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Barinthus said. "It was just a flash of warmth."
"It's gotten stronger," Doyle said.
"My turn," Abloec said, and his voice was still clear even though he swayed
ever so slightly.
Usna turned me in his arms, as if we were dancing, but that one graceful
movement put me on the other side of him away from Abloec. Usna looked to
Barinthus, and only after he had gotten a small nod from him did he turn me
back toward Abloec.
He reached out a hand that was as steady as his voice, but Rhys interrupted,
"You need to let her go first, Usna. You wouldn't want your fertility to
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reflect on Abloec, would you?"
Usna nodded, and spun me, as if he heard music I did not, passing me to
Abloec, as if it were indeed a dance. Abloec fumbled, trying to catch me, and
failing. He was too drunk for dancing. Too drunk for so many things.
I stepped far enough away that my hand barely reached him. I wanted my
distance for several reasons:
one, he smelled like he'd gargled with whiskey; two, he was drunk enough that
I wasn't sure what his body would do when he touched the ring. If he fell, I
didn't want him dragging me down with him.
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He grabbed my hand, awkwardly as if he was seeing double, and wasn't sure
which hand was mine. But it didn't matter that he couldn't see straight; once
he touched the ring, it flared to life. It was like a wave of heat that rushed
over my skin, and flung Abloec to his knees. Only the fact that I'd braced for
it kept me on my feet.
I pulled my hand free of his, easily, because the magic had finished what the
drinking had begun. He stayed on his knees in the fantastically striped mink
coat because he couldn't have stood.
"Was the queen angry when he showed up drunk today?" Doyle asked.
"Yes," Barinthus said.
"He will be worse than useless in a fight."
"Yes," Barinthus said, again.
They stared down at the kneeling guard, and both their faces showed what they
wanted to do with him.
If the queen had not chosen him, he'd have been sent back to the court in
disgrace, and never seen the press conference. But sadly, that wasn't an
option.
Onilwyn stepped around the kneeling guard the way you'd step around garbage in
the street. He held out his hand, wordlessly, and I didn't try to argue. The
queen had sent him, and that was that. Besides, letting the ring touch him
didn't put him in my bed. I was still hoping to talk the queen out of Abloec
and
Onilwyn. I'd have to keep at least one of the three of her choice, and
strangely the best of the bunch was
Amatheon. That he was the best of the three made me wonder what the queen was
basing her decisions on. If I could think of a way to ask her that wouldn't be
insulting, I'd ask.
I gave Onilwyn my hand, and the moment his fingers touched the ring, it
flashed through me like a knife, a cut of pleasure so sharp, it hurt. Onilwyn
actually jerked back from me and said, "That hurt. That actually hurt."
I rubbed a hand across my stomach, fighting an urge to touch lower, because it
felt almost like a wound, and it wasn't my stomach that was hurt. "I've never
had the ring hurt like that, not at first touch. Not ever."
Onilwyn's eyes were wide enough to flash the whites, like a frightened horse.
"Why did it do that?"
"It seems to be acting differently with each man." Barinthus turned to Doyle.
"Is that also something new?"
Doyle nodded.
Onilwyn backed away from me, cradling his hand. I wondered if it was only his
hand that hurt, or if he, too, was fighting an urge to hold lower things.
"Carrow," Barinthus said, and motioned the other man forward.
Carrow didn't hesitate, coming to me with the same smile he'd been giving me
since I could remember.
He, like Galen, never had a hidden agenda, but unlike Galen, the only thing
that showed on his face was a polite good humor. It was his version of Frost's
arrogance, or Doyle's blankness.
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"May I?" he asked.
"Yes." I held my hand out to him, and he took it.
His hand slid over the ring, and there was nothing. Nothing but the warm brush
of his skin against mine.
His hand was warm in mine, but that was all. The ring lay cold between us.
For just a second a disappointment showed through that smile, so bitter that
it filled his eyes with a brown so dark it was as if night had fallen in his
eyes. Then he recovered himself, closed long lashes over his eyes, and bowed,
giving my hand a kiss. He made light of it all as he stepped back, but I had
some idea what that casual act must have cost him.
All eyes turned to Amatheon, for he was the only one left. The look on his
face was painful to see. The conflict inside him was painted across those
handsome features. One thing was clear: He did not want to touch the ring. I
don't think he wanted to know. He was male, and he had needs, and this was his
only way out of the trap the queen had all of her guard mired in. But Onilwyn
had said it best: For Amatheon to have his needs met with me, who represented
almost everything he thought was wrong with the sidhe, was almost worse than
forced abstinence.
"This is not the choice that either of us would make, Amatheon, but we must
make the best of it." I
walked toward him, and panic carved his face into harsh lines. He looked as if
he wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. Nowhere that the queen wouldn't
find him. She was the Queen of Air and
Darkness, and unless there was a land where night never fell, she would find
him. Eventually, she found everyone.
I stopped out of arm's length, almost afraid to close the distance. The fear
on his face, in the set of his shoulders, was horrible to see. It was as if
even standing here was a sort of torture. "I would not force this on you,
Amatheon, not if either of us had a choice."
His voice squeezed out from between clenched teeth. "But we have no choices."
I shook my head. "No, none."
It was as if he rebuilt himself before my eyes. He shoved the fear and
conflicts down inside somewhere.
He worked at it, until his face was smooth and arrogantly handsome once more.
His hands clenched tight at his sides were the last thing he brought under
control. He uncurled them one painful knuckle at a time, as if the effort were
a mighty thing. And maybe it was. There are times when I think that it is
harder to master yourself than any other thing on earth.
He let out a breath that shook only a little. "I am ready."
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