Wicked Empress: The Onic Empire, Book 4 (36 page)

Heart breaking with pain, Bithia took one step from Eld, determined to run somewhere and hide. She did not want to believe Eld, but she did, because he confirmed all of her worst fears. And Ambo…he had not had a hand in her creation. Ambo must have been shocked when she arrived on Diola, but he’d turned her appearance to his advantage anyway. How Eld must have burned with fury.

“I haven’t told you what I want to keep silent.”

Frozen, with one foot before the other, Bithia turned her head and looked back at him. Shrunken in his bronze ill-fitting robe, Eld grinned at her as if he owned her very soul. He took one shambling step toward her, cupped her arm and clung to her. This close, she could smell him. He smelled exactly like one of Enovese’s ancient books, musty and old, like he too had been left on the shelf for years, unused, lonely, wiling his time away developing one scheme after another.

“I cannot make you the magistrate.” Thinking back, she didn’t remember him even vying for the position, not that she would have considered him. He was far too old to take such a demanding job. Ambo had been over seventy seasons, but he’d started as a young man.

Eld exhaled a sharp snort. “As if I care about that any longer. No, I think I am ripe for a much more powerful position.” Rubbing his face against her upper arm, he simpered a smile. “I want to be your consort.”

Time stood still.

“I want my daughter to one day hold dominion over all of Diola.”

Her mouth opened, but all that came out was a shuddering gasp of horror.

“I will give you my funds, of which I have amassed plenty, thus fixing one of your problems. And of course, if you were my bondmate, I would never reveal the truth of your origins.”

Mutely she continued to peer down into his face.

“Should you refuse, I will tell everyone everything I know. You will be ridiculed, reviled, and the other Houses will begin to campaign for your removal. As loyal as the guards are to you, they will stop being loyal once they are not paid.”

“But the palace accounts pay the guards.” She said this only to see if he knew that Diola was as destitute as she was. His answer confirmed he did not.

“Not the royal guards. I believe it was your grandmother who made the change, thinking that if she paid them, they would be loyal to her. And she was right. Although what worked for her does leave you in a bit of a mess.”
 
He handed her a memory crystal. “In case you do not believe what I have spoken.” She stood mute, holding the black crystal in her hand.

“Think of what I offered. I will give you until sundown tomorrow to decide.”

Bithia watched him shuffle away, his steps slow, careful and precise. He moved as if he waded through syrup. Her mind tried to imagine a bonding ceremony between them, but rising bile made her stop.

Oh, the rich irony of him angling for a position of power in a soon-to-be powerless empire! She would have laughed in his face but for her own overwhelming feelings of shame. Unwanted, unloved, created solely for the purpose of securing funds. No matter how much some people had, they still desired more.

When she looked up, she saw Drahka and Viltori still with their heads together. And there was her salvation. With them she’d never once felt unwanted. They needed her, they wanted her, they cherished and adored her. When they’d discussed the lack of funds, they’d shared her fears, but refused to leave her side. They vowed that together they would solve the problem. But this, this horrible truth of her shameful birth. Would they still stand by her side?

Emotions overwhelmed her, but she managed to exit the great hall with her head high and her steps even. As she passed the guests, she nodded to those who bowed to her, but in their glittering eyes, she saw the animals within, the beasts waiting for her to show weakness.

When she did, they would pounce.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Drahka could barely think with all the noise surrounding him. Diola had more parties than his village had inhabitants. Silly displays of wealth adorned everyone, each striving to outdo the other. Rich foods filled the air with a hundred different scents along with all the elite’s clashing perfumes. He could barely breathe, but he also couldn’t leave. Doing so would be a slight to the new magistrate. Drahka had met the man briefly, and thought Menon was a solid choice, but Drahka didn’t linger in conversation, not when other matters weighed heavily on his mind.

“Pathetic
peckards
.” Viltori finished off his fourth drink of the evening. “That’s what Bithia would call them.”

Drahka didn’t like seeing his friend ensnared in a combination of alcohol and anger. It made him unpleasant and frightening, mainly because Drahka had no idea what he was likely to say or do. Ever since he’d returned to the empress suite, he’d been as snarly as a tangled fishing net. Drahka had tried to embrace him, tried to offer him an ear for his troubles, but Viltori pushed him away, both physically and emotionally. His rejection hurt more than Drahka wanted to admit. Whatever bothered Viltori, he was determined to keep the matter to himself.

“Are you not pleased that Enovese found an ancient rite regarding the empress bonding?” As sad as he was about Bithia’s precarious financial situation, he was pleased that, finally, they could all be together.

Viltori leaned forward. “Now there’s an interesting woman. All that hair! A man could get strangled by the length of it.” He grabbed another drink from the table between the couch and chair they sat upon. He took a prodigious swallow.

Drahka grabbed one as well, mainly to lessen the amount Viltori had access to. He sipped at the curious green liquid. The taste was sweet and bitter all at once. Like drinking tree bark mixed with fruit juice. Discreetly he dumped the liquid into one of the potted plants that surrounded them.

“Have you seen her bondmate?” Viltori nodded enthusiastically as he lifted his hands. “Big as you, but not as tall, and he glows. Gold. And his eyes are like azure crystals. He’s a demigod.” Viltori smirked nastily. “I wonder what his cock is like. All big and glowing. I’ll bet his tiny woman squeals when he gives it to her.”

Drahka placed the empty cup on the tray and grabbed another drink, this one blue. There were two cups of
illias
sitting there, but he noticed Viltori deliberately avoided them. Apparently, he did not feel amorous this evening and had no desire to become aroused, yet he continued to make sexual remarks about everyone who came up in conversation. Viltori spoke vulgarities without lust, almost as if he were daring Drahka to become angry with him. Drahka wondered what he had done to so offend his teacher. Had he gone too far in binding him? Viltori had seemed furious at the time, but then seemed to enjoy the tormenting he and Bithia had given to him.

“Please tell me what is wrong.” Drahka considered the creamy blue liquid in his glass, but he had no desire to actually drink it. When he lifted his gaze to Viltori, his eyes were watery, the soft brown nearly black in the shadow of his golden hair. “I thought you would be pleased that we can now all bond together. I thought that was what you wanted above all else.” Such news had delighted Drahka even though the bad news of the funding situation dampened his joy, he still was relieved that after all this strife, Viltori could now finally, and fully, give to Bithia. But Viltori did not seem happy at the news.

“Oh, yes, now we can bond. And have children. Poor innocent children.”

Over and over Viltori had bemoaned their possible issue when Drahka had thought that’s what had held him back; his desire to have legitimate children.

“Legitimate, yes, but not safe. Not from me.”

Drahka grabbed his hand, preventing him from taking another drink. “You will explain yourself. I tire of this confusion.”

“You should have let me die.”

Drahka sat very still, his eyes trying to connect to Viltori’s gaze, but his gaze was distant, as if he looked upon a world so far away no ship could ever sail there. He shoved off Drahka’s hand and took a drink without moving his head. Viltori poured the liquid into his mouth, then swallowed. Grimacing, he closed his eyes as the alcohol went down. He swayed from the impact. As he started to slide forward, Drahka caught him by the shoulder. Viltori straightened, then glared at him.

“You and Bithia, all this is your fault.”

Drahka had no idea what he was talking about, but when he asked, Viltori shook his head, causing his gleaming hair to further tumble around his face. He finished his drink and reached for another. All that remained on the tray was the two cups of glittering
illias
. While Viltori considered his choice, Drahka noticed Bithia leaving. Her stride was even and purposeful, but there was something wrong with the way she carried her shoulders. Normally Bithia kept them wide, taking up as much space as possible, but now they curved in, not excessively, but a subtle drawing in as if for protection.

Drahka stood. “Do you want another drink?”

Viltori peered directly at Drahka’s crotch. “I want a drink all right.” He didn’t even look around before he leaned forward and kissed him there, awakening his cock with his talented mouth. Drahka cast his gaze about, but saw none looking at them. Still, he did not wish to do this here, and not when Viltori was befuddled by drink and irate over being alive.

Abruptly, Drahka moved aside, causing Viltori to fall forward. He caught himself at the last moment on the edge of the couch.

Drahka offered out his hand.

Viltori crossed his arms. “I want to stay here.”

“Then stay.” Drahka turned on his heel, leaving behind the semi-sheltered area as he headed for the huge arched doorway. If Viltori did not want his help, perhaps Bithia would.

Drahka hadn’t taken more than a few steps when Viltori stumbled into his side, slurring, “You prick. When did you become the boss of everything?”

“When you decided to drink yourself stupid.” Drahka put his arm around Viltori as if in friendship, but in reality, he was holding him up. He made haste toward the grand doorway. Guards and guests nodded politely, but also with some restraint, as they probably already knew what had been decided today. The guards were pleased Bithia had gotten her way, as they were fiercely loyal to her, but the elite were not happy that she’d prevailed in having not one, but two eternal bondmates and consorts. How odd that they were so greedy and yet decried her for wanting more.

Once they’d cleared the great hall and those who straggled in the hallways near, Drahka turned, grasped Viltori about his waist and tossed him over his shoulder.

“What do you think—”

Whacking his ass sharply with his free hand, Drahka said, “Silence. I’ve had enough of your drunken blathering. If you won’t willingly tell me what’s wrong, I’m going to make you.”

“Good luck with that!” Viltori slapped Drahka’s ass as he carried him, but his blows were pathetic, little more than pleasure taps. “I will never forgive you for what you did!”

It was a telling statement. “You blame me for keeping you from death?”

“You and Bithia!” Viltori stopped struggling. “Why didn’t you just let me die?”

There were a thousand ways he could answer him, but Drahka settled for a simple, “Because we love you.” For all his disagreements with Bithia about letting Viltori go, he was profoundly glad she had not given up on him. Why his living caused him so much pain was a mystery Drahka was determined to solve.

“And now I have to hurt someone because of you!” No longer content to simply hang off his shoulder, Viltori took to punching his backside in earnest.

After a blow to his lower back that caused him to wince, Drahka dumped Viltori off, then pressed him to the nearest wall. Using his entire body from shoulder to knee, he pinned Viltori to the cold stone. Face-to-face, he could smell the mixture of drinks Viltori had consumed over the course of the evening. It was a wonder he hadn’t thrown everything up when he’d inverted him. Grabbing the back of his head, twining his fingers in Viltori’s thick hair, Drahka forced him to look at him.

“Tell me.”

Smiling, Viltori pressed his face forward, placing a sloppy kiss against Drahka’s lips.

Yanking back, Drahka shook his head sharply within his grip. “I swear you will tell me, or—”

“Or what?” Narrowing his eyes, Viltori glared up at him. “You’ll fuck it out of me?” He thrust his hips, rubbing their cocks together. Despite his drunkenness and Drahka’s disgust, they both hardened. Even in this state, Drahka could not control his arousal. However, the last thing he would ever do was give to someone who was clearly and thoroughly inebriated.

“I’m not going to fuck you until you tell me.” Holding him steady, Drahka teased his body against his pinned teacher. Muscle hit muscle. As he pressed tight, rocking his hips, he heard Viltori’s breathing change from anger to longing. “You feel that?”

Viltori nodded, almost against his will.

“You want that?”

Again, he reluctantly nodded.

“Then tell me.” Drahka hated using sex as a weapon, but he could not help him without knowing what the problem was. He was determined to do anything he could to release Viltori from pain.

Closing his eyes, Viltori leaned his head away, as if to escape from Drahka’s firm grasp.

Pressing his lips to his ear, Drahka whispered, “Struggle all you’d like. You’re just making me harder and torturing yourself more.”

Snarling, Viltori faced him, his eyes flashing in the subdued light of the hallway. “I should be dead, and since I’m not, there has to be a sacrifice. My child, your child,
a
child from the three of us must be given to the gods to pay the debt.” Tears welled up in his eyes, then tracked down his cheeks. “I can’t make the sacrifice myself. It must be paid by another. And if you two had just let me die, I wouldn’t have to live with this over my head!”

Viltori collapsed against him, his weight sagging into his body. Tenderly Drahka released his hair from his grip, then curved his hand around, cupping and lifting his head.

“I am sorry.”

Before Viltori could speak, Drahka kissed him softly on the lips. He tasted bitter tears mixed with alcohol, but below it all, he tasted the depth of Viltori’s sorrow, the exquisite pain he’d tried to drown with drink.