Forbidden Forest (The Legends of Regia) (18 page)

“Honey, I’m home,” he bellowed.

Netriet pulled her knees up higher and wished she could slide through the cracks in the floor.

“You might want to think about sewing those pretty lips closed,” he said. “I don’t like screaming, as I demonstrated to you yesterday.” He looked over at her face for a second. “Yes. I broke your nose, from the look of it.”

Netriet said nothing and averted her eyes. She almost whimpered in relief when he closed the balcony doors, shutting out the cold. The torches began to heat the room, and the warmth felt heavenly. She watched Philippe with a wary eye. He took off his disgusting cloak and threw it over the back of the chair in the corner before sitting down. He gazed at her intently from across the room. His insistent look made her feel examined and violated.

“So, don’t you want to know how my day was, Rita? Or whatever your name is.”

“Netriet,” she answered flatly.

“Ah yes. I think I’ll call you Nettie. Does that suit you?” His politeness frightened her.

“Yes…my lord,” she said quietly. “That suits me fine.”

He scratched his beard. “I’ll tell you plainly, I’m not yet sure what I’m going to do with you.”

Netriet shuddered.

He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. She cowered into her knees as he came towards her…but he didn’t touch her. She glanced up quickly to see him pull a rope next to the door, sounding a loud bell. He walked past her and seated himself again.

In the next moment, the door flung open, and a buxomly she-wolf came into the room carrying a tray of food and a large tankard. She set them down, curtsied, and received a hearty slap to her backside for her trouble. As she turned to go, she spotted Netriet in the corner and stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes round with shock. She made a strangled little gasp and turned back to face Philippe.

“What is the matter with you, wench?” he demanded.

She seemed to have lost her voice and merely pointed at Netriet.

“Yes, I know there’s a vampire in my room. If you would have looked closer you would have seen that she is chained. Don’t worry she’s no assassin. She’s nothing more than a new pet.”

The serving wench’s mouth hung open and her eyes continued to bug.

“GET OUT!” Philippe roared so loudly it seemed like a gust of wind blew from him, blasting back the wench’s hair and flattening her skirts to her legs. She scampered out and slammed the door behind her.

Philippe sighed and took a deep drink. Netriet watched him as he began to eat. Her stomach rumbled. She was taken aback by his manners; he ate his food meticulously and with poise more refined than any vampire noble she’d ever seen.

“Do you think I was too hard on the wench?” he asked her.

“Not at all, my lord. A serving wench is for serving and nothing else, unless she is told so directly. I’d have thrown the insipid creature over the balcony.”

“Would you have?” Philippe asked before barking out a laugh. “I think I might like you. Here.” He threw a hunk of bread to her as if she were a puppy waiting for scraps.

Netriet had to stifle feelings of being gravely insulted. She was trapped, at least for the moment, and it was better if she amused him. She knew he was capable of unspeakable acts, and the worst thing for her to do was incur his anger. Not without difficulty did she swallow her pride—it was large and dry and seemed to be lodged in her throat—but she had to swallow her pride before she could swallow that bread.

When Philippe had finished his dinner, his eyes became cloudy, and he stared at the ceiling. Netriet got the impression he was plotting or daydreaming. The last thing she wanted was to disrupt him and bring his attention back onto her. She made a point to sit as still as she could and even to breathe quietly. Then he really startled her by beginning to sing to himself in a low mumble. She thought she couldn’t understand the words because he was singing so low, but then she realized that she had no hope of understanding the words because he was singing in a language she had never heard before. After a few minutes, she realized that he must have been singing in French. She’d heard the rumors.

When his song was over, he leveled his eyes on her. She looked at the floor. He stared at her for a long time. Finally, he stood up again and walked to the balcony doors. He leaned on the doorframe and gazed out at the night sky. “It’s too bad for you that you weren’t smart enough to not get caught,” he said.

“I’m sorry?” she asked.

“You told me you were a thief.”

“Ah, that. I hate the queen. She looks so petite and innocent, but behind that façade is a cold, calculating monster. She always had it in for me. She’d humiliate me in public. So I thought I’d teach her a lesson and take her favorite thing. I pried the central diamond off the front of her crown and sold it for next to nothing to a merchant.”

“You’re an interesting creature, Nettie.”

“When I was found out, it was my confession of the amount I received for the diamond that did more damage to me than anything. I knew the price would piss her off something terrible, but I stupidly believed I’d get out of it with some light punishment, not a death penalty.”

“Yes. I also misjudged the weight of a crime once, a long time ago, before I was Philippe.” He turned around to face her, a small smile on his face. “That wasn’t always my name. Did you know that?”

“I guessed as much. It’s not a werewolf name. It’s French, right?”

His smile broadened. “Yes. That’s right. I ran away to Earth after being convicted of a crime and sentenced to death. I settled in Paris and thrived for many years.”

“Then why didn’t you stay there?” she asked.

“Ah, well, pretending to be human all the time was rather wearing, and I’d been spotted too many times in my beast form. The humans began hunting me. They are terrible hunters, for the most part, but occasionally an alpha human would surface and give me some trouble.”

Netriet began to feel a cold dread spreading through her stomach. She didn’t want to hear his tale, but she was in no position to stick her fingers in her ears and loudly chant
la, la, la, la, la
!

“Philippe was the name I had assumed on Earth. Seeing how I wanted to bring Paris back with me, I decided to keep it. In any case, I had to reinvent myself if I was going to come home. My real name still carries a death sentence. It is a pity, for my father gave me a strong wolf name. Do you want to be the only living creature in Regia to know it?”

“Yes and no, my lord.”

He chuckled at her. “My real name is Mach.”

“Why would you tell me? Why risk so much?” Netriet asked.

“There is no risk. Dead vampires tell no tales.” He gazed out of the window and was silent for a time. “To be honest, which is something I have not been in such a very long time, I’m lonely,” he said quietly. “I haven’t actually talked to someone openly since before I killed my mate.”

Netriet watched the back of his hulking figure as he told her his secrets.

“Her name was Tarrin. She was an awful bitch, but she came from a prominent family, and mating with her gave me status. She was too stupid to realize that I’d targeted her. She actually believed I loved her. Well, that and my French accent used to drive her wild.” Philippe turned around abruptly. “What do you think about that?” he demanded.

“Like you said, she was stupid. A woman with a title must never trust a suitor with none.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Yes. You would not have made such a mistake.”

“I should say not!” she said emphatically.

He threw his head back and laughed again. “Thank you for the conversation,” he said sincerely. “Power is a frigid mistress.” Philippe strode back to his chair and sat down, dropping the relaxed friendliness and looking at her now in a calculating way. “So, now I’m wondering what other information you might have that would prove useful to me?”

Netriet straightened her sore spine. She had been forced to tell him the message by the collar, but she had no intention of telling him anything else. She didn’t know much anyway. She was not a traitor to her own kind. The elf was the mole. If she ever escaped, the information she had would cause quite the stir. However, she had to use her head in dealing with Philippe.

“If I knew anything dangerous or secret I wouldn’t have been chosen to be a messenger.”

Philippe scratched his beard, again giving her that intense stare. “That may be. But I must find out for sure. And…” He pulled the collar out from his pocket. “I need to learn the knack of this object.”

Netriet froze inside. Wearing the collar had been the single most awful experience of her life. She hadn’t even considered that he would put it back on her. The elf had known what she was doing; he had no idea how to make it do what he wanted. Well, it looked like after some intense pain, she would be spilling her guts anyway and then dying.

All that night, Netriet’s cries of pain reverberated through the mountain.

****

Kendel paced a rut in his sitting room floor. He didn’t like how complicated his life had become in the course of the last few days. His house was darkened and the only light in the sitting room came from the flickering fireplace. When Kendel’s secret guest opened the door and walked into the room, he had to remind himself that it was an honor. Situations that were supposed to make him feel honored and important always made him feel queasy instead.

King Zeren dressed plainly and discreetly in a black hooded cloak. What amazed Kendel was that he was completely alone. There wasn’t even a single guard standing outside. Secrecy was all well and good, but the king was being downright reckless.

“What have you learned?” Zeren asked without preamble.

“Our suspicions have mostly led me to more suspicions, my King. There is a mole within Fortress though I have yet to learn their identity. But they are a large spider and have been threading Fortress with their web for a long time. I catch tail ends of web and then it turns to smoke in my hands.”

Zeren sighed. “Is there anything that you can tell me for sure?”

Kendel began to shake ever so slightly. He took a deep steadying breath before plunging ahead. “The hit on Syrus five years ago was not contracted by Philippe.”

“What?” In the dim light Kendel could see the king’s jaw clench.

“No, my King. The hit was contracted by a member of the
Rune-dy
.”

Zeren looked like he’d been slapped in the face. But the shock quickly gave way to rage.

“I don’t yet know if the
Rune-dy
as a whole is responsible, it may have been a rogue action.”

Zeren’s flashing eyes stared deep into the fire. “This gives me much to think on,” he whispered, and without another word he turned on his heels and left.

Chapter Thirteen

KITCH HAD gone past his patrol boundaries, venturing out until the dim light of Kyhael was only a speck in the distance. His mind wandered in the darkness. Patrol was a terrible, boring nuisance. Nothing ever happened in his area or time block. No one traveled through the area at this time of night. It was protocol that he remained invisible for the duration of his watch. He didn’t mind that, it made it easier to imagine he was somewhere else. Kitch knew the area backward and forward; the ground, the sounds, and the scents were familiar. So when an out of place scent flew up his nose, he had to stop and smell carefully before allowing himself to be shocked and confused.

Forest held her head in her hands, her embarrassment refusing to go away. Syrus lay sleeping next to her. She couldn’t believe that she had jumped on him and burned his neck. She also had the awful feeling of exposure, knowing that she had been dreaming about Leith and maybe she had mumbled something in her sleep. She hoped desperately if Syrus heard anything it was unintelligible.

Forest groaned. She was suffering from such a backward emotion she felt stupid once she recognized it. She didn’t want Syrus to know about Leith for many reasons, but mostly because it felt like she was cheating. The stupid part was that she felt she was cheating on Syrus with Leith instead of cheating on Leith with Syrus. Preoccupied by her thoughts and feelings, Forest didn’t sense the presence looming in the distance.

She gasped as Syrus sat upright like someone had stabbed him with a cattle prod.

“What is it?”

“Stay here,” he ordered and bolted off into the darkness before she could say another word.

Being invisible didn’t hide Kitch from Syrus. Kitch smelled the vampire, but he was more than a little taken aback to see him charging at him through the dark. Syrus skidded to a halt in front of Kitch, both his swords drawn.

“I know exactly where you are, elf,” Syrus said in a deadly tone. “If I kill you while you’re invisible, do you think anyone will ever find you?”

Kitch took a step back, wanting to put more distance between him and this deranged vamp. “Whoa! Let’s calm down! I’m just on patrol. It’s my job to intercept any travelers in this area and question them. Please lower your weapons. In case you didn’t know, our peoples are allied.”

Kitch exhaled as Syrus lowered his swords to his sides. He surveyed him carefully. He was certainly dressed strangely and the crop of his hair would suggest that he was a servant, or even a slave. He emanated a powerful aura that caused Kitch’s suspicion to percolate, but he knew that just because someone might have no social standing didn’t mean they lacked in strength of spirit. Kitch judged that Syrus was of no importance and should be allowed to go on his way. But he was bored and decided to question him thoroughly. “All right.” Kitch tried his best to sound authoritative. “What’s your story? Why are you traveling through this area with two companions?”

Syrus crumpled his brow. “I have only one companion.”

“I’m in no mood to play. I can smell them. You left an elf and a shifter behind.”

Syrus smiled at him. “No. There’s nothing wrong with your nose, but what you are smelling is a Halfling. Half elf, half shifter.”

“
Really
?” Kitch was angry with himself for sounding so juvenile and eager. He tried to pull his voice back to stern. “Okay. Why are the two of you out here and where are you going?”