AllFreeNovel
Share Us
When she again reached a peak, her body bunching, clenched tight—and then exploding into showers of release, he threw himself after her, catching her in midflight and diving with her, his hoarse cries of pleasure a dark harmony beneath hers as he emptied himself into her. At last planting the seed she could only pray wouldn’t take.
~5~
“Pregnant?” Nic staredat the Convocation proctor, and the always unsettling oracle head staring at her from the shadows of its protective tabernacle. “Icannotbe pregnant.”
“The familiar is with child,” the mummified head hissed through brittle lips. “Successful implantation confirmed.”
The gilded scrollwork embedded in the ancient wood of the tabernacle glittered merrily in the stark winter light coming through the lattice of the metal shutters. The pretty decorations only highlighted the horror of the bodiless head entombed inside, the oracle’s gleaming eyes open and staring into her. “Ican’tbe pregnant,” Nic repeated, voice cracking on the strident rise. Not with Gabriel Phel’s child.
The proctor gave her a wry look as she shut the hinged doors on the oracle, the lapis-inlaid eyelids on it lowering as she did. “I know you understand the mechanism of such things, Lady Veronica. Youcanbe pregnant, and you are. It’s the point of the Betrothal Trials, after all. Look on the bright side. You’re done after only four tries. Many a young lady would envy you the speedy quickening.”
“But that means it’s Lord Phel’s,” Nic said, her hopes and plans dropping straight through her stomach to fall somewhere at the bottom of her cursed tower. This was a disaster.
“I’m relieved that you understand that much cause and effect.” The proctor—a mid-level wizard from House Tadkiel who served the Convocation—shook her head for the foolishness of familiars. “I’ll write up the report and have a Ratsiel courier communicate it to Lord Phel immediately.”
“Wait.” Nic grasped the proctor’s wrist. “Please don’t do it yet.”
The woman hesitated. She was accustomed to obeying High House members, but Nic was only a familiar. “It’s my duty, Lady Veronica. Even you must understand that the rules require it.” She tugged on her wrist, and Nic released her. “I’m sure it’s upsetting,” the proctor said more kindly, “to have your fate linked with a houseless wizard like Phel. He’s little better than a rogue, but the sooner you accept the truth, the sooner you’ll be able to reconcile yourself to it.”
“I know,” Nic said. “I know.” She needed tothink—and she couldn’t do it naked. And she couldn’t think about being naked without thinking of Gabriel—Lord Phel, she firmly reminded herself—and that long, magical, intimate and completely unnerving night. It had been two weeks since he’d kissed her goodbye in the dimness before sunrise. The fire had burnt to crimson-edged coals, the fire elementals long since coaxed to quench their light, neither of them stirring themselves from the cozy bed where they’d finally snuggled under the covers.
And where he’d had her six more times. “Number seven for luck,” he’d whispered, kissing her belly over her womb before pulling her to ride him astride. She’d gazed down at his strong face in the silvery morning pre-dawn light creeping past the curtains, his hair like snow across the pillow—except for that wicked black streak as dark as his eyes. Those wizard’s eyes had been half-lidded in pleasure as she rode him, his hands gentle on her breasts, and he’d murmured sweet promises of the future.
A future she couldn’t possibly reconcile herself to, not unless she could somehow embrace losing all of her free will. Nic yanked on her simple gown. “I know you have to send the report,” she repeated, willing herself to think. A Ratsiel courier would relay the communication within hours, and Lord Phel would come for her without delay—she knew enough about him to be sure of that. She’d have to marry him. He’d bond her as his familiar, and she’d have no choice but to give him whatever he required of her. Judging by the deep attachment to him she’d formed over the course of that one night, she’d succumb to his powerful persuasion over and over until she had nothing left of herself.
Nic had been certain that the oracle head would declare her free and clear of pregnancy, not allowing herself to consider any other possibility. Mind over matter.An Elal commands the world; the world doesn’t command an Elal.Papa had said that so many times that she’d believed it. She’d been determined that Lord Phel’s seed—no matter how many times provided—would prove no more potent than the previous three suitors. Of course, she’d been certain she’d be a wizard like Papa, and look what happened to that ambition.
She had terrible luck, that’s what it came down to. Her younger siblings, sweet Alise and none-too-bright Nander would be wizards—Nander’s magic a rare variant strong in their mother’s House Hanneil blood, too—while Nic was stuck being a familiar. And now she’d gotten stuck with the overpowering Lord Phel, too. None of the other three suitors had succeeded, so why had he? Because the maddening wizardwouldbe just that obstinate to defy the odds.
The proctor had been carefully packing away the oracle tabernacle while Nic attempted to think. “It can be a shock to face the reality of it,” the proctor said, not without sympathy as she shouldered her bag. “Though you familiars know going into this what can happen—whatwillhappen with time and luck—it can be upsetting when the successful candidate is not who you’d choose. Just remember: There are good reasons that the Convocation selects the candidates they do. Your instincts are unreliable, just as the unbonded magic of a familiar is an unstable force. Trust that your wizard will know what’s best for you, submit to your wizard’s will, and you will be content.”
Nic sucked her lips between her teeth and bit down on the unwise retort wanting to spew forth.
The proctor noted her rebellious expression. “I’ll remain in House Elal to monitor your status,” she said, moving into a more formal recitation of guidelines she’d no doubt told hundreds of female familiars in a similar position. “So don’t be thinking up any crazy plans to rid yourself of the child. It won’t do you any good, regardless. Your compatible fertility has been confirmed, so even if you miscarry, you’ll still be bonded to Lord Phel whenever he chooses to claim you.” She softened. “It’s in your best interests, Lady Veronica, to do your utmost to maintain the pregnancy. They always treat the pregnant ones better. It gives you a reprieve of sorts, from the more invasive incantations. Do you understand?”
Because the woman looked so earnest, Nic nodded. Convocation Academy had been thorough in teaching wizard–familiar dynamics, and she harbored no illusions there of just how invasive the advanced incantations could be. That prospect didn’t frighten her nearly as much as imagining how she’d lose herself to Lord Phel, with his sweet words and devastating presence.
The proctor nodded with her. “A pregnancy gives you time to get to know each other, and for you to establish yourself as lady of the house.” She frowned then. “Such as it is, in this case. At any rate, I’ll send in Lady Elal. Your maman will be a comfort to you.”
With a bow, she left the room—and left the door unlocked, for the first time in over four months.
Nic couldn’t even savor that happy freedom. She went to window and stared through the rigid slats of the shutters, winding her fingers into the cage of chill metal. It had begun to snow, thick flakes falling in a graceful dance that blurred the features of the landscape beyond the curve of the river. Dare she hope the building blizzard would delay Lord Phel’s arrival? She could hope some, she decided. But no more dreaming of the impossible. Since Lord Phel seemed to use horses instead of magically fueled conveyances, it would be at least a three-day ride from Meresin. Imagining that Lord Phel would be counting the days until her testing and would thus be ready to ride out immediately—and considering his determined nature—better figure on two and half days before he arrived to take possession of his prize.
That gave her two days to think of something.
But what?
She was smart, well-educated, from a powerful family. There had to be a way for her to escape this. A radical thought—but it was also her only hope if she hoped to retain possession of her own mind and will. She couldn’t resist Gabriel’s effect on her, she had to confront that daunting truth. So the only option she had was… figure out a way to never see him again.
“Nic,” Maman cried as she swept into the room, her face a painful mask of tentative happiness. She opened her arms, and Nic buried herself in them, inhaling the scent of carnations and lilies that was her mother’s favorite perfume. “So it’s Lord Phel.”
“Apparently so,” Nic said, letting her fear and real distress thread her voice as she normally wouldn’t. Now was not the time to protect Maman from worry. She needed her mother as an ally.
Maman brushed Nic’s disordered curls away from her face, giving her a long look. “Is it so terrible?” she asked softly. “He’s a rogue wizard, yes, but not landless. He’s powerful enough to rebuild House Phel. And you’ll have no competition in his household. It could be worse.”
“I don’t want this, Maman. I don’t wanthim.”
“Oh, Nic.” Maman took her by the shoulders in exasperation. “The time to decide that was before the trial night. You had an opportunity to summarily dismiss him—I suspect the Convocation expected you would, given his status—but you can’t back out now. You know that. The rules are explicitly designed to prevent exactly this kind—”
