Page 56 of Heir to His Court

If the entity was a person, I doubted it now. There was no emotion, no offense, no irritation. My barb went through and around it. I rode a wave of pain, sensing the entity drawing nearer.

Sensing its vulnerability as it weighed me and found me wanting.

Vulnerability. . . that which was vulnerable could be attacked. Destroyed.

I didn't know why it was holding me here, what gave it the right to question me and torture me.

Ignorance,I thought,is as dangerous as knowledge. Both can cause harm.

I gathered my power, disguising the readiness under layers of ambient consciousness. It rifled through my thoughts, through my emotions, through my experiences, and when I sensed it was fully distracted, I poised and. . .

Hesitated.

I sensed no enmity from it. No true danger. The pain could simply be an unintentional side effect of my current state. Could I destroy it without understanding it further? Just because I had the power to kill didn't mean I should wield it. Just because I had the knowledge of its vulnerability did not mean I should exploit it.

If I was going to rule at Renaud's side, and rule in a different way, I could not think like him. I could not always think in terms of attack and defense. Wasn't this how Embry had died? My Dark killing instinct?

I let go of the power, giving into its judgment. There was a time to wield a sword, and a time to set it down.

I will accept you as pupil.

* * *

The nothingness dissipated.

When I opened my eyes, I swallowed against bile rising up my esophagus. One hand and knee pressed against cool mosaic floor, my face a dim reflection in the glossy surface.

A face with large dark eyes rimmed thickly in black kohl, my hair in a mass of tiny braids tipped with gold and turquoise beads.

I rose slowly, smoothing my hands down a linen sheath dress in pale blue. Another layer of sheer cloth drifted over my shoulders and arms to my feet, which were bound in thin leather sandals.

I turned in a slow circle, studying the building I was in, if building implied something with a floor and a roof but no walls.

Columns in the shape of giant red blossoms held up the robins egg blue ceiling. I looked back down, glancing over rows of bookshelves made from white stone. A breeze drifted through the space, and in the distance—the entire edifice was perhaps half a football stadium—people walked. Dressed similar to me, the males shirtless, the females in sheath dresses or layers of floating sheer fabrics. They were mostly black haired and golden skinned, tall and slender, though there were variations.

With sudden clarity I realized where I was and turned, walking toward a set of wide stairs and down into a plaza, the mosaic floor morphing into a boulevard stretching at least a mile into the distance. Here were more people, the boulevard bounded on both sides by grassy lawn, and beyond, more buildings. More white stone and robins egg blue roofs.

I glanced up at a clear summer sky, the sun blazing down, and turned to again face the Great Library of Ninephe.

At least today’s theme remained consistent.

“Peace unto you, Lady of Avallonne,” I heard behind me.

I knew the voice, and it shouldn't be possible. I closed my eyes. Of course it was possible if I was trapped in another one of those Realms cursed dreamscapes.

I faced Embry Gauthier slowly, my eyes opening. In Ninephe, I supposed he would be styled Embriel Sanyelle, Prince of the city. I couldn’t recall his mother’s bloodline name—no one had ever called her anything but Zephirre in my presence.

He stood several feet away, hands clasped behind his back. A tall male with pale gold skin and wavy shoulder-length hair the color of antique gold, cerulean eyes rimmed in kohl. He was dressed the same as every other male here in a narrow wrap of fabric around his waist that covered him to his sandaled feet. Chest bare, his arms, shoulders and abdomen more muscled than a scholar’s had any right to be. He wore jewelry; a collar and cuffs on his upper arms that I didn’t have to know Ninephene custom to recognize as royal insignia. He was Raniel's son—Prince Raniel, the General of Ninephe.

“I'm glad you came, little sister,” Embriel said softly. “I didn't believe you would find me so soon.”

Who was punishing me this time? Or was I punishing myself?

Embriel looked me up and down, a slow perusal with warm eyes. There was nothing sexual in it, rather it was the study of someone who had not seen a beloved cousin, or old friend, and in years. It threw me off balance.

“You’re taller,” he said, humor in his voice. “And you’ve learned to eat sufficiently.”

Dreamscape or not, I crossed my arms over my chest, glaring. Yes, I'd been rather scrawny as a girl, and yes, I was the opposite of scrawny now. Most of that was genetics. Fae females were typically not quite as curvy as human women could be.

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