King's Folly (Book 2) (38 page)

Voice restored, she moaned with satisfaction and stretched along his body. “You’re so warm.”

“Anything for my nymph.”

“I think we dozed off,” she murmured. “Are you going to change Lucas back?”

“Hmm?”

Isiilde laughed, free and easy. “Have you forgotten, Marsais?”

“I’m quite sure I forgot everything when we fell into bed.”

“You turned him into a pig.”

“Did I?” Although his lips were on her neck, his voice was very far away, and his touch was distracting.

“Maybe it was a dream,” she conceded. “But if it wasn’t—I don’t think it was very wise of you.”

“Probably not.”

Confirmation came in the way of Captain Mael. The Knight Captain stepped through Marsais’ mirror weave without hesitation. Her brisk footsteps hit the other side of the Orb of Silence, followed by a towering Nuthaanian. They both looked displeased.

“More than likely,” Isiilde sighed, sliding off her Bonded onto the furs.

“What in the Nine Halls did you do to my lieutenant, Marsais?”

“I thought it rather obvious.”

“Scarecrow,” Oenghus warned.

“You had no right,” the captain pressed.

“Your lieutenant was rude,” Marsais explained. “And so is barging in unannounced.”

The captain clenched her jaw. “You would drive a monk to rudeness, Seer.”

“She has a point,” Oenghus admitted.

“Sir Lucas was rude to Isiilde, Oen.”

“What the bloody Void did that bastard do?” Sapphire eyes blazed and a darkness descended on his brow. “Maybe we should have pork tonight.”

“Rivan said Kasja has already tried to slaughter my lieutenant,” Acacia snapped. “I don’t care what he did or said, it’s no excuse for your childish antics. Unravel your enchantment, now.”

The tension in the room was palpable, and the captain’s pale gaze was ice. Isiilde melted back beneath the covers, holding her breath, waiting for Marsais to respond.

As calm as could be, Marsais slipped from beneath the covers and casually stood without a scrap of clothing on his lean body. “If you will catch your lieutenant for me, Captain, I’ll be out shortly.” She turned on her heel and strode out.

“Gods I love that woman,” Oenghus grunted, as Marsais tugged on his trousers. The Nuthaanian turned to leave, but stopped when Marsais called his name.

“Lay off the mead for a few nights, my old friend.” The two ancients regarded each other silently. Oenghus nodded in understanding.

“You gonna bloody do your usual?”

“As much as I tire of it,” Marsais sighed.

❧

Bare-footed and bare-chested, Marsais strode into the common room, scratching his scar as he surveyed the scene, trying to recall why he had come out here. Isiilde followed, frowning at the tension in the cave. Elam had returned, and Rivan was standing guard over a pig while Kasja circled the pair. Oenghus sat on a rock, preparing a pipe.

Acacia pointed at Lucas, and Marsais’ fingers flashed. Isiilde watched her Bonded trace, focusing on the runes and committing them to memory. With a soft murmur, he tapped the pig on its head and ripped the weave from its skin. The nymph had witnessed Marsais perform a transformation on various Wise Ones over the years. She never liked it.

The pig writhed and squealed; bones cracked and shifted. The transformation looked painful. Runes unraveled, swirling in tatters over the air. In moments, a naked man trembled on the stone, covered in scars and slime. Isiilde could not look away. The extent of his injuries were horrifying. There was an unmistakable pattern to his scarred flesh—purposeful and deliberate. Furthermore, Lucas Cutter was a eunuch.

Acacia tossed a cloak over his shoulders, but the man found his feet and lunged at Marsais. Fist connected with flesh, whipping Marsais’ face to the side. The seer staggered back and took another fist to the ribs before Acacia grabbed Lucas’ arm.

“That’s enough, lieutenant,” she warned.

Lucas shook off her grip, and snatched up his clothes. “You owe me an answer, Seer.”

Marsais wiped the blood from his nose. “You owe Isiilde an apology.”

“No, you owe me one.”

“Look here, Lucas,” Oenghus said around his pipe stem. “You can pummel the Scarecrow all you like, but when it comes to Isiilde, you best treat her with respect.”

“I do not
want
his apology,” Isiilde said, handing Marsais a handkerchief.

“Get your clothes on, Lieutenant.”

“I want a straight answer from him, Captain.”

“Marsais was just about to give us one before you belted him.”

“Answering your seemingly simple question is a complicated matter,” Marsais interrupted the paladins, his voice muffled by the handkerchief pinched to his nose.

“What is so complicated about our question?” Acacia asked. There was strain in her voice. And she looked as if she’d like to punch Marsais too. Isiilde quickly stepped between the two.

“I don’t know when we’re leaving. I’m waiting,” Marsais repeated.

A muscle in the captain’s jaw twitched. “For what?”

“I’m a seer not an astrologer.”

Acacia looked heavenward.

“I told you he’s insane,” Lucas growled, tugging on his clothes.

“I could have told you that,” Oenghus rumbled.

“So you’ve had a vision?” the captain pressed.

“When have I not?”

“Well what have you seen?” asked Rivan.

“Aha!” Marsais exclaimed, beaming at the young man. “Therein lies the problem. Let me endeavor to explain what you will undoubtedly not understand. I owe you all that much.”

A number of eyes narrowed.

“Rivan, as riveting as your game of King’s Folly is with Elam, I’m afraid I must use the runes to explain.” Rivan backed away from the jumbled pieces and everyone gathered around the circle of runes, even Kasja, who crouched at the edge of the area. Isiilde wondered how much the wild woman could understand. And what Marsais and her talked about when they conversed.

“I’m only going to explain this once, because I’ve tired of explaining it in both past and future. So listen.” Marsais paused, making sure he had everyone’s attention. “Listen as I tell you of my visions and why I can’t speak of them.”

Lucas flexed his fists.

“Hmm, Time does not flow like a river, it is an ocean of moments, brushing together like waves. Choices cause diversions, they stir the ocean like a wind; however, old mumbling crones and impassioned young oracles would have the populace believe that Time is unchanging, that fate is set in stone. That is not true. The future is made up of possibilities and my visions are pathways that have not yet been walked.

“Imagine, if you will, a mountain shrouded in mist. You are perched on a precipice, gazing at the bleakness. The mists part, and for a moment—there is a flash and you glimpse the world at your feet.” Marsais gestured at the rune stones. “Here is the world.” The runes flared to life, the cavern fell away, and each stone was burned into their eyes. “And here is the mists.” With a sweep of his hand, the brightness died and the stones moved, swarming and clacking together into a jumbled mess.

“I see flashes of Time, but I must separate the visions and reassemble them. Now, who of you can piece this game back together, just as it was?” Marsais looked expectantly at the gathered audience. No one answered save the nymph.

“I can,” Isiilde shrugged.

Grey eyes focused on her like a hawk. “By all means, my dear.”

Isiilde placed her hands over the rune stones and began sorting the chaotic pieces, nudging one here, and the other there with a deft touch. It wasn’t much different than a Ward, only she put it back together, trusting to her instincts and what felt right. When the runes created a swirling tapestry of stone on the cave floor, she leaned back to survey her work, conscious of eyes on her.

Marsais circled the group slowly, studying the complex pattern from all angles. He stopped beside her and crouched. “Perfect as always, my dear,” he marveled, brushing her knuckles with his bruised lip. She smiled.

“Now then, here comes the difficult part. I see a handful of possible moves, but which one will Rivan take? Hmm, that is what sets a seer apart from the rest of the soothsayers. Choice is unsteady. I, however, know what move Rivan will make based on observation—my knowledge of the past.” Marsais glanced at the uneasy paladin. “Whisper to your captain what move you’ll make.”

Rivan hesitated, but did as Marsais asked. When the message was delivered, he nodded, and Marsais pinned a rune with a long finger, moving the iron rune beside the ice. A foolish move on Rivan’s part, but based on the answering gasp it was clearly the move he had intended to make.

“Since Elam can’t understand a word we’re saying—” Marsais gave the boy an apologetic nod. “Captain, would you be so kind as to whisper your next move to Sir Lucas?”

Acacia did, and Marsais moved the Death rune into the inner circle, altering the cycles. He predicted their moves for five more turns, and finally, Lucas had had enough, “It’s a neat trick, Seer, but what does this have to do with my question?”

“You haven’t grasped my dilemma.”

“The only dilemma you have is your head.”

Oenghus chuckled.

“Hmm, I can’t disagree with that,” Marsais admitted, scratching his scar. “But no, that’s not what I was trying to show you. Let us switch angles. Rivan, if I were to tell you that the captain’s next move will take your ice rune, what would you do?”

Rivan blinked and leaned forward, studying the cycles with knitted brows. Clearly, he had missed the obvious, so Marsais answered for him. “You would alter your planned move, would you not? And you, Captain, in response, would change your plans to match his, am I correct?”

“Of course.”

“So my point, Sir Lucas, before your temper gets the better of you—if I tell you what I know then what you know would change, altering the knowing of which I have come to know after countless hours of exhausting contemplation.”

Confusion settled on the paladins as they tried to unravel his words. “Hmm, in short, you knowing would be a waste of my energy.” He held up a finger. “And I will point out, that in knowing me, you are all privy to more matters than you should know.”

Marsais unfolded himself, standing easily. The paladins gaped, Oenghus’ beard twitched, and Isiilde chewed on her lip.

“He’s insane,” Lucas declared, rising to his feet. “We’re in the middle of Vaylin with a berserker, a madman, and a combusting nymph.” The paladin turned on his heel and stalked down one of the tunnels.

Marsais beamed. “Clarity is such a beautiful thing.”

“Marsais,” Isiilde moved to his side.

“Hmm?”

“My head hurts.”

“I have that effect on people.” He turned to the captain. “Anything else, Acacia?”

She shook her head, which appeared to hurt too.

“In that case,” he offered his arm to Isiilde. “I have a cure for your headache.”

“Which is?”

Marsais whispered in her ear.

Isiilde beamed, ignored her grumbling guardian, and slipped her hand through Marsais’ arm. It was turning into a wonderful day.

THE
COALS
WHISPERED
in the fire pit. Isiilde stirred against a long, lean body, and coiled herself around his warmth. Marsais’ fingers were tangled in her hair. The cave was as cool as the soft light, but she welcomed the contrast, nudging the heavy fur blanket down, letting the air brush her shoulders.

Isiilde floated, drifting in a haze of lazy pleasure. Her body was bruised, her bones limp, and she felt absolutely wonderful. She smiled against rough skin and inhaled his scent, thinking of the salt and sea, and his coarse hands. Marsais made her toes tingle, and she woke him with her own silky touch.

“O, gods,” he groaned. “You are going to be the death of me.”

“I know, you’re already stiff.”

Marsais snorted, gripped her hips and switched positions, pressing her against the furs. His eyes twinkled and his hair fell around her face. “And how are you feeling this morning, my dear?”

“You tell me.”

“Delicious,” he purred. His lips touched her neck, exploring its intricacies, while his hands, coarse and eager, slid down her body. She melted beneath his touch. He tugged the fur over his head and disappeared beneath, trailing fire down her flesh. Their bond pulsed with pleasure, with desire and need, and Isiilde gasped, burying her fingers in his hair, fighting to breathe. A moan was thrown into the air and another noise bounced between. She did not care.

The intruding noise was persistent, and so was Marsais.

“Isiilde,” an unwanted voice firmly inserted itself between her ears.

Marsais jerked in realization. For a hasty second, she felt the Lore whispered between her thighs. Marsais straightened with a weave on his fingertips, but he was too late. Captain Mael stepped into their room as his weave snapped in place behind her. And Isiilde’s body ached with desperation.

“You’re late for your practice.” The paladin crossed her arms.

“Captain,” Marsais began, paused to clear the hoarseness from his voice, and continued, “Must you barge in unannounced?”

“I announced myself three times.”

“Surely you can wait?”

“No.”

Isiilde moaned.

“Captain—”

“This is not a pleasure house, Marsais. You asked me to train her. Up, Isiilde, the sun rose an hour ago.”

Marsais blew a breath from his lips, letting his forehead fall to the furs. The captain turned on her heel.

“I am going to kill her,” Isiilde murmured.

“You can try during practice,” Acacia shot over her shoulder, before exiting the chamber.

“I hate that woman,” the nymph growled, throwing the covers aside and tugging on her clothes.

Marsais frowned at his nymph, at something in her tone, and quickly hopped to his feet.

Frustrated, hungry, and irritated beyond words, Isiilde stalked outside with Marsais on her heels. She snatched up her practice sword and charged the captain. Acacia spun, catching the length of wood easily in her hand and twisting. With the help of a foot, she tripped the nymph, sending her sprawling onto the ground.

“Anger has no place in battle.”