Mistake of Magic Read online

6

  River

  River gave Coal an hour to work off his aggression before reining in the male. In truth, River would have gladly let Coal wipe the sand with Malikai all bloody day, but they could keep the Elders Council waiting for only so long.

  As it was, by the time the five of them descended from the practice arena, a footman was already waiting impatiently to show them to a chamber where they could change and freshen up before attending the waiting council.

  “You absolutely cannot go in your fighting leathers,” River growled at Coal, who’d been leaning against the wall as if the process in no way involved him.

  “At least I have pants on,” Coal jerked his chin at Tye, who appeared to have forgotten about his own clothing as he watched Leralynn negotiate the formal dress Autumn had packed for her.

  The luscious blue satin fit the girl’s curves with sinful perfection, its skirts full and shifting like water in the light slanting through the windows. Rows of tiny diamonds accented the tight bodice and flowered down the back, where the material narrowed to a sparkling column along Leralynn’s spine. The delicate cut of her shoulder blades peaked like wings beneath her smooth skin.

  River swallowed, throwing cold water over his face in an effort to release the sudden tightness in his breeches. Shade’s low chuckle dispelled River’s hopes that the moment had gone unnoticed.

  By the time the five approached the tower, the council’s patience had grown so thin that one of them was waiting outside. And not just anyone.

  River stepped in front of Leralynn as the five approached Klarissa, who stood elegantly on the steps of the marble tower, her painted lips as bright as glowing embers. Despite being dressed in an elder’s formal robes, Klarissa was as feminine as always, the champagne diamond on her finger—the same color as her flowing silk robe—failing to melt her icy gaze. The sun, bouncing off the white stone at her back, created an aura of light around the female and played off the golden thread woven into her dark chignon.

  And yet . . . Leralynn’s untamable waves of fiery hair somehow gave her a deliciously raw quality, a rugged sensuality that made Klarissa’s cold perfection feel stale in comparison.

  “You do us too great an honor, meeting us outside the tower, Elder,” River said with a bow.

  “I feared you might have forgotten the way,” Klarissa replied, her alto voice as musical as it was callous.

  “How is wee Pyker?” Tye drawled casually, swaggering up on Klarissa’s other side. “Has the council tried him yet for treason?”

  River swallowed a groan. Needling Klarissa, as damn good as it felt, was squarely outside the realm of “smart things to do” when going before the council. Not that prudency had ever stopped Tye from doing something before.

  Klarissa’s hard eyes cut to the redhead, who blinked innocently. “Unfortunately, the rogue took his own life before justice could be served.”

  “Indeed,” River said dryly. Now that Tye had started this conversation, there was little use in pretending they’d expected anything different. A death or two had never presented an obstacle to Klarissa’s agenda before, and there was no reason to expect it would now. River’s heart thumped a hard, even beat. The sooner they could get Leralynn away from the Citadel, the better he’d feel.

  Draping his arms loosely behind his back, River followed Klarissa’s swaying hips up the four hundred seventy-seven steps lining the inside of the tower’s walls. The rhythmic click of the female’s heels against stone beat a contrast to Leralynn’s increasingly labored breathing behind him. River looked back. Stars. He forced his eyes away from the girl before all the blood in his body left his mind to visit more primal regions. Still, if he could just lift her into his arms and carry her up the steps . . .

  “She wouldn’t like it,” Coal murmured at his back, too keenly for River’s comfort.

  River grunted noncommittally. Why under all the stars the mortal female measured her physical prowess against theirs, he couldn’t fathom. Leralynn brought life to the quint—no one needed her to bring muscle to it too. They had more than enough brawn to go around.

  Reaching the landing outside the council’s chamber, River let Klarissa go ahead while he and the others waited for Shade and Leralynn to catch up. The males had slowed in deference to Leralynn’s pace, but River could still smell the blood rushing too quickly beneath her blushing skin, her breathing harsh in her chest, her light dusting of freckles more pronounced than usual.

  Stopping on the landing beside River, Leralynn braced her hand on the wall and smiled at him bravely, her dimples making his heart clench.

  Shouldering Coal out of the way, Shade put the flat of his palm against the small of Leralynn’s back in a too-casual gesture that neither River nor any of his quint brothers missed. Leralynn stiffened, her eyes widening as her panting eased, her skin returning to its natural color.

  “A useful trick,” she murmured to Shade, who raised his brows in a plea of innocence.

  River longed to touch the girl as well, just to reassure himself that Leralynn was in fact real and there and all right. His heart quickened as he took a step toward her. Stars. River was over five hundred years old, and somehow, closing the three-pace distance to Leralynn frightened him more than any battle. It was absurd. It was stupid. It was—

  It was too late. River stepped aside as Tye beat him to it, putting his hands on Leralynn’s face and brushing a soft kiss right over those luscious lips.

  “Just in case you’d forgotten about me, lass,” Tye said, his cocky voice filling the landing. “Not that it’s likely.”

  “It’s time to go,” River said, more roughly than he’d intended. He turned and reached for the chamber’s large door. The sooner they walked in there, the sooner they could leave.

  The Elders Council chamber was undeniably grand, a circular room lined with tall, arched windows and covered in a series of vibrant murals depicting the fae leaving Mors and creating Lunos. Golden trim lined each window and the edge of the domed ceiling, which rose to a small circular skylight two stories above. A single table on a raised dais in the center was carefully positioned to bathe the elders in the rays of sunlight flowing through the windows. It was an impressive set-up designed to project an image of divine power, but River had been here often enough to know that the elders rotated the table as the sun traveled across the sky, the radiant light little more than a well-made calculation.

  Like Klarissa, the others wore voluminous silk robes, each in his own color. Blood red, deep green, sapphire blue, and—for the head elder and quint commander, sitting in the center chair—midnight black. The elders’ silhouettes cast long shadows along the floor, stretching over the marked line where solicitors were to stand. The most powerful quint in Lunos. And, until now, the only mixed-gender one.

  Stepping up to the well-worn line, River spread his feet shoulder-width apart, bowing his head respectfully while the others fell into line beside him, Shade and Tye flanking Leralynn. The girl was most comfortable with the shifters, who were healthier for her than River could ever be. As he watched, Leralynn’s eyes narrowed on the elders’ shadows, then slipped along the floor in search of something—marks of wear, most likely. So she’d figured out the light trick already. Smart girl.

  “The meeting of the Elders Council of the Citadel will come to order,” said the tall black-robed male in the raised middle seat, his voice booming off the domed ceiling. The silver hair hanging loose to the male’s shoulders concealed part of a jagged scar that narrowly missed his right eye. He gripped a palm-sized stone sphere and struck it against a carved wooden cradle on the table before him. That thud, too, echoed. “I am Elder Beynoir, the head of the council. With me are Elders Vallyann, Klarissa, Hairan, and Elidyr. Standing before the dais are River of Slait, Shade of Flurry, Tye of Blaze, Coal, and a mortal female.”

  “Leralynn,” the girl said suddenly, flinching as the marble dome amplified her voice.

  Tye—who bloody well should have known to keep his mouth s
hut—snorted softly.

  “Your pardon?” Beynoir frowned down at her, as if surprised to discover that the mortal had the power of speech. In his defense, most immortals tended to lose said power upon walking into this chamber and grasping the council’s power over them.

  “My name, sir.” This time, at least, Leralynn bowed. “It seems more efficient to call me Leralynn, rather than ‘that mortal female’ over and over again.”

  Elder Elidyr, sitting in his green robe at the opposite end of the table from Klarissa, suppressed a smile. With a lively oval face and thick brown hair plaited down the back of his neck, Elidyr had always been more comfortable sitting in a saddle than a chair, and he was the one council elder whose support and fairness River could count on absolutely. But Elidyr was only one of five.

  Beynoir shifted in his seat, his black robes rippling in stark contrast to his light hair. “Yes, thank you.” His voice rose. “I understand that you five have come to request assistance in severing the tether between the fae and the mortal—Leralynn.” Beynoir paused to incline his head at her. “Such that Leralynn might return to the safety of the mortal lands while the fae remain able to reclaim the full power of their quint.”

  In the corner of his eye, River saw Leralynn’s mouth open and shot her a warning glance that she, by some miracle of the stars, obeyed. “I fear you’ve been misinformed, Elder Beynoir,” River said crisply into the silence. “The magic has chosen a fifth warrior to complete my quint. We come before the council not to shatter the bond, but to renew our oath.” He paused, carefully keeping his gaze on Beynoir alone. “We informed Elder Klarissa of this a week ago.”

  Beynoir frowned. “Klarissa?”

  The female waved a slender hand, her champagne diamond flashing on her finger. “I little wished to prejudice you against them in hopes that common sense, duty, and safety would have prevailed before they arrived here. It appears, however, that I’ve given these five more credit than they are due.”

  Beynoir’s brows narrowed at River, his hooked nose dominating his scarred face. “A mistake of magic has been made. Am I to understand that instead of correcting it, you wish to follow this error to its inevitable chaotic end and pledge a quint’s oath with the bonded human?”

  “Yes, sir,” River said.

  “Ridiculous.” Klarissa’s gaze focused on her nails. “A mortal cannot complete a quint. It is fortunate the council is here to intervene when young males think with organs other than their brains, Elder Beynoir.”

  “If the council intervened every time a male’s cock got in the way of common sense, we’d have no time for anything else, Klarissa,” Elidyr said from the opposite side of the table, thoughts already racing in his intelligent eyes. “And I recall much the same once being said of us, for our mixed-gender bond. I’ll say now what I said then—the magic chooses the quints, not the council.”

  “We are all fae, Elidyr,” Klarissa said. “This girl is human. It is absurd to pit her against Mors, and I submit that the council cannot set a precedent for absurdity.”

  Elidyr opened his wide palms, his thick braid swaying as he turned to address the head elder directly. “The wisdom of the quint’s request is immaterial. The bond cannot be severed without the consent of all five quint members, unless one of them faces imminent death. I thus see little point in this discussion.”

  “On the contrary”—Klarissa raised her chin, flashing a triumphant glance at River—“if these beings insist on tying themselves to a mortal, they can go to the mortal lands with her.”

  “Enough.” Beynoir knocked the stone sphere against its wooden cradle, quieting the room. Seconds passed as the elder gazed down at the quint, tracing his scar with one long finger, each heartbeat tightening his jaw further. “I agree with Klarissa,” he said finally, the words echoing in the silence. “Pitting a mortal against the qoru will unduly endanger her and Lunos both. You five are playing into an accident, and that is not something I will condone.”

  Ice rushed down River’s spine. “Sir—”

  Beynoir raised a hand. “I may be unable to force you to sever the bond, but I need not make accommodations for you, either. You may, as Klarissa suggested, leave the Citadel’s neutral lands. Otherwise, you will be required to enter the Citadel as a new quint, and shall be treated as such.”

  For the first time since walking into the chamber, River’s voice faltered. “You would have us start over as a new quint, sir?” he asked. “As first-trial initiates? After three hundred years of experience?”

  “You have no years of experience being bonded to a mortal, River,” Beynoir snapped. “Other re-bonded quints are granted their former status as a matter of courtesy, not law. If you would like to remain in Lunos, you will all submit to the Citadel’s rules. Bare your skin to receive the trial runes, or leave Lunos. Those are your choices.”

  Behind River’s back, his grip on his own wrist tightened so hard, his hand fell asleep. He and the other fae could face the trials again, weather the humiliations poured onto initiates, fight their way out before Klarissa’s training succeeded in ending one of their lives. But Leralynn. Stars. It wasn’t worth it. Nothing was worth putting her through that. Turning to the girl, River shook his head.

  Leralynn watched him for a moment, her beautiful brown eyes filled with warmth—and apology. Before River could move to stop her, she raised her face, turning directly to Beynoir. “Where do the runes go, sir? I’m ready to receive them, but I could use some instruction.”

  7

  Lera

  The weight of all eyes turned on me is as heavy as the council chamber’s echo, but it is only River’s gaze that I return. His square jaw is clenched, his gray eyes tight, his broad shoulders braced to bear the weight of all the stars—or rally a force against them. River’s stance alone marks him a prince, as if he has shed some cloak he wore on his power and now lets it flame brightly.

  No wonder Klarissa cannot let him be.

  “Might we have a moment, Elders?” River says, turning his attention back to the dais.

  A small smile touches the corners of Klarissa’s lips, while Elder Beynoir nods toward the door.

  Except I don’t need River’s moment, don’t want him doubting my choice. I raise my chin, hoping my silence is message enough.

  “Leralynn.” A command from River, who either didn’t see or little cared for my resolve. When I fail to move again, the male grasps the top of my arm, leaving me with the choice of walking out on my own two feet or being dragged.

  I opt for the former, though my heart pounds so hard, it’s all I can do to keep from growling at River, at least until we step out onto the landing. “What the bloody stars was that?” I demand, wheeling on him the moment the door shuts. “You think I’m some sort of child to be marched out of a room?”

  “I think you’ve no notion of what you are agreeing to.” River’s cold calm sends a fresh wave of fury through me. “Once those runes sear into your skin, they stay there until all three trials are completed. There is no second guessing.”

  I rock forward on my toes, tipping my head back to stare into River’s storm-filled eyes. The air between us thickens, as if readying itself for lightning. “Then stop second guessing me,” I tell him, the words escaping clenched teeth. I raise my hand, my index finger striking the middle of his hard chest. “I choose the quint, River. And if this is the price, then I want to pay it.”

  River grabs hold of my wrist, small as a sprite’s in his large, calloused hand. His shoulders spread like wings, claiming all the space around us. “Stop being bloody brave, Leralynn. The trials have killed greater fae than—”

  “I don’t care.” My voice finally cracks. I turn my wrist in his grip and cup his cheek, warm skin rough with new stubble. River’s eyes flare. “I don’t care what they are, or how we get through them. We fight for each other, all right?”

  The tension slowly leaves River’s shoulders but his eyes remain worried.

  I take his arms, give him one soft
shake, though it’s like trying to shake a boulder. “All right?” I say again, softer now. A caress of words along his ragged gaze.

  Closing his eyes, River leans down, touching his velvet lips to my forehead and sending a web of warmth tingling along my skin and soul.

  We walk back into the chamber together, River holding the door open for me before following my steps toward the line of others.

  Klarissa smiles.

  River’s gaze cuts to Shade, Coal, and Tye in turn, the males exchanging subtle but certain nods, before River finally faces the council. “We agree to your terms, Elders,” he announces clearly. “We stand before you as a new quint, requesting initiation into the Citadel.”

  The smile dies, Klarissa’s olive skin flushing a deeper hue that plays off her brown eyes. “Then kneel, initiates. You do not stand in the presence of council elders.”

  River sinks obediently to his knees, his back and face remaining tall. The others and I follow River’s example, though it looks less than graceful on my part—and positively edged with murderous violence on Coal’s.

  The rough stone shreds my knees, the impact of the fall vibrating through my bones. My shackled arms are pinned behind my back, the manacles—there are no manacles. No rough stone. No pain. I’m in a marble council chamber, and one of the elders is speaking again, his voice penetrating the momentary haze even as I stare at my males, my heart breaking. I’ve made them drop to their knees, these proud warriors who’ve fought for three hundred years.

  “Is this truly necessary?” Elidyr says. “I understand the desire to test this quint before sending it out into the field, but do we need to insist on formalities designed to discipline new warriors? The males standing—kneeling—before us would make better instructors than students.”

  “We must insist on formalities now more than ever,” Beynoir counters. “These five have already proven themselves ready to make a mockery of our ways. They shall be treated as all other trainees are.” Beynoir raises his hand, now glowing bright as a hot iron. “The initiates may come up to receive their marks.”