. I thought you were poisoned . . . or dying. I didn’t know whether to call the palace medics or the guards or—”

  I set the cake on the sofa table and gave Terran a hug. “Breathe, my man. I’ve heard it’s freaky to watch, but really, I’m fine. You didn’t sound the alarm, did you?”

  He shook his head.

  “Good. I’d like to keep my business to myself if you don’t mind. Besides, Doc Rowan was house-calling it anyway. What’s one more Princess train wreck.”

  Rowan retrieved the plate and placed the cake back into my hand. “I’d hardly call you a train wreck, Princess. And if chocolate helps with the aftermath of your seizures, eat more. Doctor’s orders.”

  I took another mountain of a bite and considered setting Rowan straight. Should I tell him it was a vision and not a form of some kind of epileptic shake-rattle-and-roll? Did I really need him to know about my inner freak? No. I’d tell Terran later when we were alone. Maybe the two of us could figure out what I’d seen after—

  “What time is it?” I shoved my plate at Terran and checked the digital panel on the wall beside my bed. “Shit. I’m late to meet the Queen.”

  I tore toward the dressing room then remembered my bag. Racing back, I grabbed my bra from the bottom and sent Rowan a warning glare as he started to snicker. “Not one word, Doc. I can cut a man’s balls off eight different ways and I’m not above doing it.”

  The bastard just laughed harder.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  My bare feet squeaked on the polished marble as I skidded to a halt outside the Queen’s receiving room. Damn. I was really late. “Well, my first meeting with my biological egg donor is off to a roaring start.”

  “Don’t panic,” Terran whispered, passing me my shoes and offering a hand to steady me as I slipped them on. “Just remember what I said. Try to conform to their ideals. Or at least appear to. Nobles are a backstabbing, dangerous group.”

  The Strati guards standing sentinel on either side of the massive doors pretended not to notice my hiked-up skirt while I slipped into the shoes Stitch had sold . . . well, given me yesterday. When I was buckled and smoothed and had caught my breath, Terran gave me a hand signal I equated to thumbs up and I nodded. Each guard took hold of a long curlicue door handle that resembled an ocean wave and, before I could change my mind, I was gliding across the gleaming, bronze floor toward a couple dozen dapper citizens.

  The room wasn’t so different from the main receiving room at Haven castle. The long rectangular space was bordered by an arching colonnade on both sides which drew the attention of visitors up a grand four-step staircase to the throne. The opulence of it all reminded me of the ballroom I recently converted for my Bacchanalia.

  I pushed away thoughts of what was behind me and raised my chin. I was late. I needed to be present now in mind as well as body. Maybe ‘better late than never’ translated into this world and I would be forgiven. I met the cold emerald green stare of the Queen and flinched.

  Then again, maybe not.

  A classic beauty, Hollywood-leading-lady gorgeous, from the elegance of her high cheekbones to her flawless olive skin to her sleek, feminine lines. She stood as I approached, her glossy raven hair falling dagger straight to her hips. Every male in the room stood a little straighter. Descending the stairs, her scarlet silk gown flowed and shimmered in the light of the crystal chandeliers.

  “Good of you to join us.” The ‘finally’ was silent, but understood. Gods, her voice was amazing and the instant after she spoke, every trace of hostility vanished.

  I bowed and lowered my head. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I meant no disrespect to you or your court.” I scanned the faces of the close to thirty courtiers dressed to the nines, all of them scowling down at me. All, that is, except one smart-assed onlooker with loose brown curls who scooted into the back of the pack.

  What is he doing here?

  “Don’t mention it.” The Queen cooed. “I was told you fell momentarily ill?”

  Without her smile and the hint of gentleness in her voice her words could have seemed harsh. Instead, what she said almost came off as concern.

  “Momentarily,” I said, shooting Rowan the sweetest, dirty look I could manage. He stayed stoically straight faced, but his eyes sparkled with amusement. Bastard. “I’m better now and I apologize for keeping everyone waiting.”

  The Queen nodded and grasped my wrist, her touch cool and firm. Without a word, she led me past the crowd of royal admirers and through another set of double doors, to a dining room. Crystal glittered, reflecting the day’s light beaming through stained glass windows. The table was set with sparkling silver cutlery, bronze chargers and gold vases overflowing with enough flowers to choke a horse.

  Flowing straight toward a massive gilded chair at the head of the table she released her grip. Nettles pinged and tingled into my hand as the blood began to circulate again.

  “An introduction before your homecoming luncheon begins.” The Queen scanned the crowd and caught the gaze of one of the men in the shadows and half-hidden behind other members of the court.

  At first glance, he seemed a few years older than me with short dark hair and a stride which reminded me of what Jade and I called the Highborne prowl. Yep. When a man looked at you a certain way and strode with loose limbs of a jungle cat and confidence in his hips, there was nothing you could do but curl up and be his prey. And this guy had that. In spades.

  “Alexannia Grace, birthed of the late breeder, Balor,” she paused mid-sentence, looking down to smooth the waist of her gown where it clung to her perfect figure. “May I present Lir-Zale, son of the seventh house, and your betrothed.”

  At that moment, the world became a blur of WTF. “I’m sorry, my wha—”

  The dark-haired Mc-dreamy kissed both my cheeks and whispered something about how lovely I was.

  I pulled back, a whole lotta oh-no-you-don’t on the tip of my tongue.

  Servants appeared in every direction with champagne flutes of sparkling blue liquid. The crowd gathered and before I could put the brakes on the celebration, Zale and I were swept into toasts and congratulations then seated across from each other at the right and left hand of the Queen.

  “And so, as is customary,” the old priest-guy next to me said as the luncheon droned on, “the hand of the Eligible goes to a son of one of the Noble Houses. It was set in the stars the night you were born and now that you’ve returned to Attalos, you will be wed.”

  I gave up picking at my lunch and took another long swallow of blue drink.

  It was hard to argue with a priest. Probably, the reason he’d been chosen to sit next to me to explain this. Good strategy. I’d dreamed about having a mother my whole life but there was no way in hells I was marrying some guy just because my birthday was five days away and she wanted me to. I needed to speak to her alone . . . to explain that this arrangement was crazy. Marriage didn’t happen like this where I came from . . . but this was where I came from.

  I upended my blue cocktail and set the empty glass back onto the silk tablecloth.

  The priest patted my hand. He seemed harmless despite his nose being broken too many times to ever be straight and his fingers, which curled as if they too had been broken but hadn’t healed properly.

  “Wow,” I said for what must’ve been the eleventy-millionth time. “But—”

  “There are no buts in tradition, Princess,” he said, topping my glass with a sympathetic smile. “The laws of Attalos are absolute. All Eligibles must wed by their sixth celebration and yours is within the week. Thank the goddess Lir-Zale has been gracious enough to forgo the term of courting for the sake of time.”

  “For Her H
ighness, it is my pleasure,” Zale said, bowing his head from across the table.

  My mother patted the back of his hand where it lay on the golden silk. He was deliciously charming, but the thought of marrying the guy parked a Volkswagen squarely on my chest.

  “Now,” he said, flashing me a conspiratorial wink, “if I might steal away my soon-to-be-bride, we have much to learn about each other.”

  “Of course.” The Queen raised her hand and gestured that we were dismissed.

  Zale strode down the length of the table and back up again on her side. I wondered why he didn’t just pass behind the Queen’s chair but then thought maybe that was a no-no. When he arrived at my side, he held out his hand. “Shall we, Princess?”

  Somehow, I got my feet under me and stood. The dozen or more men at the table stood and bowed their heads. What was I supposed to do? Who the hell knew? I placed my napkin on my chair and curtsied. “Your majesty, gentlemen, ladies.”

  When the clink and murmur of the royal luncheon faded behind us, I chanced a glance at my companion. He stood out in a well-groomed, polished sort of way. For some reason, I thought about Rowan. He was a looker too, but not as pretty. Rowan had a more chiseled ‘been-there-lived-through-it’ energy that showed in the clench of his jaw and the depths of his gaze.

  “So that’s what all the Eligible stuff has been about? I’m eligible to get married?” The two of us walked along the side grounds of the palace. Terran followed just behind us, walking with a boy who accompanied Zale. The kid was a skinny little rake of a thing with a mop of ginger hair. “That seems a little anti-climactic. I was thinking it was going to be some sort of Hunger Games competition where we had to prove ourselves worthy. Maybe fight to the death to be named the top daughter. A real ‘there can be only one’ moment.”

  Zale’s eyes widened, but quickly regained his air of perfection. “It is a betrothal. The Queen claims no daughter. Eligibles are merely offspring, nothing more.”