Diamond in the Rough - Vivienne Savage

1

Under Their Eye

Xavier awakened to a merciless headache harsh as a cleaver dividing his skull in two. The world around him had no substantial shape or clarity, and pain reduced his vision to a blur of colors wavering in and out. He squinted through the haze at the stone ceiling of his hoard—what he believed was the Ilyrian hoard—and dragged in as deep a breath as his lungs would allow. His throat burned as if he’d inhaled acid, seemingly lined with concentrated misery. When he tried to sit up, agony sledgehammered into his brain.

Rosalia pressed a hand to the center of his chest, stilling his movement. “Don’t rush.”

“Inthuders,” he slurred, one side of his mouth uncooperative, his voice hoarse. His tongue felt thick in his mouth, another side effect of the wicked poison. It may as well have been a lump of dry cotton instead of moving muscle.

Rosalia leaned close enough for her face to gain detail. “They’re dead.”

A series of brutal coughs seized control of him. He tasted blood in his mouth. “How?” he got out at last.

“I killed them.”

As far as he knew, Rosalia had never taken a life before. “But—”

“Rest, Xavier.”

Her stern expression brooked no disobedience. Gentle fingers eased him down again, so he closed his eyes. He fell in and out of sleep, and the next time he stirred, the pain had dulled to a gentle roar. Rosalia was still there. He smelled her, felt her presence, and took comfort in knowing, without her confirmation, that she’d been there at his side the entire time.

“I’m alive. I think,” he finally said without difficulty, testing his mouth. His tongue worked, but he could barely speak above a whisper. His enflamed throat remained tender, aching. Groaning, he shoved aside his discomfort and sat up. “Perhaps I should ask if you’re okay. Did they hurt you? And are you certain they’re all dead?”

Rosalia nodded, tucking her chin and skating her teeth across her lower lip. He studied her expression and the way her eyes darkened.

Later they’d talk about it. But not now.

Now, he needed to get his ass off the floor and investigate the damage caused by the dragon slayers.

“What hour is it?”

“Almost morning in Enimura. You’ve been resting for hours.”

Pushing up into a sitting position, he groaned and cradled his head in one hand. It thumped, pounding with visceral, cruel jabs to the temples.

“Don’t move.”

“I must. There were dragon slayers in my domain, Rosalia. I need you to show me where they came in at once, and then I must show my face above.”

“In this condition?”

“I’ll tell them I’m ill,” he muttered. “There are about a dozen illnesses that can befall a man while hunting in the desert. Sun sickness is one.”

“But will they believe that?”

He stepped in front of the translocation pane leading to Enimura’s hoard. “Would you?”

Rosalia leaned back to study him. He knew what she saw. One glimpse of his reflection in the mirror’s polished frame had shown him an ashen face and sunken eyes shadowed by dark circles. “Maybe.”

He had no other choice.

Courtesy of the dragonsbane, Xavier did not need to feign illness. He chugged hot tea to soothe his throat and breathed in soothing vapors to ease the pain of speaking. By the eighth morning bell, the worst of the symptoms eased, leaving only those he could do nothing to conceal.

As predicted, the city watchmen returned in force with a battlemage in their company, led by the same churlish sergeant Xavier had wanted to throttle the previous evening. He felt the presence of human sorcery humming beyond his protected doors, and knew if they wanted, they could enter while he was at his weakest and he’d be helpless to stop them.

They didn’t know that, however. No matter what, he couldn’t afford to allow them to see the extent of his weakness.

Rather than resist, Xavier opened the door and leaned against the open frame for support. The smell of sunbaked sand invaded the shop, wafting in on a scorching breeze with the scent of human skin and common magic. Their sorcerer stood to the left of the sergeant, a tall man with hard eyes set in a square-jawed face. His intimidating frame supported broad shoulders, and his cocksure air told Xavier the fellow thought he was tough shit. When their gazes met, they weighed one another like two strutting roosters.

No matter how much the dragonsbane had ravaged his lungs and stolen the vitality from him, Xavier promptly straightened and met the unspoken challenge. On his