book title Page 2

  interrupt or stop the heart or something. I don't know where the mark

  is placed, though."

  "Magic like that is usually placed along the major veins," the

  woman said. "In my limited experience, at least. It travels more easily

  through the blood that way." She approached the nearest body,

  pulling on close-fitting leather gloves, and delicately set to work

  examining it. After a few minutes, she said, "Here, on his upper right

  arm, where the serpent artery is located. I don't know anything about

  the mark itself, but I would wager he died instantly, with little to no

  warning. Probably never even knew what hit him."

  Barkus glanced around the room. "Do you have pen and

  paper I could borrow?" the woman nodded and bustled off, returning

  almost immediately. Barkus studied the mark carefully, closely, and

  copied it to the paper. "I think we need to speak with His Highness."

  Growling softly in agreement, Najlah gladly led the way out of

  the foul-smelling room back to less offensive parts of the castle. "Has

  he been moved yet?"

  "Should have been. I had him put in the suite directly across

  from yours. So keep it down when you're fucking your wolf,

  hornless."

  "Shut up, useless," Najlah replied, flicking his tongue out.

  Ajith only rumbled in amusement and headed off with the

  woman from the dead-body place.

  "Morgue, I think," Barkus said. "We have something similar,

  though it's very rarely used, since we can smell better than humans,

  and that goes a long way toward solving mysteries. Ours is just a

  small shed. More often, we use it for storing bodies when it's simply

  too cold to properly burn them."

  Najlah snarled. A place too cold for burning? That was a living

  nightmare.

  "Well, I never thought I'd find myself bound to a creature that

  is just short of living flame. Is it true dragons can breathe fire?"

  Najlah rumbled and chittered, eyes swirling green. No. Seems

  pointless when we're surrounded by it. We're just good at using the

  available fire, and panicked humans see what they expect of

  demons. Spikes and claws and venom are far more useful in a fight

  than breathing fire in a place where everyone is built to be flame

  resistant.

  "That's what I figured, but I had to ask," Barkus said with a

  laugh. "You're certainly deadly enough without adding that to the

  pile."

  As they reached the hall where Najlah's rooms were located,

  he finally took full note of the smell of strangers, flicking his tongue

  out several times to get a better sense. Three people, not counting

  Tevra, all of them with a particular metal-leather scent unique to

  Gormestian soldiers.

  "Three is a damned sad retinue for a royal prince."

  He has you and me now. We're worth fifty piddling human

  soldiers.

  "Only fifty? What has you feeling modest?"

  Najlah flicked his tongue at Barkus.

  At the door to Tevra's new room, the soldier stationed there

  saluted them. "His Highness says you're to be given immediate

  access, my lords."

  Najlah prowled into the room as the door opened—and

  stopped short when he saw Tevra was not in his bed as expected.

  Paying more attention, he followed sound and scent to a door across

  the room. A dressing room. Why was Tevra out of bed? He growled,

  tail lashing, as he waited for Tevra to emerge.

  Behind him, near a table set with food that had not been

  eaten, Barkus chuckled. Were you hoping he'd be abed and at your

  mercy?

  Be quiet.

  Barkus just laughed some more.

  Najlah hissed and started to cross the room to knock him right

  off his feet, manners and decorum be damned, when the sound of

  approaching footsteps snapped his attention back to the dressing

  room.

  He growled in a frustrating mixture of concern and confusion

  and unexpected lust as Tevra emerged. He looked nothing at all like

  the man in the throne room, or the one who'd been confined to his

  bed, pale and trembling from barely surviving excessive stab wounds

  and blood loss.

  For one, Tevra suddenly had tattoos. Across his cheeks,

  forehead, and chin, intricate marks that smelled faintly of magic.

  More ran down his arms in complex, interwoven chains, all the way

  down to the backs of his hands and even onto his fingers. Every last

  mark seemed to be more of the sigils like those Najlah and Barkus

  had found on Ranteth.

  He was dressed in leathers and had a sword at his hips, along

  with daggers and pouches and other things Najlah didn't recognize

  but which reeked of blood and magic.

  "You're a battle mage," Barkus said. "That's not the term you

  use in Gormestia—I'm sorry, I don't recall what it is."

  "Warlock," Tevra replied. "Yes, I am. Normally it doesn't

  matter, because these days most of my duties are more diplomatic."

  His mouth tightened, and for a moment he looked and smelled close

  to tears. "Were diplomatic, rather. Given all the effort my father put

  forth to have me murdered, however, it seems prudent to return to

  my old ways. I am sorry if my appearance alarms. I generally mask

  the tattoos, but between my injuries and the resumption of old habits,

  keeping them masked proved to be too taxing."

  Najlah chittered loudly, eyes swirling bright green, tail

  thumping the floor.

  Tevra quirked a brow. "I can tell you're laughing at me, even if

  I don't know why."

  "Your Highness, do you honestly think someone like Najlah is

  going to be alarmed by tattoos."

  Tevra stared blankly a moment, then shook his head and

  laughed. "Fair enough. I'm so used to people seeing me and running

  for the hills, it never registered there was someone more alarming

  than me in the room. Two, even. Next to a Lukos and a Tahjili, a

  Gormestian warlock is positively boring."

  "You're legend enough that I don't think that's true."

  Najlah growled, eyes swirling pink as he looked between

  them. Explain everything to me. I've never heard that term. Warlock.

  You said battle mage. Didn't we face such in the caves?

  "Are you different than the mages we fought and killed in the

  caves?"

  "Those are ordinary soldiers trained in magic," Tevra said. "I'm

  something else entirely. It's difficult, painful, time-consuming, and

  above all, expensive to craft something like me. There are only about

  a hundred warlocks in the whole country, and they all come from

  noble or, at least, wealthy families, with a very small handful of

  exceptions. I have sigils tattooed into my skin to make casting

  certain spells easier. It took about fifteen years to acquire all of them;

  many people cannot endure having more than a few. Only two others

  have anywhere close to the same number as me. I'm the only one in

  the kingdom with two full arm sleeves and all the facial markings. It's

  why I'm so baffled my father wanted me dead—I was infinitely more

  useful to him alive and loyal, which I have always been.

  Unquestionably." H
e sighed and dragged a hand down his face.

  "That is not a problem for you, though. I apologize for whining. What

  did you need? I am afraid I cannot linger long and will have to delay

  our dinner. I felt my three spies in the city die; someone activated

  their curses, even though I'm the only one who should have been

  able to do that."

  "They're down in the morgue," Barkus said. "I'm sorry. We

  were actually coming to ask if you might know who they are."

  Tevra sighed, looking weary and worn, but he only set his

  shoulders and said, "Lead the way."

  Barkus took the lead in the end, and as they left the room,

  Barkus's cousins stepped forward to join them, falling into place at

  the rear. That left Najlah to walk at Tevra's side, which suited him

  fine, claws clicking on the marble flooring, tail occasionally striking it,

  though never enough to cause damage.

  Back in the foul-smelling morgue, Tevra examined the bodies

  with a blank expression, though there was no mistaking the smell of

  distress and anguish on him. "They were spies for me; they were

  also my friends. They've worked for me, and only me, for a very long

  time. I sent them into the city to do reconnaissance when we first

  arrived, and when everything went wrong a couple of days ago, I

  gave orders to wrap up what they were doing and return to me. They

  should have returned by this morning. When they didn't… and then I

  felt it when the curses activated. Damn it. This wasn't necessary. It

  was just vindictive."

  Najlah growled, eyes swirling pink, purple, and blue. He cast a

  look at Barkus, sharing his thoughts and questions.

  "I agree," Barkus replied. "Your Highness, tell us more about

  these curses you keep mentioning. It sounds… cruel."

  "It is cruel. Royal spies are sworn to serve the crown with their

  lives, quite literally. They are not allowed to take up their duties until

  they're tattooed with a killing curse that only a designated person—

  usually my father's spymaster—can activate. But these three worked

  for me and me alone. The law said they must have the marks, but I

  never intended to use them, even if they did betray me. It's a cruel

  and cowardly way to kill someone, impersonal and inhumane. I

  never liked it."

  "Do you have such a mark?" Barkus asked.

  "No. Royalty are forbidden; it's too much of a risk. As my poor

  comrades have exhibited. I just don't understand why. They had

  nothing to do with any of this. Their only duty was to tell me what

  was being said in the city about the Lukos and the Tahjili. That was

  all. I was going to send them home for their own safety. They were a

  threat to no one."

  Najlah growled again, tail lashing, eyes swirling vibrantly with

  purple and blues now. They are trying to isolate him, leave him alone

  and weakened, easier prey. Common tactic for hunting rock spiders.

  Separate from the herd, wound, kill. The direct method didn't work,

  so they're trying different means. But why? Why would they want

  such an impressive hornless—for a human, anyway—dead? It

  makes no sense.

  Frowning, Barkus conveyed the thoughts to Tevra. "Highness,

  you must know some reason people want you dead and decided

  to… consolidate problems… by framing Najlah for your death."

  "I really don't know. My father sometimes gets irate that I

  garner more attention than my brother, the crown prince, but that's

  not a killing offense. It's not as though I've ever tried to contest Fedor

  for the throne or anything."

  Politics don't interest me on a good day, but I know enough

  about them to know that is, in fact, a killing offense.

  "I agree," Barkus said quietly. "I'll get in touch with my uncle

  about sending some of our own to look into the matter." When Tevra

  gave them a puzzled look, he explained. "My apologies, Your

  Highness. We shouldn't be so rude."

  "No, it's not like you're doing it on purpose," Tevra said. "I can

  see it's just the way you two communicate. Her Grace has offered to

  help me learn Tahjili as she has time, though I like to think I'm not so

  crass I would presume upon the time and energy of a woman who is

  days away from giving birth."

  Najlah flicked his tongue, eyes swirling pink. "My sister does

  as she pleases, like any good bitch, and brutes who disobey get

  what they deserve."

  Barkus laughed. "If she has offered, she means it, and you'd

  offend her by refusing."

  "Is that what he actually said?" Tevra asked faintly.

  "He said she's a good bitch, and does as she pleases, and

  disobedient brutes get what they deserve."

  Tevra shook his head slightly. "Where I come from, if you call

  a woman—anyone—a bitch, you will find yourself punched at best,

  stabbed at worse. It is very strange to hear it as simply a descriptor

  or even a compliment."

  Najlah growled his confusion at that.

  "Not enough time in the day, my lord," Tevra said. "If you're

  ever that bored, I'll be happy to explain Gormestia's long, sordid

  history of treating women like lesser beings. Right now, though, I feel

  we've other matters to attend."

  Thwacking his tail against the floor in agreement, Najlah

  gladly led the way back out of the morgue.

  Where are we going now?

  Tevra glanced at him. "Assuming you're asking what next, I at

  least am going into the city. I need to know everything I can about

  who killed my people and how. I should be the only one who can do

  such a thing. The curse is bound to my blood, and my blood alone."

  Barkus frowned thoughtfully. "They could have taken your

  blood when they tried to kill you."

  "They were trying to kill me—why take my blood?" Tevra

  asked. "I was as good as dead, save for the fact Najlah realized

  there was a problem. Even if they had done so, it would have been

  useless if they'd succeeded in killing me, which they had every

  reason to believe they would. I doubt even the most thorough

  strategist would have anticipated Najlah saving me. With me dead,

  the blood curse would have been nullified. So if they'd taken it to tie

  up loose ends or potential threats, that wouldn't have helped them."

  Najlah growled. "A good hunter always has three escape

  routes."

  Barkus repeated the words, and Tevra sighed. "Fair enough. It

  is the simplest explanation. I'm off into the city then. I'm sorry that I

  interrupted whatever you two were doing before my friends' bodies

  showed up."

  "We were investigating the matter of your attempted murder

  and securing the area, Your Highness, so you were hardly

  interrupting," Barkus replied. "If you're going into the city, we're going

  with you. Najlah has been appointed your protector, and I go where

  he goes—plus you need a translator."

  Tevra sighed again. "I'd prefer not to put more people in

  danger, since my father very clearly wants me dead at all costs, but

  as you wish."

  "Thank you, Your Highness," Barkus said, then turned to his

  cousins, still following
quietly, and silently gave them orders. "My

  cousins will continue to investigate the palace and grounds. Do we

  need a guide who's familiar with the city?"

  "No, I'm familiar enough for what we need to do," Tevra said.

  "I've been here before, though covertly and not for some years."

  Najlah chittered at that, tail thwacking the ground. Going

  places he shouldn't? He really is a human version of a hornless

  brute.

  Barkus shot him an amused look, but didn't say anything,

  silently or aloud. "Shall we be on our way? Do you need a horse,

  Your Highness?"

  "You may as well call me Tevra. If you call me 'Highness'

  while we're in the city, it's going to draw too much attention, and the

  three of us are going to draw enough of that as it is. I do need a

  horse, yes. There's no way I'd keep up with the two of you otherwise.

  I brought my courser with me; it should be more than up to the task."

  Najlah growled, tail lashing, eyes swirling pink. He seemed to

  spend a lot of his time around Tevra confused. Humans were

  generally puzzling, but not quite this… vexing and intriguing.

  You could just admit you want to fuck him, Barkus said.

  I have no interest in humans.

  You're a liar. You very much want to fuck this one, especially

  after you saw the tattoos.

  "Pink is confused, right?" Tevra asked. "A courser, if that's

  what the confusion is about, is a horse bred specifically for speed.

  As opposed to a destrier, which is trained for battle, and others that

  are trained to haul or work in fields."

  Najlah rumbled in acknowledgement. Dragons had no need

  for such things. He'd eaten a horse, once, when the stupid thing had

  gotten lost in the desert and was too starved and thirsty to be saved.

  Hadn't been very good meat, though that could be because of the

  aforementioned starvation.

  Barkus snorted. "Horse meat is all right, but humans generally

  only eat it as a last, desperate resort. Horses are too expensive and

  useful in other ways to waste them on eating."

  Tevra chuckled, though his eyes were briefly filled with

  sadness. "A pity I cannot yet understand you. Well, hopefully after

  this mess is over, I'll have time for those lessons and that will

  change. Shall we, then?" He headed off, threading with impressive

  ease through the palace and out behind it to the enormous stables

  that were nearly an entity unto themselves.