Mist Rising by Eve Langlais
Chapter Twenty-Three
Going to see the King.As if anyone could simply waltz in and demand an audience with the reclusive monarch.
“Are you sure that’s wise?” Venna wrung her hands.
“Probably not.” Agathe wasn’t afraid to admit it.
“You think?” Hiix sniffed. “What would you even say to the King?”
What indeed? “I could start with addressing his barbaric practice of stealing children. Then, bring up the subject of what he does to them.”
“Because I’m sure that you stating your opinion on it will sway his mind.” Hiix couldn’t help her sarcasm—with reason.
“You’re right. Talk is overrated. I’ll settle instead for a dagger to his black heart.”
Venna almost died of shock on the spot. “Agathe! You can’t say things like that.”
“You have to admit it would solve a few problems.”
“Be that as it may, you shouldn’t be speaking those thoughts aloud.” Hiix glanced around suspiciously. No one paid them any mind. That didn’t mean that no one listened.
“I’m sure I’m not the only person frustrated with the King’s laws. And it’s not as if I’d ever get close enough. The coward rarely leaves the Citadel.” Or, if he did, no one noticed. The King only appeared wearing a fully closed-in helm. No one could even tell from one appearance to the next if it was the same man. Had there only ever been the one King, or did an heir take over at the moment of death?
“I know that devious look in your eyes. Exactly how do you think you’ll get to meet the King?” Venna ventured to ask.
“By sticking close to the girls so we can get inside. Perhaps we can convince the soldiers to let us stay with them during their transition.”
A frown creased Hiix’s brow. “It’s not allowed.”
“Doesn’t harm anyone to try, and we are running out of options. So, unless you have a different idea…”
Her Soraers had nothing, but they did have Agathe’s back. “Guess we’re going to the King’s City.” Venna glanced at their dirty travel clothes. “But no meeting royalty until we’ve cleaned up.”
“As if it will make a difference.” Hiix snorted.
Before they began arguing, Agathe cut them off. “Soraers, now that it’s settled, I say we get ourselves a meal that involves a liberal drizzling of the Forest Fort’s famed tree sap syrup.”
“Ooh, yes.” Venna’s expression brightened. “I hear they even make candy with it.”
“Like you need any sweets,” Hiix harrumphed.
“There’s nothing wrong with my size. Maybe you should have my portion. It might improve your disposition,” Venna sassed.
Agathe tuned them out as she took a more in-depth look around. The Forest Fort structure was the complete opposite of the Abbae. The fact that it was outside, under the open sky, was only part of it. It smelled alive, ripe and green with growing leaves and vines. The fragrant aroma of flowers also filled the air, not the mildewy must of damp stone that never fully dried out.
Sunlight filtered down through the canopy, enough to make the air pleasantly warm. The buzz of insects created a sort of music, as did the occasional cry of a bird. Flowers added brilliant color and sweet scents.
Hard to imagine monsters out here.
Xaav left the general and strutted to them. “We will be spending the night here.”
“That sounds agreeable to us.” Hiix inclined her head graciously.
Agathe held on to a snort. As if they had a choice.
“Since their lift can only take six at a time, we’re going to split up the group. I need two Soraers for the first run,” Xaav stated.
Venna stepped forward. “I’ll go, and Neelie will come, too.” She beckoned to the girl, who appeared terrified, her eyes wide in her pallid face.
“Can’t we use some stairs?” Neelie eyed the lift with trepidation.
“Don’t be a coward,” Hiix snapped. “It’s perfectly safe.”
A harsh rebuke, but Neelie needed it to get her feet moving in the right direction. Off Neelie went with Venna and a few soldiers.
The next group to go caused an argument. Xaav was doing his best not to laugh as Hiix shook a finger at Baer.
“You can’t get on. You’re too big. Worth two people, at least. Maybe three.”
“Thank you,” Baer rumbled. He got on the lift already holding Lior, Hiix, Korra, and Belle. There was a noticeable creak that widened eyes.
Agathe bit her lip. “I think I’ll wait for the next one.”
“Why don’t you take my place, Soraer?” Belle said too sweetly. As she went to disembark, Baer stood to block her exit.
“Out of my way.” An imperious command, ignored by the giant.
“No.”
Belle changed strategy and aimed her fluttering lashes and simpering voice at Maric. “I’d prefer to stay with you. You make me feel safe.”
Xaav coughed into his hand. Agathe bit her inner cheek. The young woman couldn’t be more blatant if she tried.
Maric looked at Baer and said, “Make sure she goes to her room and stays there.”
“Aye, General.”
The big man crossed his arms and stared at Belle, who lifted her chin and snapped, “I will not be bossed around by an oaf.”
Baer farted.
Agathe heard it clear as day, and so did the squeaking Belle. “You farted on purpose.”
“Yup. And your yapping means you’re tasting it,” was the rumbling reply as they lifted out of sight.
A chuckle by her side surprised. Agathe glanced over to see Maric actually grinning.
“You do realize she’s going to make his life a living hell,” she noted.
“Baer can handle it.”
“Sometimes, I wonder why I care what happens to Belle. She’s not very nice,” she muttered.
“And whose fault is that?”
That drew her glare. “The Order of the Shield didn’t raise her to be such a twat.” The word slipped from her, utterly vulgar because, for some reason, Belle drew the worst out of Agathe. What made it worse was that she wasn’t always that way.
“Should have beaten her more.”
“What?” She ogled him. “That’s not how you teach.”
“Are you sure? You just admitted the Order failed with her. She is the type who needs stronger consequences.”
“Hitting the people we care for is wrong.”
“Some people only learn through pain.”
She blinked at him. “That is a sad thing to say. Sadistic, too.”
“Everyone has to do some repugnant things in life. Not because they want to but because they have to. If someone refuses repeatedly and it is harmful to others, then action must be taken.”
“The greater-good argument,” she said softly.
“A simple way of looking at it, but yes. Making decisions isn’t always about want but what serves the most people the best.”
“How is handing over three young women to a despot serving the people?” Agathe argued.
“A despot? That seems harsh since you’ve never met the King.”
Her lips pressed. “Don’t need to meet him to know his type. And no surprise you’d defend him. You’re a man. You probably see nothing wrong with him taking young girls and locking them away in the Citadel, tearing them from their families and friends, part of a barbaric ritual that should have been stopped a long time ago.”
“They are treated well.”
“Now add the last part: for prisoners. He treats his prisoners well. How nice of him,” she sneered. A part of her warned her to stop. Maric was a high-ranking soldier of the King’s Elite. A man of stature. She should be lying and pretending allegiance, not antagonizing. Problem being, she remembered the blood. The pain of it only buried by anger at the man who’d ordered it.
Maric wasn’t done arguing. “How would you know what happens inside the Citadel? You said yourself, none ever leave. Let me assure you, though, they are well taken care of and content.”
“Aren’t you a good little soldier?” she sassed. “Defending the lecher, no matter what he does.”
“He isn’t a lecher.” Maric’s jaw tensed.
“You going to deny it and say he’s never seduced any of those girls?”
“Seduction isn’t a crime.”
“How come the King has never married any of them?”
“Because he doesn’t. Neither do the soldiers.”
“But you are encouraged to have lovers. To father children.” More than a few acolytes had joined the Order of the Shield because of a surprise pregnancy. Although the surprise part remained debatable, seeing as how it was the direct result of sex.
“And? The Shield Soraers aren’t exactly celibate. I am not understanding your point.”
“My point is he’s abusing the trusting nature of those under his power.”
“You are really making me regret saving your life. Would it kill you to be a little bit thankful?” he growled, his mien menacing.
As if he could cow her. She smirked. “You saving my life doesn’t mean I’ll kiss your feet in subservience.”
For some reason, the reply had him barking with laughter.
“Not sure what’s so funny,” she finally said.
“The way you’re overwhelming me with praise. I saved you from certain death, and yet, I swear you’re angry.”
Her chin angled higher. “I don’t need your help. I don’t need anyone.”
“Not even your Soraers?” he taunted.
Nicely laid word trap. She conceded. “Fine. I need my Soraers.”
“And me. You needed me. I was your hero. And it’s just killing you.” The cruel mocking meant he deserved the slug to his gut.
It only widened his eyes and hurt her fist. The man had a solid body.
His lip curled at one corner. “Hit me again. Lower. With your mouth this time.” Crude, and yet heat flared inside her.
“In your dreams.”
“In my dreams, you’re usually begging for more.”
A flirting remark that he delivered with an intent focus that had heat pooling between her legs. Unexpected.
“You’re not my type,” was her breathy reply.
He arched a brow. “I am everyone’s type.”
“Conceited much?” Never mind true. He was handsome, enough that her anger at him only served as an appetizer for her attraction.
“Stating a fact.”
“I’m older than you,” she reminded.
“Maybe in body, but not in spirit. I like a woman with confidence.”
“Still not my type.”
“You make me want to prove you wrong.” He shifted only slightly in her direction, and without even thinking of it, a dagger appeared in her hand.
Aiming it, she warned him, “That’s far enough. I haven’t given you permission to touch me.”
“I don’t ask.”
“And I won’t just let you take.” She waggled the knife—a halfhearted threat. She knew she couldn’t stab him.
Rather than back off, Maric reacted. Faster than she could follow. In seconds, he’d plucked the knife from her hand, and his mouth whispered against hers, “The Fort soldiers don’t like weapons being waved around. Count yourself lucky you’re with me.”
The hotly huffed rebuke on her mouth parted her lips. Her gaze locked with his. The moment was fraught with—
Nothing, as he leaned away and said, “Our lift is here.”
He strode toward it. Agathe wanted to yell because, for a second, just a heartbeat, she’d really hoped he’d kiss her.
