Smolder (Crown of Fae #3) - Sharon Ashwood Page 0,2
is Morran.”
“Huh,” Leena replied, at a loss for words.
He was taking his seat, somehow managing to occupy more than his allotted space at the table. Fae did not age, but, even so, she could tell Morran was just entering his prime. The language of his body was there for her dancer’s eye to read—the dominating, impatient quality of his movements, every gesture quick and certain. He had the bearing of a commander, not a follower.
And such good looks were rare, even among the fae. His hair was pure black, thick and curling as it fell across his brow. While his skin was a warm golden brown, his eyes were the deepest chocolate. Yet, Leena’s instant attraction was short-lived. There was no kindness in the set of his mouth or those heavy-lidded eyes. Despite the perfection of his features, Morran’s expression was deadly cold.
Foreboding slithered down her back, as if the man were fated to do her harm. Leena glanced at the window at the back of the chamber, where it overlooked the street. An irrational part of her wished she could fit through the tiny opening. She’d hurried to arrive tonight, yet now she yearned to be far away.
Morran had arrived with a contingent of guards in black-and-gold tabards. They were traitors, fae from across the land who had sworn allegiance to General Juradoc. They scattered through the room, standing back as the guests settled at the tables.
A handful of Shades commanded those guards. They wore black robes over their black armor, the hoods pulled forward to hide their faces. A few carried long, crooked staffs tipped with elaborate carvings. Warriors and sorcerers—both deadly. Shade magic left everything it touched lifeless ash.
And General Juradoc was the deadliest of the Shades who had invaded the south of Faery. Robed and hooded in inky black, he stood to one side of the high table, across the room from where Leena watched. He made no move to join Morran or Lord Dorth, though a throne-like chair sat between them. As far as Leena knew, Shades didn’t eat or drink.
At the sight of the enemy, Kifi gave a soft hiss.
“Hush,” Leena whispered.
The cat’s ears flattened. “The general smells like a butcher’s pail left in the sun.”
As if Juradoc had heard them, the Shade’s hooded face turned Leena’s way. There were plenty of rumors about what lurked beneath the Shades' robes—the enemy was an army of rotting corpses, skeletons, or nothing at all. Twin pricks of violet light glimmered in place of Juradoc’s eyes. The gaze snagged on Leena, holding hers for one heartbeat, then two.
He shouldn’t have been able to see her, not from where she stood beyond his line of sight. And yet, Juradoc’s presence seemed mere inches away. Intimately close. Terrifying.
Leena’s muscles drew tight. Kifi mewed a complaint and jumped to the ground, then leaped to the windowsill.
“Go,” Leena whispered. “Go back to the temple.”
“Flame guide you.” With a flick of her ears, the cat was gone.
A wise creature, Leena thought, drawing breath as Juradoc’s gaze released her at last. She stepped back, colliding with Elodie. Her friend braced Leena’s shoulders, giving her support.
“Easy,” Elodie said in a low voice. “We are just dancers, here to entertain. We are safely beneath the general’s notice.”
Leena wasn’t so sure. The sensation of that stare lingered like a slug’s sticky trail.
The acrobats had finished, and the hall fell quiet. Lord Dorth rose, his round face shining with the heat. He drew breath, clearly preparing for a speech.
Juradoc flicked a gloved hand. A flash of green light seared Leena’s eyes, followed by a clap of thunder loud enough to rattle the dishes on the tables. Someone shouted in alarm. Another person shushed them.
Elodie gripped Leena’s arm. “What’s going on?”
Juradoc strode to the middle of the room, black robes swirling in his wake. The startled acrobats sank into a deep bow. Juradoc dismissed them with a gesture, and they all but sprinted from the room. Leena envied them the chance of escape.
“Enough with these paltry entertainments,” Juradoc said, his voice harsh as he turned toward Lord Dorth. He spoke the fae language well, but with an odd accent. “You insult us with such frivolity.”
The words fell like barbs, chasing any pleasure from the room. Juradoc circled the space, his steps unhurried. “We allowed Eldaban to live, unlike the Ravaged Lands to the south. Nothing survives there now.”
Elodie’s indrawn breath filled the silence. The smoking ruins of the south had once been their home.