King's Folly (Book 2) (36 page)

“
AGAIN
!”
THE
CAPTAIN
’
S
firm jaw and unwavering gaze brokered no disagreement. She was not even allowed to call her Acacia while training. Isiilde sighed, picking up the practice sword. The stick was heavy and it trembled in her hand.

Half a fortnight into her pact with Marsais, daily baths and nights excluded, the nymph was sorely regretting her agreement. Isiilde had not realized how much work was involved in applying herself.

She closed one eye, left a tentative one open, and steeled herself, holding the wooden sword before her like a talisman that warded against evil. Knight Captain Acacia Mael being the evil that needed warding.

“That is not the stance I showed you, Nymph.”

“I forgot.” Isiilde shifted her feet accordingly.

Acacia advanced slowly, and Isiilde twisted her wrists, batting away the thrust. The clacking grated on her ears.

“Good. Now attack.”

Isiilde squeezed her eyes shut and swung. The jarring impact rattled her bones and loosened her grip. Her sword clattered to the stone.

“Wait!” she squeaked at the advancing paladin.

Acacia’s sword connected with her ribs. The nymph doubled over in agony. A boot planted itself on her backside and shoved, sending Isiilde sprawling onto the stone.

“An enemy doesn’t wait, Nymph.”

“My name is Isiilde,” she seethed through clenched teeth. Combustion was not an option. Last time her skin had heated, Marsais dumped a waiting bucket of icy water over her head. They had skipped their afternoon bath that day.

“When you stop closing your eyes, I’ll start calling you Girl. I’ve seen five year olds who fight better than you.”

“Perhaps you should find one to beat,” Isiilde shot back. Acacia’s swift sword smacked her thigh. She scrambled to her feet, putting her back to the stone. “Paladins have always excelled at beating the helpless.” The sword struck again, but this time, Isiilde skipped to the side. “Oh, wait, everyone knows they can’t hit a thing unless it’s shackled!”

Acacia pressed her attack. Isiilde wrenched her sword up, parrying two blows before wood slammed into her knuckles. Isiilde’s sword clattered to the ground, and the captain hooked the nymph’s leg, sending her sprawling backwards into the wall.

A sword tip pressed against the nymph’s throat, pinning her to the floor. She could only whimper as her hand throbbed with pain.

“If only your sword were half as sharp as your tongue.”

“You’re cruel.”

Acacia withdrew her sword and crouched beside the nymph. “Not half as cruel as an enemy would be. You think on that, Nymph,” she whispered. “Here you are lying prone, on the ground, whimpering over bruised knuckles like a child. If your enemy shows you an ounce of mercy and stops short of the killing blow,” she jabbed a finger into Isiilde’s breast, over her heart, “It will be because you are a nymph. Do you want that again?”

Every muscle in Isiilde’s body shook. The blood drained from her face, and pain was replaced with a crawling presence that made the nymph want to shed her skin.

“Captain,” Marsais warned.

“She is mine for two more hours. Do not interfere.”

Marsais drew up short and the men by the fire froze.

“Lucas, Rivan, out.” The two paladins jumped to obey, grabbing the boy Elam and exiting the chamber.

Panic clutched at Isiilde’s heart. Her eyes flickered to Marsais, beseeching, but Acacia gripped the nymph’s chin, forcing her to meet her pale gaze. “Don’t look to Marsais or Oenghus for help. They weren’t there in the washroom.”

Bile rose in Isiilde’s throat, she coughed and swallowed, and her giant guardian shifted on his feet.

“No one but you and Stievin,” Acacia hissed.

Isiilde swallowed down the bile that rose in her throat.

“Do you want that again? To be a helpless nymph?”

“No,” Isiilde rasped.

“Then pick up your sword and fight!”

Isiilde shook free of the woman, and stood. “I did!” she screamed.

“Then stop acting as if you didn’t.”

Isiilde blinked. The words knocked the breath from her lungs. The stone beneath her feet rippled strangely, her bones quaked, and she swayed. “It only angered Him,” she whispered.

“But you
fought
.”

“I was useless.”

“Useless?” Acacia took a step forward. “Because you were defeated by overwhelming odds? Am I useless, Nymph?”

“No, I didn’t say that.”

“I have scars.” Acacia ripped at the laces of her jerkin, tugging down her underclothing to show the scars crisscrossing her collarbone. “I fought, and I lost. And so did he.” She thrust a finger at Oenghus. “Look at the scars on his body—his face, his legs, his arms. And what of your Bonded? Look at his back!”

Isiilde had seen Marsais’ back many times since their bonding;
 
she could feel the twisting maze of lashes under her fingertips when they made love. She looked at Marsais, who held himself very still, and very straight, bracing himself against those long ago lashes.

“And my lieutenant,” Acacia bit back her words, saying no more. “We have all fought and failed. And we bear scars, just as you do. Yours are deep, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t worthy.”

“I am worthless.”

“Then drop your sword and walk away.”

Isiilde narrowed her eyes. She stood on her own two feet, connected to the earth, felt the breath enter her lungs and anchor her to this realm. Her knuckles tightened on the hilt, the world focused sharply, and the stone stopped wavering.

“No.”

Acacia’s pale eyes flashed. “I didn’t think so.”

The Knight Captain raised her sword and Isiilde moved to counter. “Good, now we’ll see if you can last the hour.”

“You’re still a cruel woman.”

“That’s my job, Girl.”

❧

Isiilde limped beside Marsais, leaning heavily on his arm. She had lasted the hour, and her body had paid for her willpower. Captain Mael had treated the nymph like any recruit. And somehow that made the bruises and blood tolerable. But Isiilde’s heart was numb.

Silence stretched between the pair as they walked the familiar tunnels. Nymphs were not made to live underground, and Marsais and she had discovered that she needed to breathe fresh air at least once a day, or the stone began to suffocate her. She hid beneath her cowl as they walked, eyes downcast, watching the movement of her boots from high above.

Sharp air brought her back to her body. The storm had satiated its rage, leaving winter in its wake. The earth was calm, the sky blue, and the clouds had fallen, gracing the land with glistening brilliance. A soft breeze stirred the snowfall, dusting the air with flurries.

They fought through the snowdrifts to stand on the ledge, and she slipped in the fresh powder, steadying herself on Marsais’ arm as she peered over the edge. The river was sluggish and clear, rolling over an icy waterfall. The mists had cleared with the ice, revealing a valley of white that stretched towards rising cliffs and jagged mountains.

She watched the falling sun, burning red in the snow, but the orb was cold, like her heart, and so very distant.

Marsais tilted his head, closed his eyes, and let the snow cool his face. Delicate flakes gathered on his calm countenance. With the burning sun that was his spirit, Isiilde half expected the snowflakes to melt, but they lingered on his weathered features. She tried the same, letting the snowflakes tickle her skin; instead, she inhaled a flurry and began to sneeze.

Three bursts of flame shot from her ears. The guards took a hasty step back, hoisting their spears in fear. She scowled at the men, as if they were to blame for the singed fur in her hood.

Marsais reassured the guards with a few words. They shifted uneasily and lowered their spears, but continued to eye Isiilde warily. She preferred it that way.

Bruises marred the nymph’s knuckles, blossoming into deeper black and mottled yellow. She frowned at her hands, poking at the pain. Weighty eyes settled on her.

“Are you all right, my dear?”

“No.”

“If you decide to yell at me, I’d appreciate some warning.” Marsais scooped up a handful of snow.

“Why would I yell at you?”

“I am the one who asked the captain to train you. Perhaps I deserve your anger. Your silence is worrisome.” He took her hand, and pressed the snow against her knuckles. A shiver zipped up her arm, but he held her hand with gentle strength, keeping it in place. Gradually, pain turned to a numb ache.

“I agreed to your terms.”

“It doesn’t make it easier.”

“For you, or me?”

Marsais sighed. “If only we could take the pain from those we love.”

“You are,” she said, softly, curling her fingers around the hand that held hers. “However, I am foolish, Marsais. All those years in the castle—I look on that girl with disgust. And I pity her innocence.”

A pang twisted Marsais’ heart. He caressed her knuckles with his thumb, tracing the bones and bruises in soothing circles. “Do you pity a flower for its beauty? Knowing that it will whither and die in a short time?”

“It’s a flower, Marsais.”

“Yes,” he smiled, and looked at her with mist in his eyes. “In all my long years, Isiilde, I have never tired of their beauty, fleeting and delicate as a flower is, such things make life worth living.”

“They are useless.”

“Not to bees, or young men in love—shall I go on, or would you like to replace flowers for the word in your heart?”

“
Nymphs
are useless. What purpose do we serve other than living ‘gifts to the gods’? I don’t want to be anyone’s gift.”

“You’re not like other nymphs, Isiilde.”

“Yes, I know,” she clenched her jaw. “I’m—how did you put it—slight?” She gestured at her breasts.

“Your breasts are proportionate with the rest of your form. You certainly haven’t heard me complaining, and that’s not what I meant.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “By the gods, you are confusing today.”

“No, I’m tired and sore, and I have no idea what I am supposed to do now. Why did Oenghus rescue me from Kambe? Why did you bother teaching me the Gift? And why the Void is Captain Mael treating me as a squire?”

“We have talked about this—”

She cut him off, throwing words at him without pause. “Do you know what the captain told me about King Syre’s harem of nymphs—they barely talk, Marsais. They sit around in an enclosed garden enclave, giggling and swimming all day. A month ago that would have sounded like bliss, but now it disgusts me.”

“Isiilde.”

“I do not belong anywhere!” Her eyes flashed.

The guards’ gazes gleamed from behind their masks, and Marsais sensed their interest. The nymph was alluring but her fury made her divine. He gripped her arm gently and steered her towards the tunnel with a whisper. “Not here.”

She relented, and let him lead her down the tunnel, slipping her arm through his. As they walked the familiar path towards the grotto, he continued, “Nymphs aren’t useless. They are—”

“Flowers that men pollinate?”

Marsais cleared his throat, pressing on. “True, you are not human, you’re faerie, and you’re unlike other nymphs, but everyone, human or faerie, must find his own path. I’ve walked so many paths that I’ve forgotten where I’ve walked.”

Isiilde snorted.

“You’ve held up very well, my dear.”

“Only because of you.”

“You would have managed on your own.”

“Then prove it, and leave me.”

“I’m not leaving you alone for a moment in here.”

“
Inside
. Our bond, Marsais. I am not even sure what is me and what is you.”

“Hmm, no.”

The nymph bristled. “I thought you were supposed to cater to my every desire?”

“Not the unwise ones.”

“You’re very stubborn.”

“Perhaps you are confusing me with your own emotions?”

“I’m positive it is you.”

“And why is that?”

“You share so many other traits with a mule.”

The edges of his lips twitched upwards. “You know, my dear, I think the captain was on to something—if your swordsmanship fails, you could always try taunting an enemy to death.”

“Are you trying to provoke me?”

“Hmm, a small price to pay to see the fire in your eyes.”

“You can watch my eyes from dry ground today. I’ll take my bath alone.”

“O, thank the gods,” he breathed.

Isiilde frowned. Her words did not have the desired sting.

“You’re progressing very well in that area.”

The nymph smiled, slowly. “Why thank you, Marsais. I was going to suggest that you start working on your faltering self-control.”

Marsais looked sharply at her, cleared his throat, and did not say another word.

❧

Their guards took up a customary position outside the grotto, as Isiilde and Marsais entered the luminescent spring. The Lome who were there already scrambled to collect their things. Some were naked, others half-clothed; their pale skin glowing with tattoos. They reminded Isiilde of fireflies.

Isiilde smiled at a woman who hastily wrapped a robe around her, snatched up her child, and ran out. The others followed, while a bare-chested man planted himself between the women and the strangers, waiting for the last to leave before following.

The Lome feared Marsais. When she had asked why, he told her that madness breeds caution, foresight is revered, and power is respected, but all three are feared. And Marsais possessed the combination in abundance.

“Did you ever look like that, Marsais?” she asked as she watched the last Lome warrior exit.

“Hmm, my tattoo ran away.”

Isiilde tilted her head, decided she didn’t want to know, and clarified. “I mean the rest of him.”

“Save for my extreme youth, I was never that short, and as for the rest of him—I have always been ungainly. Although, my hair was black once upon a time.”

“Really?” She circled the spring, searching the twisting stone and shadows with a careful eye.

“Yes, it turned this lovely shade of white when the Orb shattered.” His fingers flashed and he gestured at a side tunnel, weaving a mirror rune and Orb of Silence over the entrance.