Fervor (The Fervor Chronicles Book 1) (17 page)

All because the castle whore was nowhere to be found.
Addy.

Furious, she pulled a drudge over by the arm. She was young, easily manipulated, only having arrived with the last Trade, “Where is the princess’s Head Drudge?”

Heat suffused the young girl’s cheeks. Casting about, looking everywhere but in Anona’s eyes, she stuttered, “I, uh—I don’t…”

“Dear gods! Spit it out, girl, before I send you out in the cold with nothing more than your skin for warmth.”

The girl spluttered, looking as if she would collapse. Tears ran down her face, and she was incapable of speech. Babbling sounds fell from her lips, nothing comprehensible.

“
Pathetic
. Get inside the kitchen and fetch me a servant capable of speech.” Disgusted, she tracked the room. As her eyes landed on a guard, he turned and tried to slink from the room. “You! Guard. Stop!”

He walked over with a stiff gate, a slight limp to his step. “Yes, Predominant?”

“Have you found the drudge?”

“Which drudge would that be, Predominant?” He stood stone still, a swollen eye a reminder of the fight with the runaway slave.

Her eyes narrowed. “Earlier, did I not specifically ask you to find the princess’s Head Drudge?”

“It must have been another guard, Predominant.”

She waited, her hand clenching the whip, hesitating to use it; the guards were not under her domain, she did not know, yet, if she was allowed to reprimand them. The urge to scream increased as one moment passed into another. “Well?”

“Well what, Predominant?”

“Where. Is. The. Drudge?” She refused to use her name.

The guard would not meet her eye. “Which drudge would that be, Predominant?”

He was being intentionally ignorant.
Enough
. “Get out of my sight!” It took everything in her power not to slam the cat-o’-nine-tails across his moronic face.

Servants, guards, it was all the same response. Most pretended to not even know Addy, let alone tell where she was. There was a conspiracy afoot, and she would get to the bottom of it.

Prince Idiot sauntered into the room, slim, well dressed, his white-blond hair curling just so under his ears; the din of voices not even pausing to acknowledge his presence. Several of the Vendri looked over, then continued on, heads bent close. An even colder chill raced down her spine.

Something is wrong, very, very wrong.

The prince stood directly in front of her, his back to the crowd, pretending to examine the tapestries lining the walls. “The Vendri are insisting the wedding be viewed.”

“What?” she whispered, her worry growing.

“Someone’s feeding them information; the rumor mill is running rampant. It is an action I can ill afford right now, after my past, well…”

“Yes, yes. No need to revisit that. What else did they say?”

“What will you do to me if I don’t tell?” he asked, sounding petulant and totally expectant. His shoulders tensed with excitement, in anticipation of her answer.

Taking a step forward, she made sure he felt her presence behind him, all the while retaining her bored expression. “I will take my nails and rake them down your chest, squeezing your nipples…” She could feel the slight shudder that wracked his body. “And then I will go lower, strangling your bulging cock. And then…”

“Yes?” His whispered plea sounded breathless.

“And then I will cup your balls and rip them from your body, you sniveling prick! Never question me again.” The image burned itself in her mind, and she started to pant with the idea of torturing him.

“I—
Oh gods,
yes!”

“Focus. What do you know?” To emphasize her point, she flicked the cat-o’-nine-tails against his ass. To escape notice, she pretended to rearrange the candles against the back wall.

He gasped and said, “I only know they no longer believe the princess is locked within her room, and there is a growing demand that she be seen. They were willing to wait for the ceremony, but no longer. The snow-crows are circling. You know there are a number of the Vendri waiting to usurp the throne. The way he overthrew King Colombe never sat right; they have always questioned his rule, but when he produced an heir, it solidified his standing. Now that she is rumored to be gone…” He let the inference linger in the air.

Damn the gods.
Everything she had worked for, suffered for… She was
finally
in a position of power after so many years, and the aging Vendri wanted to take it from her. “It must be Addy. Spreading rumors. Who else? She was the only other one there. Gods, I should have cut out her tongue instead of going for her hand.” Her own hand fluttered above the red, silk scarf around her neck.
No.
She wouldn’t allow the little whore to ruin everything she had worked for.
Would not allow it.

But—
Oh gods.
Her plans were crumbling. It was only a matter of time before it got back to…

“Predominant?” A guard approached, and the prince walked away as if moving on to observe the next tapestry. The same idiot from before. Choosing to ignore him, she swept past and headed for a group of drudges who were huddled by the back of the dining area. She would show them what happened when they slacked off.

“Predominant.” Now he had no problem pursuing her, being so bold as to grab her arm. “The king has requested your presence.”

Her gate slowed and it felt as if every muscle in her body seized. Brushing passed the guard, she cast one last glare at the drudges and watched them scatter like ice-roaches.

The king wanted… He must know.

Think, think, think Anona! If you don’t figure a way out of this, you might not see another day.

‡

T
he trek back
through the jungle passed in a blur. As they walked, trees dropped back, turning into cobblestone streets. The warrior women moved swiftly, taking them to a castle three times as big as her own. Before they were led into the bowels of the palace, Caprice caught a glimpse of green stone marbled with black and yellow.

The sheer size of the emerald palace dwarfed her. This kingdom was a barren, wondrous place.

Dank and dark, the smell of wet tickled her nose. The castle felt long neglected and ancient. The Giant had struggled to stay on his feet during the walk back. He’d growled at the women who would wander too close, balling his fists in anticipation of a fight. He would only let Caprice near, and it had not,
not
made her smugly satisfied at his choice.

She noticed the sly glances of the athletic women, how their eyes trailed down his chest—and further.
He is mine.
For now. Understanding the temporary nature of their connection didn’t ease her fury. She would
freeze
them to the spot if they touched him.

The clanging of metal made her jump as they were each shoved through separate doors. It was a large, barren room: stone walls, stone floors, stone
everything.
It seemed dungeons the world over had similar décor.

The jail turned out to be one large room separated down the middle by metal bars. The Giant was shoved into one side, his body too tired to react quickly enough, and she was escorted to the other. A familiar growl flew past his lips, so she hurried over and reached through the bars. He clasped her hands and snarled at the women guards. Their wooden doors shut with consecutive solid thuds.

His sight returns, but his strength fails him.

She watched him study the cells, his eyes running over every inch of the room, especially the bars that separated them. He then turned his gaze upon her, his whiskey-brown eyes at half mast, studying her from the tips of her toes, all the way up to the top of her head. The intensity of his gaze made her shiver. Heaving one last sigh, he slumped and fell to his knees, his hands slipping from her grasp. His palms hit the stone floor and soon he was flat on his back with one arm thrown over his eyes.

Just that fast, he slept.

His leathery bag sat to her right, and she reached over, fiddling with the metal clasp. She thanked the gods for the thousandth time that she’d heeded the Giant’s warning and returned for the pack. She only felt slightly guilty about rooting around his belongings, reminding herself he had kidnapped her; in comparison, snooping was nothing. Besides, he was incapacitated. It was up to her to plan their escape.

She found his father’s journal, and minutes turned into hours as she pored over the document. While he slept, the sun started to set. She waited in anticipation for the weather to change, but the cold never came. The temperature dropped slightly, but it offered little relief. Her only reprieve came from the slight breeze that feathered through the cell from a small window perched far above their heads.

The journal lay cradled in her lap as she leaned her head against the rails, too tired to read any further. She sat as close to the Giant as possible, growing needy for his attention. It wasn’t something she was proud of, but it was something she’d started to accept. The thought of his warm hand on her skin had her shivering in anticipation.

Her whole life, she’d been alone. She thought she’d learned to live with the occasional kind word or touch from Addy. But now, with the Giant, he had supplied her so much more. Was she now addicted to his attention, to his warmth? For years, she’d focused her pain on her mother, furious that she’d left her and hadn’t had the strength to stay. How could she have walked away?

But now she could only ask,
how will I be able to return to the cold?
The lack of empathy, understanding, warmth… It would drive her insane. Maybe there was something defective in her and her mother that made them crave the warmth.
Was that why she left me?

No matter. Shaking off the memories, she focused on today, this minute, this second.
I will revel in this
fervor,
but as soon as I can, I will save Addy.

It was a vow she
would
keep. They were at the mercy of men-hating warriors who were out for their blood, especially the Giant’s, but thank the gods they believed she could kill them with a touch. Glancing at her palms, she realized her gift was… fading. Yes, she now saw it for the gift it was, and it was almost gone. She needed frigid temperatures to maintain the
freeze,
and she was melting in the jungle. There was a small reserve of ice left in her, and she guarded it fiercely, needing it to keep her heart protected and her emotions in check.

But what had happened at the river?

Never before had she been able to actually
move
the cold; she’d only ever been able to manipulate the
freeze
through touch. And in this heat, even that ability was gone. Frustrated, she wished she weren’t in a place that weakened her. If she’d been home maybe she could have created ice spears, killer snowballs, something to get them out! But now she’d have to rely on her wits and use the strict lessons drilled into her from when she was a child, right about the time her mother had left. Gods, she wished she could picture her, remember what she looked like. Her only memories were vague: soft, scented skin, warm bosom, and a dulcet voice singing endless lullabies.

“Caprice?” The Giant’s voice was a rough whisper.

Pushing back her braids, she gripped the bar, eating him up with her eyes. “Yes, I’m here.”

He pushed himself up from the floor. She marveled again at the size of his chest. The leather bands crossing his arms stretched with the shifting of muscles. He held such strength. And his eyes! They were back to the molten red-brown that she loved.

Sitting up slowly, he perused the room and then rubbed a hand down his face. “How many damn dungeons will I see this week?” he muttered. Then he asked, “Are you all right?”

Nodding, she swept her eyes up and down, taking note of all his injuries. Vicious cuts ran the length of his arms and hands, scabbed and oozing. Huge bruises and welts covered his torso and his beautiful face was almost unrecognizable, one of his eyes purple and completely shut.

He is still the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen
. “You slept a long time. Are you feeling well?”

“No, but I guess I can’t complain. How long was I out?”

Caprice motioned toward the small window high above their heads. “It looks like the sun is starting to set, so many hours.” Caprice sat up on her knees and the journal fell to the floor with a thunk.

His head whipped around. “What’s that?”

Caprice held her head high. “Your journal.”

“You read it?”

“Yes.” She waited for the reprimand, bracing herself for his outburst of temper. She refused to apologize for her actions, but she couldn’t completely quiet her sense of guilt. “Who wrote it?”

He resumed his pacing. “My father.”

The reprimand never came, and she was grateful. “Where is he now?”

“Don’t know. He’s been missing close to fifty years. We assumed he was dead when we couldn’t find him.
Gods,
we searched, searched for months…” Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. “If he had just told us about the damn Bicullis… I only found his journal hours before I came through to your kingdom.”