Kiss of the Goblin Prince (12 page)

Dai shivered like ghosts were caressing his skin. He didn’t like remembering his past. There was too much of it, and too much he didn’t wish to think about. The breeze swirled around him, creating shadows at the corners of his vision. If he succumbed, he’d never find his way out of the dark.

***

The candle on the desk didn’t stop the shadows from closing in, but it kept them out of reach and was softer than the electric light. Maybe having some light while Dai slept would keep his nightmares at bay…maybe, but not likely. He doubted even Amanda sleeping upstairs would be enough to bring him pleasant dreams. He stared at the little flame and stifled a yawn.

In the Shadowlands he’d been tired, but not sleepy. Before that, as a slave, he’d slept with one eye open, jerking awake at the slightest sound. He must have slept peacefully as a child before the Romans had first arrived and the battles had started.

He had vague memories of being held by his mother—sharper memories of the tiny baby who survived after she died. His father and Roan were busy, and no one worried about him, the second son, so he made sure she was okay and well looked after. He just needed to feel as important as his older brother, so he became Mave’s protector and made sure she was treated like the princess she was. He was thinking of his sister as he fell asleep, but Claudius still claimed his dreams.

***

Not
even
the
curse, and the ugly goblin body, had saved him from General Claudius’s attention. Like Roan, Dai was compelled to answer all summonses. He was called to the general’s private chambers, as the Decangli rebellion surrendered and died, to find eleven-year-old Mave held in one of Claudius’s hands, and a sword in the other. On the floor was the body of Drem, his cousin and Meryn’s younger brother, his face slack with death as his blood seeped into the rugs. While every other man had been fighting, trying to throw the Romans off Decangli land, Drem had been with the general.

Dai
knew
why. The traitor was killed by his own greed. But being right was a bitter reward, Drem had been a trusted friend.

“Your sister is quite pretty, don’t you think?” Claudius squeezed her arm until her skin was white beneath his fingers. “How fast do you think I can make her cry?”

Mave
didn’t flinch. She didn’t even scream when she saw him. Did she recognize him? Did she know what had become of her brothers?

“Leave her alone. She’s a child.” The rasping goblin voice scratched his ears. Was it his?

Claudius
caressed
her
cheek.

Rage
burned
like
acid
in
Dai’s veins, but he couldn’t move. He wanted to rip Claudius’s heart from his chest and force it down his throat and see how he liked to choke. But the curse kept him immobile in the presence of his summoner. Was that what it was going to be like? Never free, always a slave to whomever called them to the Fixed Realm?

“You get to choose her fate. Think of it as my last gift to you.” Claudius stroked her hair. “It’s fitting. The last Queen of the Decangli making peace with Rome. Something your brother wasn’t smart enough to do.”

“Would you befriend a two-headed snake?”

Claudius
smiled. That smile alone woke a thousand unpleasant memories. “Choose. Her life, or her death.”

There
was
no
choice. He wouldn’t let Mave suffer the way he had. “Death.”

The
Roman
general
tossed
Dai
the
sword. “Then go ahead and kill her.”

His
gray,
gnarled
hand
caught
the
sword
even
though
he
wanted
to
let
it
fall
at
his
feet. He watched his arm rise, unable to fight the order. Mave stared into his bulging yellow eyes; she didn’t blink or cower. Even if Claudius wasn’t holding her, she was true to her bloodline. The last queen standing proud.

Her
lips
moved
as
she
whispered
her
final
words, “I forgive you.”

Then
his
hand
slit
her
throat
while
his
mind
screamed.

Claudius
dropped
her
as
if
she
were
a
sack
of
rags. Dai couldn’t move to catch her and lay her down gently.

“You’re dismissed.”

***

Dai woke with a jolt. Nausea from the sweet scent of blood rolled in his stomach, and his skin was cold as if the Shadowlands had invaded his sleep to keep the nightmare alive. He hated that dream. Even being in the Fixed Realm didn’t remove the sharp edges of Mave’s death. He’d never been able to tell Roan what had happened that night.

When the six of them had regrouped in the Shadowlands after that first summons to the Fixed Realm the night of the rebellion, no one had spoken. It was bad enough to have been cursed by the druid, but to be summoned back to the Fixed Realm to watch the massacre was devastating. They were in a state of shock after watching the slaughter of their kin. Then they all had their own private summons, the final punishment for daring try to throw off the Roman yoke, but they didn’t share what they were compelled to do. It was bad enough Meryn faded to goblin as they watched. It was easier for Dai to let Roan think he was summoned to kill the traitor, Drem, than to speak the truth. He’d discovered later that Roan had been forced to kill the remaining men who were loyal to their king.

Dai sat up, turned on the light, and blew out the candle. There would be no more sleep, so he pulled out a law book that dealt with property contracts. Study was always a useful distraction from the horror going on around him. It would be useful to know what he was dealing with before he attempted to manipulate reality and buy his apartment.

Chapter 7

Dai locked the door behind him and paused, enjoying the silence. One suitcase and an oversized shopping bag held all his possessions. He moved them to an empty bedroom where he wouldn’t be able to see them and nothing spoiled the emptiness. The space he craved echoed around him; it was nice. Peaceful. He toed off his shoes and walked around barefoot, enjoying the feel of the thick ivory carpet instead of the rock or cold dust of the Shadowlands.

He opened the sliding doors that led from the dining room onto the balcony. From there, Perth stretched out along the Swan River. The only people out were too far below him to be a nuisance; they marched along the footpaths on each side of the traffic. The world was there, only a short drop away if he wanted it. He tapped the railing, unsure what to do next with his freedom. Then he remembered the six-pack of beer in his bag and went inside for a bottle. He’d have a drink and watch the sunset. He hadn’t grown tired of that, or watching the sunrise—not that he could see both from his balcony. Would he ever after missing so many?

With a beer in hand, and the others in the fridge, he went back out to watch the sun melt away and be replaced with velvet blue. There were fewer stars visible than when he was born, and they were different in the southern hemisphere, but he didn’t care. There were stars. There was a moon—hell, there was weather. It wasn’t until they were gone that he realized how much they were a part of living.

His life had been on hold, yet in that holding pattern he learned. He had the knowledge of many lifetimes. And nothing to do with it. He couldn’t correct the errors made in history books. No one would believe him, although he’d left hints to be found over the years. Sometimes they got picked up, most of the time they were ignored. The healing magic he wanted to use, he couldn’t control well enough…that, and Birch was watching him. He glanced over his shoulder as if expecting to see someone, but his apartment was empty and everyone below him was getting on with their lives. No one cared about one man having a drink on his balcony.

He leaned on the railing. The building had been designed so he had no view of his neighbor’s balcony. It was one of the reasons he chose it—that and it was the reality most easily altered to suit his needs. He drained the last of his beer and went inside, leaving the door open to let in the breeze—even the movement of air was worthy of notice simply because his life had lacked it for so long. The curtains fluttered like the delicate wings of a newly hatched moth.

How was he going to follow up on his books when Birch knew he was using magic? He couldn’t plead innocence and curiosity. His lips curved in a bitter smile. It had been a bloody long time since he was able to claim the former, and the latter had been with him all his life.

He closed his eyes. In the quiet he heard music and car engines. He let it fade away until it was just him, the carpet beneath him, the wall at his back, and the cold beer in his hand. From around the edges crept a scent like summer and the sea. Salt and heat. His mind strayed from the blankness until it found the answer. Green eyes and a smile that could melt gold. It lingered in his mind and couldn’t be pushed aside.

He needed a distraction. Something else to focus on. He may not have his books, but he could still experiment with the magic.

Dai opened his eyes so he could see the threads around him. His place was a web. Solid items were woven tight, but even the air was crisscrossed with strands and fibers, some no thicker than a hair, others like rope. Some were smooth, others uneven. He’d yet to remember the subtleties between the different kinds. He was sure he’d learned something about them, but he’d forgotten when he couldn’t manipulate them to break the curse.

He glanced around his place looking for something he could practice on, something with no life, something he couldn’t kill. He saw the empty beer bottle, then looked at the mesh that made up the fridge. Could he get a beer out without opening the door? Inside the web of the fridge, he could feel those that belonged to the beers. He grabbed one and tugged. The bottle slammed against the solid reality of a closed fridge. Glass exploded against the door and his concentration broke.

“Damn.” Three beers left and a mess to clean up. Solids couldn’t pass through each other. But magic could beat physics any day of the week. All he had to do was alter reality instead of blindly groping around like a novice. He should’ve known better. He chided himself, knowing that if his old teachers saw him, they’d be shaking their heads. It had taken a long time for him to earn their respect as a goblin and he wasn’t about to fail their memory now—or himself.

If he wanted a beer, he was going to have to get it with magic, or go without. He refocused his vision and studied the weaves for longer, and while he could’ve opened the door with magic and brought a beer to his hand, that wasn’t what he wanted to do.

With a thread of thought he took hold of the beer and as it approached the door he let it slide against the fibers of the fridge. Instead of trying to break the weave, he let the beer slip through a gap too small for the actual bottle, lifting so it cleared the kitchen island, then the bottle slapped against his palm. Whole and undamaged and full of beer. With a grin he twisted off the cap and brought the bottle to his lips, then paused.

If the beer could come to him, why couldn’t he go to the beer?

Dai stood. While his apartment was tangled with threads, he could have easily stepped over and under them without touching them. But that would be boring. He wanted to be able to cross the room with a thought. Except the kitchen island was in the way and getting stuck in the carpentry would require a hell of a lot of explaining, if it didn’t kill him. He walked around until he had a clear view of the fridge. It wasn’t far to travel, ten feet tops. He rolled his shoulders and thought about where he wanted to be.

The thought became a fragile thread no thicker than a hair traveling out from him to his destination. Then he let his body be pulled along the delicate strand. Pressure built at the base of his skull and the thread snapped. Carpet solidified under his feet. The room wobbled—no, that was him as he struggled to hold his balance. After a couple of breaths, the room stabilized and he realized something was different.