wants something, and it's not your love. She'll kill you when she's ready.”
“If I were so easy to kill,” I said, “I would have died years ago. That which doesn't kill you makes you stronger, they say.”
“No. I've seen her kind before, Oberon. She will work on you slowly. You'll grow pale and weak, you'll lose your will to fight, and then you'll die.” He set his feet stubbornly. “I'm not going to let that happen!”
“She can no longer be a lover to me,” I said in a low voice, glancing at the door. It was firmly shut; I knew she couldn't hear us talking. “I know that. You've ruined her for me. Now she is just a tool… and I will use her to get to our enemies.”
He shook his head, and I could tell he didn't believe me. “I don't want to have to explain to Dad how you ended up with a succubus in your bed,” he said. “I know I can't stop you. But be careful, okay? Watch who you let into your room and your bed.”
“I'll tell Dad everything myself when he gets back,” I promised. Then I cleared my throat. “And, speaking of letting people into my room ... I don't recall Port announcing you. How
Aber stared at me like I had sprouted two extra heads. “How can you care when—”
“I do.” I smiled pointedly. “Just taking your advice to heart, dear brother. I can't have people barging in on me at all hours of the day and night, after all. Now, where's that Trump? I want it.
He crossed back to the spot by the door where I'd first noticed him. There, he bent and picked up what looked like a small Tarot card. He must have dropped it when he saw Rhalla.
He returned and silently handed it to me. It was smaller than the other Trumps I had seen, but like the others it felt cool and smooth, as though carved from bone or ivory. Though the rendering was crude, one side showed my bedroom to the smallest detail, from the high canopied bed to the wash stand and looking glass. The back had been painted a simple gold color, without the rampant lion design in the middle. I had never seen a Trump like this one before.
“Whose is it?” I asked.
“Mine.”
I raised my eyebrows. “It doesn't match your other Trumps.” I flipped it over and held it up. “And you're a better artist than this.”
“It was one of the very first I made, when I was ten or so. I used to use it to sneak in here and visit Mattus late at night. I dug it out when I wanted to check on you—it's the only one I had for this room.” He shrugged. “For all the thanks I got…”
I snorted, then tossed the Trump onto my bed. “Yes, I'm ungrateful. I'll keep it, if you don't mind.”
“I do mind. Dad won't be happy,” he said, folding his arms stubbornly. “I'm supposed to be watching you.”
“You're not doing a very good job of it, and a Trump of my bedroom isn't going to help. Besides, I value my privacy. You can have it back when I'm not sleeping here any more.”
“But how can I watch you if you lock the door?”
“I have to have some way to keep the monsters out.”
“Or in!”
I chuckled. “That, too.”
“You're the most conceited brother I've got. And that's saying a lot.”
“Port!” I called.
The face appeared in the middle of the door. “Yes, Lord Oberon?”
“My brother is not to be admitted inside my rooms unannounced,” I said. “If you see him appear inside through magical means, give a warning shout, will you?”
“Very good, sir.”
“And open up for him, will you? He's just leaving.”
Aber sighed and shook his head in frustration.
“It's all right,” I told him. Stepping forward, I clasped his shoulder and gently turned him toward the door. “Neither Rhalla nor I meant any insult to you. I know you're trying to look out for me. Go downstairs. I'll join you for breakfast in five minutes. Wait for me.”
As my door unlocked itself and swung open, he stomped out into the hallway, muttering about insanity running in our family.
He was probably right. Every member of our family seemed to have more than his fair share of problems. Our father was a compulsive liar. Aber felt a constant need to prove himself. My sisters Blaise and Freda were obsessed with spying on each other—and on everyone else. Even Locke, supposedly such a great and noble warrior, the best of us all, had been a petty, paranoid, jealous, and thoroughly obnoxious prig, unwilling to accept anyone who might threaten his favored status as firstborn son. That's why he had hated me. That's why he had prevented our father from bringing me to Juniper to join the rest of our family until it was almost too late.
Feeling tired and old, I retrieved Aber's Trump from the bed and put it on the desk, next to my sword. I'd take it with me when I went out, in case I needed to find my way back here quickly. Then I began to get dressed.
Rhalla returned just as I finishing pulling on my boots. She looked splendid again, in a pale, shimmering green gown. I smiled and pulled her to me, feeling nothing but regret. Why did the beautiful ones always mean trouble?
“You are angry?” she asked.
“At you? No.” To my surprise, I found I honestly wasn't angry at her. I wished she had told me the truth at once, but she could not help her nature.
“Good.” She buried her head in my shoulder. “I thought I had lost you.”
“No.” I hugged her tight, but I could feel a new tension between us. Our perfect moment had passed.
The door to the hall still stood open. My valet poked his head in, saw us, smirked, and had the good sense to withdraw—closing the door in the process. At least someone here had manners.
As I held Rhalla, I could feel the flutter of her heart. A dangerous game indeed, I knew, leaning forward and breathing her musky scent. She had to think nothing had changed between us, at least for now.
There was an old saying… hold your friends close, and your enemies closer. I thought of that as I cupped her chin in my hand, and kissed her long and passionately. So beautiful… and she had come to betray me. To suck my blood, my strength, my life.
When we came apart for air, she took both my hands and gazed into my eyes.
“I trust you, Oberon,” she said, searching my face. “I do not trust many men. Do not let me down.”
“I won't,” I said.
And yet I felt my love for her slipping away. I had been a fool, a childish, impulsive fool. I never should have trusted anyone in this place. I should have let Aber kill her. I should have done anything other than what I had done… and what I knew I would continue to do.
Women had always been my one great weakness. Years ago, in Ilerium, when I was sixteen and a raw recruit in King Elnar's army, I spent a night whoring with my friends after a particularly bloody campaign against the Nazarians. That night a much-scarred old captain named Mezeer pulled me aside.
“You have real promise,” Captain Mazeer had said to me, and I saw then that he was very, very drunk. “Don't… don't throw it all away.”
“What do you mean?” I asked him.
“I've seen the way you look at women… I've seen the way they look at you… You're too handsome… too trusting.” He hiccupped. “It's a bad combination. So… my young friend… watch your step. A woman… a woman will get you killed if you don't.”
It had been good advice. And I had never taken it.
Instead of running for my life, I kissed Rhalla again. She leaned into my arms, body lightly thrust against mine, lips warm and soft, the smell of her filling my nostrils.
Kissing her this way, my anger disappeared. I had nothing to fear from her, I thought, as I felt her body responding to mine. True, she had been using me. And yet, in my own way, I had been using her as well. She had been an anchor to normality for me, a way to hold onto my old life.
