#a. jane

Thrace could not fully relax as he bathed after cleaning the fish. He kept expecting Nova to barge into the cabin, take the cloth and soap from him, and insist upon aiding him. Nova had whispered of such as they were cleaning the fish, whispered what he would do, how he would touch him. He closed his eyes and tried to push away the image of the rotten pirate doing just that.

He failed.

And never could he mind; no one need know his thoughts. A soft moan slipped from his lips, he could nigh feel Nova’s big hands gliding over…

“Then I am not too late.” Nova grinned wide seeing Thrace in the tub. He closed the door behind him and strode over to the tub, pulling off his coat as he went.

“Fuck!” He glared.

“Do ye wish it then?” He tossed his coat aside and started pulling at his jerkin, uncaring if he lost a button. “A hot tumble?”

“Nae. I seek not a tumble, but was swearing that I took too long.” Thrace gripped the cloth tight, ready to fight for its keep. “How is this a seduction when constantly are you badgering me? ’Twas only three days previous that we met, two of which I saw hardly a moment of you for the storm, and suddenly I am supposed to fall into bed with you?”

Nova stopped undressing, realizing what Thrace said was true. He was moving quick, quicker than he usually would. “My apologies. I…” Shit. “Admit I must to being anxious.”

“Anxious to gain your vengeance against Xaev? That makes me want to fall into bed,” his voice dripped with sarcasm.

Nova opened his mouth and then closed it. Again he opened his mouth, certain he knew what to say, but closed it once more knowing that whatever words he thought to say, they were wrong. Finally he decided the truth needed telling. “Nae. Were it just that, I would be moving slow and proper, gain yer trust, yer affection. I… Anxious I am because…because the thought of marrying Yoona fills me with dread. You and Feather spoke of such things so ye know that I am to marry this autumn and unless…unless something catastrophic were to occur, there is naught that can stop it.”

Thrace lessened his hold on the cloth and knew in that moment that something was changing betwixt them. Whether or not ’twas a good thing would be decided later. “I… I felt the same regarding mine. Handsome is Xaev, but when he kissed me, I felt naught for him. I felt much unease with the embrace. Truth be told, never was I able to imagine accepting him into my bed. No desire did I feel to undress him, to touch him, to have him do the same with me.”

Nova grabbed a chair and sat by the tub. He stretched his legs out and crossed his arms over his chest and concentrated his line of vision upon Thrace’s face or he might continue undressing and join him in the tub. “I know not why he would want to marry ye, for never had I known him to be interested in men. Many times when one protests an interest, ’tis oft proven that they do indeed hold interest, but never did he even make face or comment when he would see me seek out a man for the evening. He held nae care, nae thought; ’twas a non-event. Truth is…I never knew what interested him for never had I seen him go off with a woman either. Only do I have his insistence that he would marry naught but a maiden. For all I know that was a joke upon his part.”

“He kissed me not as a man would kiss another man.”

“Then ye have been kissed by other men?”

“Aye, aye. A certain way there is when men kiss, a strength to the kiss that is missing when a man kisses a woman. Though since we are being truthful, I wondered about his own experience for there seemed little in his kiss.”

“And methinks that ye cannot be maiden to know such a thing.”

Thrace laughed and began rubbing the washing cloth over his arms. “Never did I say I was. If Xaev thought it of me, I know not where he gained the notion. Also have I kissed a woman, which I found interesting, but not interesting enough to attempt more than once.”

Nova’s eyes suddenly took notice of the cloth’s movement over Thrace’s finely muscled right arm and found himself staring at an ornate set of markings covering from shoulder to hand. “Tattooed ye are.”

Thrace stopped washing and looked at his arm. “Aye, tattooed I am; tattooed are you.”

“Aye, but I knew not that those of the Northern Seas held such decoration.” He motioned to the tattoo. “What is it?”

“The Asqa Spear.” He held up his hand to show the tip of the spear. “Every Grand Dusal or Dusalla has held it. Received it I did the day I commanded my first splitfan migration—I was sixteen. There was quite the celebration that evening.”

“Most surprising I must say.”

His brow furrowed. “I understand not your surprise when you have tattoos covering nigh the whole of your left side.”

“’Tis…a cultural thing.”

With a nod of understanding, he returned to washing. “’Tis quite extensive the work done. Beautiful as well.”

“A prince I am and first born, and…” He pushed that away. “Do ye have other tattoos or is the spear the extent of yer decoration?” Nova grinned when Thrace glowered at him, again his hand pausing. “’Tis a simple question and one asked in sincerity.” He motioned to a spot on Thrace’s chest, just under the wet mat of hair. “It looks like ye have one over yer heart.”

“Two ravens to represent my father and grandfather’s journey to The Everafter.”

“Ravens? Why ravens?”

“’Tis cultural, dating back to the time of the very first Everdaimon, long before Yeryl and Zasara, when the Northern Continent was filled with unending war over territory. Ravens aided in escorting the spirits of the dead to The Everafter.”

“Surprised I am such things still remain.”

“Those of the Northern Seas hold long memories.”

“I suppose much can be answered with cultural. Any other tattoos?”

“Three…” Thrace paused trying to decide if he mentioned… He tried not to think of that one, but not wishing to lie… He sighed. “Four others do I have. One on my back, two upon my right leg and,” he turned his right arm over to display a bow nocked with three crossing arrows on the inside of the forearm, “this one. ’Twas done after a successful hunting competition. Won it I have thrice.”

“And why there are three arrows?”

“Nae, ’tis three because when I received it, I could hold three, now am I able to hold five. I need prove it at The Hunt so it may be added to.” He pointed to the filigree lines behind it. “These indicate the three wins. ’Tis much the deal, The Hunt; all of the Northern Countries compete.”

“Like yer hoquet?”

Thrace thought about that for a moment. “Mayhap, or very close to it. Hoquet, at least at this time, ’tis just Nortand and her provinces that compete, though the other countries do play. Plans I had to enter The Hunt once more—’tis being held in Sandyl this time—but it looks as if ’twill not bear fruit.” He brushed his hand over the tattoo and then once again returned to bathing, running the cloth under his arms, washing the pits.

“What is hunted?” Nova shifted his position slightly, crossing and uncrossing his ankles as he watched Thrace lift his arm up, exposing the side of his chest, admiring the way the muscles and skin stretched along the ribs. “Is there a quantity hunted, a specific size of the quarry needed?”

“Nae, nae. ’Tis… We do hunt various quarry, but ’tis only a small part, and what is hunted is used to feed those present for the competition. The Hunt, ’tis mostly a competition of skill. Inanimate targets are set up at various heights amongst the trees—small ones, large ones, those that move, those that are still—and each competitor hunts them, strikes as many as possible in the allotted amount of time. No set course is there, so each hunt is different for each participant. The targets are set by magik and counted by magik.”

“Are there those that cheat?”

“There have been such individuals, but always are they outed. The magik used is strict and unforgiving. Does one cheat, one is turned bright red and their scent turned most foul for a year.”

Nova laughed. “Aye, sounds indeed strict. And would make life most unpleasant. So, you have won thrice?”

“Aye. ’Tis quite the endurance challenge as ’tis held within one of the various mountain ranges across the Northern Continent—every two years a different country hosts which keeps the areas fresh, the game plentiful, the competition fierce. Some of the targets, the ones worth the most points, are at the higher elevations. Mayhap next time. ’Twill be in Koniaq then. Never have I been, so should prove exciting.”

“Would ye be my lover?” Nova blurted. He went still, unable to believe that he had actually asked it. He had never asked before, there had never been need to ask. But the words were out and all he could do was wait and try not to call them back.

Thrace went still, even his lungs, but then his prick dared twitch at the offer and his breath continued in and out, but perhaps a little quicker than before. “Captain, whether or not you seek vengeance, ’tis a temporary acquaintance ours. You are to marry and I am to return to Asqala.”

“Is it something ye would regret, being with me?”

“Most likely not, but… Allow me to think upon the matter, at least for a few days.”

“If lovers ye have had previous…”

“I have cared for each of my lovers, some more deeply than others, but I have cared for them. Sex is naught I play with, ’tis a most serious endeavor. I need decide if the ache I will feel at the end of our time is something I could deal with.” He looked at Nova. “And I think I would ache greatly when ’tis over betwixt us.”

Nova dropped to his knees beside the tub and slipped his hand behind Thrace’s neck. He leaned in to kiss the object of his desire, needing to kiss him, but a sopping wet washing cloth was shoved against his mouth.

“I said, I need think upon this, you rotten pirate.”

Nova started laughing. He had never known an individual such as Thrace. He shoved the cloth away and spit out the water that spilt into his mouth. “I just wished a kiss.”

“’Tis never just a kiss with you.”

He bobbed his head from side to side. “When ’tis ye I hope to kiss, I must agree.”

--

© A. Jane

Gin stared at the angry, disheveled man in the hold cage. After all these years, Torin still held a fascination for him. Even with the indignation in his yiska eyes, the high color in his full cheeks, he found him desirable. The pinch of his lips brought about a sharp want to kiss him again.

“What sort of man have you become, that you would kidnap me and have me placed within the hold of a boat with naught but a chamber pot and rats for company?” Torin crossed his arms over his chest as he stood with as much pride as he could muster after the restless night.

Besides the rats keeping him up, worry over the activities left behind kept his mind full. Had Doshan searched him out at his townhouse to learn of what went on at the docks, especially after he never returned? Had Doshan discovered that the dwelling was mostly vacant with belongings packed and ready for transport? If he had…

“My apologies, love.” Gin opened the hold cage and entered the tiny space, pleased when his treasure stayed his ground. “Never did I mean to cause ye discomfort.” He touched a fallen curl of hair resting upon Torin’s forehead, then brushed the back of his fingers over a stubbly cheek. “I had expected Master Stone to return ye to my cabin, not place ye below deck.”

Torin narrowed his eyes. “What do you want with me? I am no more than…”

“A fine treasure do ye make for many reasons.” He thought he could listen to Torin’s Lyndian brogue for hours, years, forever, and never grow tired of it, despite having grown to hate the rolling R’s and dipping U’s as much as he hated chocolate, but then he had always been contrary. He motioned to the leather case in the corner of the hold cage. “It contains financial papers for the ryn Ferth empire, aye?”

“Yes. So you took me because I hold the knowledge of their accounts and ledgers?”

“Aye. Since rumors abound that all that is ryn Ferth is truly mine, ‘twould seem most prudent to take the one most familiar with it.”

“And the other reasons?” Torin continued to hold his ground, refusing to fear this man before him despite the lack of civility in his eyes. He knew that Kynon…Gin would never hurt him, it was easy to see by the look in his eyes, but his knowledge came by other means. Actually he was uncertain why he asked, other than to make Kynon…Gin confirm his Reading.

Gin stepped up to the other man, palmed his cheeks, and kissed him. He liked that Torin was ever so slightly shorter than he, liking tilting Torin’s face up, even if it was just by half an inch.

Lifting his head, he rubbed his thumbs over the other man’s lips, and smiled. “In need ye are of cleaning yer teeth, love.”

Not knowing what he felt about the kiss, he stayed angry. “Of course I am need of cleaning my teeth, pirate, but stuck I am down in this hold and…”

“Come then, grab yer case, and we shall adjourn to my quarters so that ye may clean them, and if ye desire, ye may bathe as well. ‘Twill not be said that I am an ungracious host.”

“And what of clothing? What of all my belongings?”

Gin brushed his fingers over Torin’s stubbly cheek once more. “All will be well.”

“Naught will be well, especially when Doshan discovers my disappearance. ‘Tis most likely you have ruined everything!” Torin shoved past Kyn…Gin and ascended the ladder out of the hold, his case gripped tightly in his hand. Right outside the captain’s quarters, a large hand pulled him around. Tired of the manhandling, he jerked his arm away with thoughts of bashing whoever it was with his case.

Seeing Ky…Gin, he offered his haughtiest expression. “What is your issue?”

“Why does it matter if Doshan discovers ye gone? Will he worry over the financial knowledge ye hold? For if so, good, ‘tis what he deserves and worse.”

“Because he will destroy my belongings and there are things that I possess that rather would I not see…” Torin closed his eyes and pulled in several deep breaths. “Not that you would care, would you, the selfish bastard that you are?” Before K…Gin could answer, he whipped around and entered the cabin, sending the door flying closed behind him with hopes of hitting the horrible pirate. He cared not if it was undignified to do so.

Gin caught the door and softly closed it behind him, used to dealing with temper displays such as Torin’s—Rum behaved in such a manner at times. “Why would he destroy yer belongings? It makes nae sense to do so, just because ye disappear…”

Then again, mayhap it would be exactly like Doshan to do so; he was the vindictive sort. Still…

“Because already were my belongings packed, ready to be shipped, and never did I tell him I was leaving Lynda, let alone leaving his employ.”

“Where were ye going?”

“If you must know, already did I plan to seek passage from your captain, Golden Boots. A letter I possess of introduction and explanation from Ellis so that he would allow me on board.”

“Already were ye planning to travel to Ganos…with Capt’n Boots?”

“Yes! And now ruined it you have. Ruined everything!”

–

© A. Jane

“What do you think we ought do once we find the bastards who tried to kill us?” Rum looked up from the cards in his hands—Suede had summoned one of the card tables from storage for them to use and set it up in the bedchamber to keep others from interrupting their game. He studied Suede’s face, looking for the clues that would tell him if he were lying about the cards in his hands.

Card playing with pirates was a whole different game of chance. When one played with pirates, there was always cheating, but that was the object of the game: to cheat—the one who cheats best and often, wins the game. Now, cheating might be the point, but there was one single rule that was always to be obeyed while at the table: cheat if ye will, but never get caught—it ruins the game and nae one wants to play with a cheater.

“Other than kill them?” Suede still felt a grievous wound to his pride, to his worth as a man for not protecting his husband, allowing him to be injured, nearly killed, on the first day of their marriage. He wished to remove the curs from existence for it.

“’Twould not be proper to kill them upon land. Pirates we are, ‘tis not something we do, aye?”

“Aye, ‘tis so; pirates fight not upon the land, but curs they are.”

Rum rubbed his cheek against his shoulder, ridding himself of an itch. “That does offer us more options.”

“Many options. Doubt I do that Chastain would mind how we removed them from Ganos as long as they are gone.” Suede tossed in two debloo, upping the ante. Despite playing for various favors—some sexual, some not—it would be scandalous not to play for coin. He was certain he had this hand, though he had to admit that Rum was a fine card player and produced very few tells, because of this, they were even in various favors.

“Much thought does this need, though mayhap Red has been thinking of a plan. Now that Mack knows of the situation, he and Red will be conferring and have something when we venture below on the morrow.” Rum matched the raise of coin and tossed in three of his own. Suede had tapped his cards with his middle finger and Rum had noticed that he only did so when he was a card off of a proper hand.

“Mentioned Red did that not only are ye a master navigator, ye are a master tactician; I see not why ye are unable to formulate a plan.”

Rum looked at Suede, uncertain what he should think of that. “Why would he say such a thing when always do I need time to think?”

Suede snorted and added once more to the pot. “’Tis yer lack of confidence speaking and only that. A tactician needs not rush.”

“But upon the sea, one must always be quick upon one’s feet, that I need time…”

“First, my husband, we are upon land and in nae rush. Second, ‘tis a lie ye tell yerself. When charting courses, ye use yer knowledge of tides and currents, weather patterns, aye?”

“Aye, of course.”

“Then what happens when weather suddenly changes, or when there is an attack, do ye say ye freeze? Or do ye make adjustments to the course?”

Rum stared at his cards, but he was not seeing them, the straight flush he was holding, he was searching through the last seventeen years of memories. Had he froze? He could not recall for each instance… “Well, there are adjustments to be made.”

“But do ye freeze, or do ye automatically start adjusting?” Suede could see Rum’s mind working. “The voice of doubt clouds ye, but methinks ye are the sort to rush to adjust. Red would not sing yer praises were ye to be the sort to freeze. Besides, were ye not the one who wished to sneak into the Minister Prime’s bedchamber and hold a dagger to his throat?”

“Aye, but…”

“How were ye going to go about it? A navigator always notes the surroundings, as does a tactician. In that regard, one such as yerself who, as a child and now as an adult, had a need to constantly be looking about them, always searching for the best route to escape, would have seen all the finest routes within moments. Do ye disagree?”

“Nae. Always am I aware of what goes on about me and where I am, at least usually.”

“Do ye then say ye were not serious about that mission, of forcing the Minister Prime to speak?”

“I was most serious.” Rum forced himself to slow his breathing, to control the runaway cadence of his heart. “Aye, a plan I had and only needed a quick scout of the grounds to bring it to fruition. This is different.”

“How is forming a plan to rout the curs different? Ye know the layout of Ganos, ye know what yer aim is, there is nae reason to believe ye are incapable of making such a plan.” Suede held up his hand to stop Rum from cutting himself down further. “All of us have faith in ye, my love. Besides, plenty of time there is to formulate this plan and, aye, the family will have thoughts on how to go about it, but mostly are they there for support.” He used that hand to motion to the pile of debloos in the center of the table. “Do ye match the bet or fold?”

Rum picked up several coins, matching Suede’s bet, and tossed them onto the pile. “To truly formulate this plan, I need know where my cousins are hiding and their usual paths of travel. Once I know that, ‘twill be a simple matter.”

Suede nodded, pleased. “Aye, I agree. Hopefully soon we hear from Chastain and Ilora on their findings.” Suede tapped his cards again wondering what sort of hand Rum held and if he could bluff this match. “Do we now discuss favors? Methinks we have added enough gold to the pile.”

“What do you think of sneaking out of the manor and going to Mistress Horn’s? Desire I do a box of her chocolate custard pastries. Mayhap we can purchase Vylla a box of her favorite sweetbuns while we are there.”

“A sweet tooth do ye have, love?”

He grinned. “One would think you would have realized that when I stole your piece of pie after lunch was brought up.”

“Married I am to a thief.”

“Nae, a pirate!” Rum was pleased with the way playing cards was turning out. Yes, they were mainly playing for sexual favors, but it was also relaxing for they were using some of the favors to ask questions and learn of the other—for instance, he found out that Suede enjoyed cooking and desired to fix them a meal. He also liked that they were naked while playing—’twas the first favor Suede had won and claimed.

“Methinks ye avoid discussing the next favor because ye hold a terrible hand. That ye won the previous hand ‘tis yer turn to suggest—as was agreed upon after the very first hand—but if ye want, gladly will I decide.”

“I avoid naught, you rotten rogue.”

“Then what do we play for?”

“The loser of this hand has to buy the pastries I wish for, plus has to pay for the next three jaunts to the bakery nae matter the time of day and what is ordered.”

Suede laughed, liking the silly request, and tapped his cards one last time. “What of the winner, what does he get?”

“Other than many free pastries?”

“Aye. Recall ‘tis favors we play for.”

Rum tapped his cards against his chin. He had already once suggested tying the other up, but Suede had disagreed. He smiled. “An undisclosed sexual favor with nae expiration. It matters not the time or place and can even be collected in the middle of town. Also, the loser has to comply, nae matter the request. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

Rum tossed his cards down. “Be prepared to supply me with pastries, my husband.”

Staring at the cards Rum just presented, his jaw slack, Suede was unable to believe he had been out-cheated…again. 

--

© A. Jane

Betrys stood against the wall drinking her third glass of sparkling wine, as she watched all the couples dancing that evening. She hated the thought of abandoning Rhedyn, but she was considering leaving the gathering early, mayhap before the end of the week; she thoroughly disliked being around the Titled—her friends and loved ones aside. Ever since turning that Dusalla into a taod the first night, the rest of the guests had been avoiding her.

All except one, that is.

Her husband was proving himself most difficult, searching her out, flirting with her. It took all her control not to flirt back and she was failing miserably. She had nearly succumbed to his kisses earlier this evening when he had found her entering her room late in the afternoon to ready for the ball.

On top of that…

She grabbed another glass of sparkling wine from a passing footman, replacing her empty one, and drinking half of it in one gulp.

On top of that, she had expected him to show up in her dreams again last night after having once more kept him out of her bed, but he had not come to her. Had he decided the dreams, the sex, proved unsatisfactory after all, that she was not worth the effort?

Her shoulders tensed.

A serious blow it would be to her already fragile view of herself as a woman, as one who felt passion, were it to be proven true—that Rayn had found her performance lacking. But if that were true, then why did he continue to chase her?

With a sigh, she shoved the troublesome thoughts of her husband out of her mind, deciding to disallow them.

From her vantage point on the far wall, she could see Idrys—he had accepted an invitation to stay on for a few days. He was dancing with Queen Gyrti, who was blushing and smiling like a young woman. Before that, he had danced with Rhedyn and before that with Queen Maryn. The women sure flocked to him, even more so it seemed now that he had embraced his nyn Caro nature completely.

The charming rogue.

She tried to think of him objectively and not as her cousin—she grinned and corrected that thought—not as her brother. Idrys was beautiful in both face and form. He was tall and his muscles were well defined and most women fell instantly in lust with him. A smile from him caused women of all ages to blush and flutter their lashes flirtatiously. Betrys had seen several swoon without provocation.

Despite how attractive Idrys was, his brand of looks had never been her type. Not that she knew her type, just that Idrys or those of similar features weren’t it. Nor had Easal—Kino—been her type. Before the brutal attack ten years ago that had broken his face, Kino had been a very attractive man. Even now with the crooked lines of his face, he proved attractive with his golden red hair and fine form. Yet, she felt nothing for him. Which was fine since Kino had always preferred men to women, preferred Idrys above them all and she had always considered him to be more brother than friend.

What was her type?

Without thinking, a picture of her husband formed in her mind. She thought him most…delicious. Yeryl and Zasara, he was delicious—it was the only word to come to mind when she thought of him. His blue eyes were mesmerizing and fathomless, the angle exotic. His blond hair, of which she couldn’t tell the length, though she suspected it to be quite long, was like a gold debloo. He was taller than Idrys by several inches, and his skin… His skin was kissed by the sun in such a way as to have the look of many hours spent outdoors, which as a pirate he did. She admired the sharp angles of his face, his full lips… She really liked his lips.

The wide breadth of his shoulders, his perfectly formed, muscled body… She wanted to touch him, run her hands all over him.

So did every woman in attendance.

A low growl escaped Betrys’s throat, causing a young Resana to flee from the vicinity.

That morning, she had come across a gaggle of women gathered in the lists, tittering about the fine male form before them, and discovered they were staring at her husband. He and Caryk had been fencing and Aryn’s shirt had been off with sweat glistening over all those fine muscles, plastering down his chest hair. The women had been openly staring with lust in their eyes and she had been tempted beyond reason to lash out at the women for staring and at Aryn for making her feel this way.

Especially when she had been just as transfixed by the sight of him, when her thoughts had been centered on cupping that rounded ass of his in her hands, running her tongue over every inch of his chest, his rippling back.

“Might I have this dance, my wife?” Aryn held his hand out to Betrys. He wondered what was causing her cheeks to be flushed with heat. Was she thinking of him?

She focused her eyes on the object of her thoughts and felt a wave of anger at him.

“Betrys, ‘tis not unreasonable that I would wish to dance with my wife.”

“Ask another to dance and leave me be.”

“I wish not to dance with another. The last woman I danced with stuck her hand in the pocket of my breeches and took hold of my prick; old enough she was to be my grandmother.”

Betrys wanted to demand who dared touch him, desiring to rip the woman to shreds. She just kept the flames from her eyes as she spoke between clenched teeth. “Do you attempt to make me jealous?”

“Are you…jealous?” He saw flames flicker briefly and felt satisfied that his wife did indeed feel jealous. He once more held his hand out. “Please, Betrys, dance with me.”

“Go away.” Betrys finished her glass of sparkling wine and snagged another, but had it jerked out of her hand. “What are you about, Highness?”

Aryn drank the wine and then disposed of the glass. He glared at her. “I have a name, wife!”

She was drunk enough to be careless and dared him. “What will you do if I choose not to use it…them…?”

“Do you enjoy the whispers that circulate about our marital troubles?” He caged her against the wall, his arms on either side of her, his face filled with anger. “Do you enjoy the women pawing at me, attempting to warm my bed, since you are not in it? Because I must tell you, that I am enjoying none of these things.”

“You care not to have the gaggles of women vying for your attention?”

“No!” he hissed. “I care not for it. I only want one woman vying for my attention and that would be you, my wife. Except, you are the only woman not interested. Why?”

“Have I not said I wished not for another husband?” She found herself wanting to wrap her arms around his neck, to nip his chin, dip her tongue into the tiny dimple at the corner of his mouth. She decided it had to be his scent that made her want to do these things, as the masculinity of it was overwhelming her senses.

Aryn leaned forward, wanting to taste her lips. “But you have one. Me. All you have to do is reach out and take, as I am all yours.”

All hers. She liked the sound of that. She blinked and attempted to push him away. “No.”

“Aye,” he whispered as he brushed his lips over hers, the pirate taking over. “All yers.”

“No… I…”

He had had enough. The prince was n’ot getting the job done, obviously too considerate of Betrys’s feelings, so it was time to give the pirate a chance. Rayn stepped back, but only long enough to pick her up and toss her over his shoulder. He did an about-face and started out of the ballroom.

“Put me down!” Betrys yelled once the shock wore off and started pounding on Rayn’s back.

“Nae.”

“Might I ask where you are taking my cousin?” Idrys stepped in front of Rayn, and it was obvious it was Rayn; the princely civility was gone from the man’s eyes.

“’Tis none of yer concern,” he growled low. “She is my wife and we are leaving.”

“Put me down, you rotten scoundrel!”

“Not until I am ready, woman.” Rayn glared at Idrys. “Do ye interfere?”

“No, just curious where you might be taking her, Your Highness, but hurt her and I will hunt you down.” Idrys stepped aside and allowed the pirate to pass, Betrys still pounding on his back.

“Idrys, I demand you help me!” Betrys yelled.

“Worry not, I will watch over Zeti while you and your husband mend the rift betwixt you.” Idrys waved to her retreating form.

“I knew he would mess this up,” Maryn spoke from Idrys’s right, watching her grandson exit the ballroom, her arms crossed over and resting upon her waist. “Never has he been able to follow a simple plan.”

“Think I do that this way is better.” He laughed. “Serves Betrys right for pushing him to this point.”

“And what of the scandal?”

“That I am a nyn Caro, a scandal is a favorite pastime.”

Maryn grinned. “’Tis not new for the ayn Gyls either. Compared to the antics of my husband, this… This will be easy.”

--

© A. Jane

Lightning flashed across the sky, lighting the room in a sudden burst of brilliance. Jayd froze, his body and mind at war. He wanted to fling open the window and join the sky in slinging power about—Yeryl and Zasara he wanted to do that—but he knew Magic was going to come running into the room, frightened, wanting to make certain neither he nor Sari were going to leave him.

As the second strike of lightning bloomed bright, Magic came running into the room as predicted and leapt onto the bed. Sari, who was already sitting up and wearing Jayd’s shirt, prepared as she was after the first flash of lightning, caught Magic and pulled him in close, offering him the comfort he sought.

“All is well, my little love; your papa and I are right here.”

“The storm…”

“’Tis outside and offers us no harm.” She quietly began to hum, wishing to soothe Magic’s anxiety.

“Magic,” Jayd ran a hand over his son’s flyaway hair, “I wish to share something with you. Uncertain I have been how to show you for never would I wish to offer you fright. ‘Tis part of my magik as a Lightning and a part of me, an important part.”

Another strike of lightning and Magic buried himself further against Sari.

“Know you that never would I bring you harm, yes?”

“Mh.” Magic nodded but stayed huddled against Sari.

“Magic, look at me. I would show you something.” When he could see his son’s eyes, he held out his hand and little bits of lightning danced upon his palm. “Lightning, ‘tis a gift of mine.” The bits of lightning arced from his palm to his thumb then from finger to finger before returning to his palm and dancing a jig on the two legs it grew. It was a trick that his own father showed him when he was a lad.

Magic ducked away hiding against Sari, but then slowly turned back hearing and feeling Sari clapping and laughing. He stared at the streaks of light racing around his father’s hand, soon mesmerized and unaware of the strikes of lightning outside.

“Ye have lightning, Papa.”

“I do. ‘Tis a part of me, always has it been. On a night like this, I would open the window and send it out into the sky, to see who could make the better strikes. But never would I frighten you, son.”

“Ye talk like ye do in Berja.”

Jayd laughed. He then took on the parlance of his pirateself. “I am. Methinks I forgot to change after Sari’s papa left.”

“But why would ye be different?”

“Not everyone need know that I be a pirate.”

“Like Uncle Arno?”

“He knows—his mother, my great grandmother was a pirate, just like my grandpapa was, and Aunt Sprite is—but I need be the Titledman for the rest of Berja. That Sari’s papa be a king as well, ‘twas proper for me to be the Titledman with him as I will need be Titledman for much of Artezan since we belong to Sari and she be their princess. But when we are upon the sea, always will we be pirates.”

Magic nodded, a little smile on his face, but just as quickly buried himself back against Sari when a loud clap of thunder rolled overhead. “Stay.”

“We go nowhere, my little love.”

Jayd brushed a hand over his son’s hair, feeling helpless. “Magic, all is well.”

“Mayhap, rogue, you might show Magic just how pretty lightning can be.”

“Aye.”

Leaving the bed, but after putting on a pair of breeches and a warming spell—it was winter after all—Jayd walked over to the wide window and pulled the two sides open, the curtains fluttering dramatically. He breathed deep of the lightning charged air, letting it wash over him. It prickled his skin and dared him to step outside, to dance with the danger. Had it been just he, he might have done so.

He heard his son whimper and looked over his shoulder: Sari had moved to the edge of the bed, Magic still tight in her arms, a blanket wrapped about the two of them to ward off the cold of the night. “Watch your papa, Magic. Right here I am and I go naewhere.”

Thrusting his hand out the window, he built up his magik, let the lightning spark and flurry about his hand. When it felt ready, he flung it towards the sky in an impressive eruption of light. Flaring his fingers wide, he made it bloom, jagged veins spreading out across the sky.

He grinned over his shoulder when Sari clapped and cheered. Magic was staring with the beginnings of awe. Relief filled him, shoving away the fear that he terrorized his child.

“Shall I do it again?” More relief when Magic nodded. “That a lad.”

Jayd once more gathered the magik about his hand and sent it dancing towards the sky. This time he heard two sets of clapping and, with growing confidence, set about working a third strike. By the fifth strike he was starting to get a little fancy with how he was throwing the lightning, buoyed by his son’s cheers.

He was about to send out his seventh strike, his heart rate and breath steady, his fingers not yet tingling, when a slender man—one could almost call him wispy—appeared on the low stone wall surrounding the terrace in a flash of light. Jayd held the lightning; waiting, prepared to send it at the stranger did he dare make a threatening move.

The man hopped down from the wall, an arrogant smirk twisting his lips. He had white blond hair and shadowy skin with patches of pale, which appeared to move as he did. The man wore naught but a white cloth about his hips and Jayd knew not how it stayed on as the wind grabbed at it ruthlessly, let alone how he withstood the cold.

“Are you the fool who dared challenge me?”

“I…I offered no challenge.”

“Sending lightning into the sky while I did so, I take that as a challenge. Did no one teach you any manners, mortal?”

“I wished to show my son that he need not fear storms.”

“Of course he needs fear storms. Storms are things to be feared!” He threw his arms out and lightning flared overhead followed by a loud boom of thunder, chortled at the child’s cry of fear.

“Who are you?” Jayd kept his eyes on the stranger, trusting Sari to keep Magic safe. He wanted to let loose the lightning he held, angered that this man dared frighten Magic. But the bastard called him mortal. He wished not to fight a possible guardian, never would he survive.

‹‹’Tis Father Air’s fool of a son, Arelev. Very few immortals hold any like for him. He is unpredictable, oft volatile, and always a fool. Be most wary of him, my son.››

Arelev snorted. “Mortals, they forget so easily. I am…”

“Leaving.” Nekor grabbed Arelev by the scruff of the neck, made the other man look at him. “’Tis my nephew you threaten and ‘tis not a deed I look kindly upon.”

“He challenged me!”

“No, you eternal fool! Descended he is from The Lightning. The storm drew him and he did what only comes instinctually to his Line, to his Blood. Do you think to threaten he or his family again, my actions will not be so benevolent.” With that, Nekor turned and…

He had thought to throw Arelev into the sky, but changed his mind. With a wave of his hand, he opened a doorway. Beyond stood a giant of a man at a workbench pounding something with a hammer, sparks flying about him, soft grunting noises slipping from his lips with each strike. The man looked over, a frown upon his face, the long scar on his cheek pulled tight. Father Fire used to wear a beard, one that reached beyond his collarbones, which hid the scar, but too often it caught fire as he worked.

“Nekor.”

“Father Fire, I do apologize for the intrusion, but I thought you might care for a bit of company.” He shoved Arelev through the portal. “Mayhap your forge is in need of a boost?”

Father Fire grunted as he brought his hammer down once more, all without looking at what he struck. He stepped back from his bench, large hammer still in hand, and tossed what he was working on into the furnace. He scratched his chin, missing his beard—mayhap a short one would cause no issue—and stared at the heap that was Arelev. Another grunt.

“My forge could indeed use a boost, though I am uncertain of the company. What manner of trouble is he in this time?”

“He thought to threaten his mortal sibling line for daring to compete against him, though ‘twas quite unknown there was competition.”

“Which line?”

“The Lightning’s. The one in question is Önia’s mortal son.”

“The fool does hold an unbecoming ego and an overblown sense of pride. I assume I need not ask whose lightning was best?”

“My nephew has quite a knack, but ‘twas for his son he offered such creativity; the lad holds a fear of storms and he wished to ease his fright.”

Father Fire looked through the portal at the three mortals, the child held tight against the woman, the man standing ready to defend his family. The man was definitely from the House of Lightning with the silver hair at his temples and those lightning-flecked blue eyes. He found himself smiling when the little boy peeked from the woman’s hold with large, wide eyes, but he sensed no fear of him. It had been a time since he was around children. He liked children. But for some reasons the others thought he jested about such a thing. Just because he oft disliked their children meant not he disliked all children.

“My apologies for this fool’s behavior; he thinks too highly of himself.”

Arelev sat up. “He challenged me!”

“Hush, you fool,” Father Fire hissed. Small streams of smoke curled from his mouth. “How could he offer challenge when he knew not that you even existed? No, answer not. Be of some use, go aid my forge.” Turning from the other immortal, offering his back to the fool as he walked to the portal doorway, he gave his attention to Magic. “What is your name, little one?”

“I be Magic Stryke. Mamé was Fierce Stryke.”

“I should have guessed. Never would a Stryke feel fear of me.” Of their Father of Fathers, but he kept that to himself wishing to protect the child from the others. “Ah, I know what you need!” Father Fire held his hand out and a finely forged sword and expertly tooled scabbard appeared in his hand. “A gift. Always will Stryka serve you well, never harming you unless you harm her.”

“’Tis beautiful,” Magic whispered, certain he had never seen shinier treasure. He wanted to go touch it, to mayhap give it a hug. “She sings, too.”

“Aye, she does, but only to those deserving of her.” He placed the sword and scabbard just inside the room and leaned it against the wall, gave the handle a soft pat. Father Fire turned to Jayd. “You will keep Stryka safe until your lad is of an age, teach him how to care for her properly, or I will know the why of it.”

“Aye, ‘twill be guarded most fiercely.”

“Before I go, might I see your lightning, lad? Your Mother of Mothers is quite spectacular with her ability; always does she enjoy offering a demonstration.”

Jayd nodded, what else could he do? He forced himself to walk back to the window having moved to stand before Sari and Magic when the second immortal arrived. His feet felt like slabs of unliftable stone, his mind bombarded by Nekor’s presence—though far was it from the time Nekor spoke directly within his mind. Still was he Jayd. Still was he in control of himself.

With a deep breath, he called the magik back to his hand, felt the spark and crackle prancing about his fingers. How was he to do this? What sort of demonstration was Father Fire looking for? Such pressure he felt. What would happen did his magik fizzle?

“Ye can do it, Papa!” Magic yelled.

He felt himself relax hearing his son cheer for him. He could do this. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he offered a broad pirate’s grin. “For ye, my fierce lad, always.”

--

© A. Jane