Lord of the Abyss & Desert Warrior (10 page)

H
ER FEET, CLAD IN THIN
embroidered slippers that had appeared in the kitchen a few hours ago, slammed down on sharp edges, rocks and branches as she ran through the agitated rustling of the Whispering Forest, almost slipped on the moss that covered the bridge that spanned the restless river, but she kept running, holding her skirt high above her ankles.

The lights of the village came into view. Twinkling and warm but for the haze of sulfurous magic. Fighting the urge to throw up, she ran pell-mell toward it, taking only enough care to ensure she didn’t break her neck. For if she did, an innocent would die. Always, her father and his apprentices used innocents. Their blood was more vital, they said. Richer. Purer. But not tonight, she vowed,
not tonight!

Stumbling into the periphery of the village, she had to halt so she could pinpoint the location of the evil. Slicing a small line on her palm, but not allowing the blood to touch the earth lest it give her away, she whispered for the magic to rise, to seek out its dark kin. Her power hesitated in distaste.
Innocents,
she urged,
innocent blood. Seek innocent blood.

No hesitation now. Her power winding through the village in a crackle of deepest red, with her running in its wake. Around houses shuttered up for the night and
courtyards abandoned, through the deserted main street and onto the clear surrounds of the village green.

Her power hissed at the filth it saw, went to wrap itself around the man’s neck in a choking hold, but Liliana drew it back.
Wait. Wait. We’ll have only once chance.
Dark blood sorcerers, distended with power stolen from those who couldn’t defend themselves, were stronger than those like Liliana, who used only their personal reserves.

This one was a thin, handsome man, his face likely the reason he’d been able to persuade the young village maid at his feet to meet him in the thick black of night. She lay unconscious on the grass now, the sorcerer chanting incantations above her, a serrated blade in hand. That blade, Liliana knew, would go into the girl’s abdomen. A slow, torturous death, her blood seeping out drop by drop while her murderer kept her silent even in her agony and grew drunk on the force of her life, her death.

Power blazed in the air as the sorcerer made a sigil above the girl and Liliana realized he was one of the old ones for all that his face appeared young. Old and powerful. It was foolish, part of her said, to give up her life for this one girl when she had come to save a kingdom. If Liliana died, the Lord of the Black Castle would not remember, would not return.

And Elden would fall into her father’s clutches forever.

“No,” she whispered, fighting that voice, that part of her the Blood Sorcerer had attempted to turn rancid with his own evil.

One life was worth everything. For how could Liliana hope to save a kingdom if she was willing to bow down to evil when it stood in front of her?

Stepping out of the shadows, she stalked toward the sorcerer on silent feet. But he sensed her, turned. “Lili
ana!” Shock. “Your father seeks you.” Avarice glittered in his eyes. “Now I will be the one to take you home.”

“What reward has he offered?”

“Lands, riches, power.” He shuddered, in an ugly parody of pleasure. “The understanding with Ives is ended,” he said, referring to the man her father had intended Liliana marry—with or without her consent. “The one who finds you takes you to wife and to his bed.” Distaste he made no attempt to hide. “You are his daughter.”

That link to power, she thought, would make it worth his while to wed such a hideous creature. Bard’s knife hidden in the folds of her apron, she stepped closer. “Is that why you’re here, in this village?”

“The others, they scattered to the edges of the kingdoms, but I knew you would do the unexpected. I’ve been keeping an eye on you—you’re smarter than everyone believes.”

It made her skin creep to think he’d been watching her. “You know what they say happens to those like you who trespass in the Abyss.” Even her father feared it, wouldn’t dare step foot in this realm.

A skittering behind his eyes. “We’ll leave this place as soon as I replenish my power.”

“Yes.” With that, she struck out, going for his neck.

She failed.

The tip of her knife skated off his cheekbone as she was thrown backward with brutal force. Retaliating with her own magic, she managed to make him stagger on his feet, but he didn’t go down. Then, the skin of his cheek flapping grotesque and raw, he turned to the girl behind him. “First I will taste her. Then I will take care of you.” He kissed the girl, digging his nails viciously into her breast. “Pity I won’t have time to savor her.”

Unable to breathe around the pain in her ribs, Liliana
nonetheless began to try to crawl toward him. The bastard thought her down, but she wasn’t. Except it was too late. The sorcerer’s incantations complete, he went to his knees, laid the edge of the blade on the girl’s neck.

“No!”

He began to laugh…and then his head was turned in her direction, his eyes bulging as his neck was broken in a single hard snap by powerful hands made of midnight shadows.

H
EAT ON HER FACE, A WARM
damp cloth. Hurt around her rib cage, the comforting smell of spiced tea. Raising heavy lids, she looked into the face of the brownie who was becoming her closest friend. “Jissa.” Her voice was hoarse, her throat dry.

“Oh, you’re awake, awake at last.” Tears, large and a haunting translucent blue, rolled slowly down Jissa’s face even as she helped Liliana into a sitting position and held a glass to her lips. “I thought you were dead. All dead.”

Pushing away the water after a few sips, Liliana touched her distressed friend’s hand. “The girl?”

“Safe, safe.” Jissa wiped away her tears, but they kept falling big and slow. “No memory, none at all.”

“Good.” Guilt heavy in her veins, she asked, “Bard?”

Jissa patted her hand. “He worries for you, hasn’t left the door all this time. So much worry.”

Liliana was quite sure that wasn’t why Bard stood guard, but she didn’t break Jissa’s heart by saying so. “How long have I been asleep?” she asked, realizing she wore her rough brown dress again.

“Since the lord carried you home last night. Now it’s morning, sun shining.” Jissa’s voice dropped. “Was angry, he was. So angry.”

“I’m sorry.”

Jissa shook her head, wiped away more beautiful tears. “Only quiet words to Jissa he said. But you—growls, there will be growls and snarls.” The last was a whisper just before the door slammed open.

Giving a startled squeak, Jissa glanced from Liliana to the green-eyed male standing in the doorway. Liliana saw her friend hesitate, knew the brownie was fighting to stay and confront the Guardian of the Abyss with her, but she shook her head. “Go, Jissa.”

Wide, wet eyes met her own. “Liliana…”

“Shh. I would love some lushberry juice later.”

“Yes, yes. I’ll make it for you. Sweet and rich and good.”

The Lord of the Black Castle closed the door very carefully behind Jissa’s form before coming to loom over the bed, gauntleted arms crossed over his chest. “You ran away.”

That wasn’t what she’d expected him to say. “Only to save the girl’s life.”

“You were not to leave the Black Castle.”

She couldn’t keep staring up at him, her neck tired. Looking down, she spread her hands on the sheet gathered at her waist. “You’ll have to put me in the dungeon.”

“You tore your dress.”

“No!” Her beautiful red dress, the most beautiful dress she had ever owned. A fat droplet crashed on the back of her hand.

“Don’t cry.” A snapped order.

She sniffed, fought to hold back the tears. It had never been difficult before. She’d learned early on that her father fed on her fear, and so she’d given him nothing. But today, the tears kept falling.

“I’ll get you another red dress.”

She wiped the backs of her hands over her cheeks at the snarl. “You will?”

He glared down at her. “Yes. But you must not cry. I won’t get you any dresses if you cry.”

“I don’t normally cry.”

“You will never do it.”

“Well, I’m afraid I may sometimes,” she said apologetically. “Women need to cry.”

Lines formed between his brows. “How many times in a year?”

“Maybe five or six,” she said, thinking about it. “But really, it’s usually a very small cry and not in front of anyone.” Always she’d hidden her tears, curled up in some dark corner of the castle.

At that, his scowl grew even darker. “I will permit you to cry four times a year. And you will do it when I am here.”

“Why?”

He didn’t answer her whispered question. Instead, sitting down on the bed, he lifted his fingers to her jaw, a delicate touch that froze her in place. “You taste of blood sorcery.” Something very shrewd in his eyes, a dark knowing.

Rocks in her throat, in her stomach. “Yes.”

“You are a blood mage.”

The panic that beat in her chest was a tight, fluttering thing. “I don’t kill,” she said, pleading with him to believe her. “I spill my own blood, as is my right.” There was nothing inherently wrong with blood sorcery, only how it was practiced.

Thrusting out her hand, she showed him the cut on her palm. Then, when he remained silent, she held out her arms. “See.” The thin scars bisected the brown of
her skin—small, horizontal slices. “My blood. No one else’s.”

Dropping the hand on her jaw to her arm, he curved his fingers around it, rubbing his thumb over a scar. “Does it hurt?”

“Yes, but only a small hurt.”

“My magic doesn’t hurt.”

Her breath stuck in her throat. This was the first time he’d referenced any personal magic, beyond that which came from his position as the Guardian. “That’s because your power springs from a different place.” It was the magic of the royal line of Elden, powerful and pure and infused in every cell of his body.

However, if her research, done in the Royal Archives, was correct, then the youngest Elden heir was also an earth mage. The instant his feet touched Elden, he’d be able to access the power of the land itself…if anything was left of it after her father’s defilement.

“This place is on the edges of the realms,” he said, instead of continuing with the topic that came so close to acknowledging his true heritage. “Not only do the evil ones fear it, there is little life here for blood sorcery—why did the sorcerer come here?”

Liliana had to swallow twice to speak past the knot choking her. “My father,” she said, taking a precarious step along the tightrope of truth, “is a powerful man, and he wishes me to return home.”

His expression turned black as night. “You don’t wish to go?”

She shook her head and hoped with all her might that he wouldn’t ask the next question. But of course he did.

“Why?”

Because he is the Blood Sorcerer. Because he stole your kingdom, murdered your parents, forced your
mother to scatter your brothers and sister through time and space. Because he is evil.

She could say none of that, but she could tell him another truth. “He wishes me to marry one of his men.” Ives’s blood was as rancid as her father’s. He watched her with the eyes of a lizard, licked his lips when her father whipped her raw and whispered the most obscene promises in her ear when he managed to corner her.

Though if the sorcerer she’d met the previous night had been telling the truth, she was now a prize to be won by any of her father’s men. It mattered little. “He is not a good man.” None of them were.

“You will not marry.” It was an order, cold and hard. “You belong to the Lord of the Black Castle.”

She blinked, stared. “You can’t own people,” she said, her fear waning in the face of his arrogant pronouncement.

A shrug, his hand tightening on her wrist. “Who will naysay me?”

L
ILIANA WAS STILL FURIOUS
as she walked to the village two days later, dressed in a chocolate-brown dress she was sure the lord had given her as punishment for “running away.” Except this brown was lush, exquisite, quite gorgeous—even if the man who’d given it to her was a maddening beast.

The only good thing that had resulted from the attack, and her subsequent confession, was that
His Lordship
no longer considered it a threat that she’d try to escape, so she’d been allowed to come with Jissa to do the shopping. “Who does he think he is? Just ordering me about that way. As if I didn’t have a single thought of my own!”

Jissa, who’d been looking over her shoulder ever since Liliana started ranting, shifted her empty basket to her
other arm and used her free hand to squeeze Liliana’s hand. “You know who he is, Lilia—”

“He knows who we are, too!” Turning, she glared at the looming hulk of the castle before returning her gaze to the path that led into the Whispering Forest. “And we aren’t his slaves!”

Jissa didn’t say anything.

Liliana slowed her stride, anger transforming into a sickening lurch in her stomach. “Are we?” Had the youngest Elden royal been tainted by the evil that lived within the Abyss in the most subtle of ways?

Jissa shook her head. “Oh, no. Oh, no.” Her distress was apparent on her fine features. “He was very, very sad when he brought me back to the castle after…after.”

After you died again,
Liliana thought, trembling as the lurching settled. “Will you be safe in the village?”

“Oh, yes. Just can’t stay all day and night.” Taking a deep breath, she began walking at a brisk pace through the Whispering Forest, touching her hand to the trees as if in greeting.

The tree branches shook, the leaves murmuring,
Jissa. Jissa. Friend. Jissa.

“The lord,” Jissa said, patting the trunk of a sapling, “told me he wished he could send me back to my people, but that my people were gone. All gone.”

Liliana felt her heart twist. Her father had decimated the brownies, stolen their power too fast for those small, sturdy bodies to recover. “Do you believe him?”

“I do.” A sad, sad sound. “He doesn’t lie. Never, ever.”

“No, he doesn’t.” Yet he was not naive. He was simply without corruption—arrogant and spoiled, but without corruption. “Why did you go quiet at my mention of slaves?”