Page 37 of Power of Five
23
River
Just because River wasn’t surprised at Klarissa’s arrival didn’t mean he was happy about it. As Autumn had warned him the previous night, the elder was indeed in Slait Court and had finally arrived at the palace a half hour ago, chasing away River’s appetite for breakfast.
Now, River slipped his hands casually into his pockets and carefully avoided letting his gaze linger on Leralynn’s perfect curves as he led his quint into the receiving room. The mortal wore a new outfit of Autumn’s design this morning—loose silk pants the color of a fiery sunset, the cloth cupping her backside and swishing around her legs, and a tight white top that revealed a delicious swath of smooth skin at her midriff and crisscrossed over her otherwise bare back. Her auburn hair cascaded over her right shoulder, the loose strands on the left gathered into a teasing braid.
Autumn seemed determined to turn Leralynn into more and more of a fae female every hour the mortal spent here. The last thing River needed. He was already sorely aware of her presence, her soft lilac scent that—
—that bloody clung to Shade and Tye as thickly as if they’d bathed in it.
River’s spine stiffened. He wasn’t jealous. He was beyond such pettiness when it came to his quint brothers. Plus, he couldn’t permit himself such things as jealousy, not when keeping a clear head was his duty. To his quint, to his court, to the Citadel.
Leralynn had said she claimed them all, him included. Except there was a difference between being claimed and being wanted. River couldn’t fault the girl, though, not when he could offer neither Tye’s charm nor Shade’s touch, which the male’s wolf excelled at. After years of being his father’s son, River’s own soft places were protected behind a much higher wall than that. Even Coal, whose notion of a good training day could reduce any warrior to begging for mercy, could offer more to the girl than River could.
In that way, River and Coal were each other’s opposites. The physical brutality that Coal could inflict and bear made River’s stomach clench, yet when it came to a different kind of compassion, it was Coal who knew how to listen. Coal was River’s third, but it was him, not Shade, whom River sought for counsel when his thoughts chafed too harshly.
Focus.River reined in his attention to the matter at hand. Klarissa and her companion had been shown to the receiving room a half hour earlier, and River couldn’t make the elder wait much longer. River would have held this meeting in the bloody throne room if he didn’t think his father would read the gesture as a personal assault on his power, but perhaps that would be too blunt a move anyway. As it was, the receiving room—set up like a library to create the illusion of intimacy—was a strong choice to remind Klarissa that she was in Slait. It was a space that was entirely River’s, from the plush leather armchairs to the two sofas and the choice of books lining the shelves. And of course, River’s scent, which clung to every board and crack.
The servants had already set a pitcher of spiced wine on a low table—anything to wash away the taste Klarissa was sure to leave in everyone’s mouth—and brought out delicious little pastries arranged on towering plates. River had requested the latter in hopes of tempting Leralynn. The girl hadn’t had enough small pleasures like sweets in her life, and it was at least something he could offer. River liked watching Leralynn eat.
The council elder in question rose as River entered, her olive skin and gorgeously lined eyes as perfect as always. Klarissa wore a long forest-green gown today, leaving her shoulders open to the air, while her hair, an inky black, fell in a cascade of thick curls. If River were naive, he’d have thought the female had dressed up for him. But he knew better. Klarissa always looked stunning. Especially when she had murder and manipulation on her mind.
The male beside Klarissa, Pyker, River did not know well. Pyker was a Citadel warrior—and dressed like one, in fighting leathers and sturdy, practical clothing. His black hair was tied back at the nape of his neck to show off golden skin and dark eyes. Brown like Leralynn’s, but not as rich. Not that any eyes could be.
It took all of River’s self-control to seat himself away from the mortal girl, noting with approval that Coal and Tye had tucked her between them as they guided her to the couch. Coal, not Shade. That was surprising.
“Klarissa,” River said with a nod that would be hard-pressed to call itself a bow. He might bow to her and the other elders at the Citadel, but here in his own receiving room, he would do no such thing. “Allow me to welcome you to Slait Court. Is there something with which I might be of assistance?”
Out of the corner of his eye, River saw Leralynn flinch at his ice-cold tone. Another crater between them that would have to be mended. But not now. Now, the flinching was good. As was the hard—almost cruel—set of River’s jaw. The less Klarissa knew about River’s true feelings, the better.
Klarissa’s answering smile was frostier still. “I’ve come as a council elder to meet the commander of one of my quints, River, not the prince,” she said, settling herself back on the couch and arranging the folds of her dress over her elegantly crossed thighs.
“You do me too great an honor,” River replied dryly. “We would have attended thewholecouncil at the Citadel shortly.” He paused for a moment, letting that sink in. Klarissa was one of five on the council, and the others could sometimes keep her in check. “But as you are here, Klarissa, perhaps you could relieve me of the passage key and save me a trip.”
Klarissa clicked her tongue. “Always so rash to jump to conclusions, River. Alas, youths often are. I am here to help you.” The female’s eyes shifted to Leralynn, sending a shiver down River’s spine. “I understand that you have a small problem. A quirk of magic that chose a mortal where a fae warrior was needed. A regrettable situation that would permanently weaken your quint and put this poor girl in danger.”
Tye’s leg shifted, pressing into Leralynn’s thigh. River held himself in check.
Klarissa frowned at her nails. “If my information is correct, you were, in fact, on your way to the Citadel to request that the bond be severed. A most unusual request, but this is an unusual time, is it not?”
River kept silent. It was enough that Klarissa’s spies had already informed her of the basics—River didn’t want the female suspecting how little he wished to go through with the plan, or the size of the abyss that Leralynn’s absence would leave in his soul. Stars, he wished he could keep Klarissa from so much as looking at Leralynn, much less speaking about her.
“Smile, River. I’ve come with good news.” Klarissa’s red lips parted into a smile of their own. “The council understands the difficult situation you are in and the urgent nature of your request. As such, we have already met and granted our approval.”
River nodded stiffly, unwilling to let Klarissa see his reflexive fear. River had seen quint tethers cut in the past, when one of the five was so far in death’s grip that hope was gone; it became better to give the remaining quint brothers a clean amputation. A clean cut also made it possible to attach another warrior to the injured quint, to let the bond heal with the new fae individual attached. The artificial bond never healed quite right, not the way natural magic connected the warriors—but it was better than the alternative black hole that might or might not ever be filled otherwise.
The window of opportunity for the procedure was so small that it was rarely possible—save when the death occurred on the Citadel training grounds, where the council had both the severing knife and a stable of waiting warriors available to find a fitting match.
River always thought it was too convenient a setup. Would as many quint initiates die during trials if the council weren’t waiting to have one of their favorites bonded? The Elders Council argued, of course, that the knife and waiting warriors were just a safety measure, that the training deaths were necessary to weed out the weak links that might lead a quint to a fate worse than death: capture by Mors forces.
So was it a coincidence, then, that Klarissa’s trials had the highest death rate? That the warriors she chose to artificially attach to the desperate quints were once so very loyal to her?
The Citadel was vital in protecting against Mors’s attacks, but that didn’t make elders free from personal agendas and power plays. The other four council fae were mostly decent beings, but they all had a blind spot large enough to pull a cart through where Klarissa was concerned. If she was abusing the trials, they let her do it.
“Moreover,” Klarissa continued, her voice light as a spring breeze, “there is no need to wait and fret. I am vested with the knife to part the tether here and now.”
Now.The word sent an ice-cold shock down River’s spine. Now was too soon. They were due to have a whole week more together, the time it would take to journey to the Citadel. A week more to savor Leralynn’s company, to prepare themselves. A week wasn’t enough—forever would not be enough—but River sure as hell wasn’t going to deny the quint what little time they had.
