Betrayed: Magi Rising Book 1 Page 12

  His words dove deep, muddling my thoughts until I was sure I was dreaming.

  I opened my eyes, and there was Zîvrünê leaning over my bare abdomen, smiling. Dream-like, Zîvrünê licked his finger and touched my skin just above my navel. Desire ripped through me, and I gasped. He put his finger back in his mouth and closed his eyes.

  My breaths grew shallow, and the ache for him deepened as he leaned over and licked my skin. I parted my lips, and a whimper escaped. I blinked, and the cave became a cloud of sand. Lost in the dream, I did what I would never dare in real life. I ran my hands into his hair and murmured his name.

  I wanted him. I wanted his joy and his peace and his freedom, just like I knew he wanted mine. I loved him. All of him. He was my other half. My soul mate. He was the light to my darkness, the temperance to my impulsiveness, the fire to my ice. My perfect balance. He was everything I loved, and my greatest joy came with him. I ached with the need for him and begged him to bind us so we could be together. I wanted us, merged as one—his weight on and in and through me. I arched with his touch, trying to maneuver to get closer to him. Surely he could feel this too.

  There! His fingers stroked my soul, and I opened up to him, begging that he would do the same.

  “Please,” I cried, panting and writhing with need. “Rünê… Rünê… Rünê.”

  Suddenly, panic clutched my heart, and I knew the demons were chasing us, searching for a way to break through the wall we’d built to keep us safe from Kânkarä. The thought so strange and foreign but real, so real. Then there was Zerôn laughing at Rünê, saying he was lesser and always would be. Rünê with his eyes closed, sitting in the corner of his room, bruised and beaten, chanting “not real” and then begging Bîcav to help him know what was happening. Zîvrünê watching my sister fall, the guilt for the pain he’d caused shredding him. So much self-loathing, and my soul ached. Tears streamed down my face, and I wailed with anguish for his pain. I couldn’t take it—

  The dream and nightmare collided, a cacophony of images and emotions, threatening to pull me under. A weight settled next to me, and I reached out to touch him. As soon as our skin met, peace washed over me, and the visions disappeared.

  I blinked my eyes open, and Zîvrünê knelt over me, his eyes wide. The waterfall crashed at the mouth of the cave, and the moss above lit the cavern in soft light.

  Blushing, I sat up and winced. “I’m sore.”

  Golden bands encircled my arms—zeta tattoos. My abdomen—around my navel—was stamped with an odd design of waves, triangles, and circles. None of them, I was confident, made by a tongue. I closed my eyes and asked, “How much of that dream did you see?” But if he’d seen that dream, did that mean… “Did I see your memories?”

  He shuttered his eyes and backed away from me. “I doubt it. My power doesn’t work that way.”

  “Maybe it could,” I responded. But it was relieving to know that if I hadn’t seen his memories, he hadn’t seen all of that dream either. “I never thought I’d see more than the souls of animals, and you saw what happened.”

  He jerked his head toward the waterfall, indicating it was time to go. Once we got to the other side and were wading out of the lake, he said, “But you were younger, your magîk still undeveloped. It might even continue to change over the next couple of years as you grow up.”

  His words stung, because they implied…

  “Are you saying I’m not grown up?” I blurted, anger spiking through my body. I stomped the rest of the way out of the water and then faced him. “You think I’m still a child?”

  Zîvrünê had the decency to bow his head. “You’re still a subadult, Zädîsa.”

  “But you banded me like I was an adult,” I retorted, pointing at my new tattoos. “You can’t have it both ways, Zîvrünê.”

  He jerked and met my glare with one of his own.

  But I plowed on, heedless of the silent warning. “If I’m a subadult, you might’ve just sealed my magîk, making it so it wouldn’t grow. Or maybe that was your plan all along.”

  He blanched and took a step toward me. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  I knew that. There wasn’t even a bit of doubt in my mind that he was speaking truth, but I was livid. I opened my mouth to accuse him of something else—I wasn’t even sure what—but was saved from my own stupidity by Bîcav charging toward us, yelling.

  “What the fetid rot are…” He pulled to a stop, his mouth gaping. He pointed at me and glared at Rünê. “You marked her as a zeta?”

  Zîvrünê sighed. “Binding her magîk was the best I could think of”—he shot me a pointed look—“to keep her safe.”

  Bîcav’s surprise settled into reluctant acceptance; his mouth closed into a smooshed grimace and then evened out into flattened lips before he spoke again. “Still a dangerous move.”

  “All of them are, at this point.” Zîvrünê raised his eyebrows.

  Bîcav stared at his prince, nodded once, and then left.

  Somehow I felt like they were speaking of more than just me and my magîk.

  Zîvrünê turned to me and said, “I know your emotions are all over the place right now, and that’s even normal. And I promise, I don’t think you’re a child, but you’re not quite an adult either. I want to keep you safe for as long as I can.”

  “Then stop treating me like a child,” I retorted. As soon as I’d spoken, I slapped my hand over my mouth. “I’m sorry,” I breathed. “I seem to have lost my mind.”

  Instead of getting mad at me, he laughed. “It’s to be expected; it really is. I think your sister blurted out something about Zerôn right after she woke up.” He sobered and added, “That should’ve clued me in to her real feelings then, but I wanted…” He shook his head as if to clear it and then settled into silence as he led me to the cabin. As soon as we arrived, he said, “Bîcav will return in a few minutes with a magî who will change your tattoos to look less conspicuous. If they’re blue, everyone won’t immediately know you’re a zeta.” Rubbing his eyes, he sighed and then added, “After that, you’re free to go and come as you please.”

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “Something strange is happening in the linoxa. I’m going to try and find out what it is. I suggest you stay away from my brother and your sister, but I would never confine you.” He sucked in a breath and choked out, “And I would never treat you like a whore.”

  “Oh rot,” I gasped. “Did she say that to your face too?”

  “I don’t think she would dare. Bîcav showed me. Anyway, I’m not sure what to do about the mess we’re all in, but I’m determined to fix it.”

  My chest swelled with pride and hope. “I think you should kill your brother and become the kümdâr.”

  His eyes widened, and I slapped my hands over my mouth again. I obviously had a major problem with controlling what was coming out.

  “I think you’d better wait until your judgment is better before you leave. Just a suggestion, but if Zerôn hears you speaking treason, I’m not sure I could stop him before he exacted punishment—even on you.”

  Surprised at my lack of control, and recognizing the wisdom of his recommendation, I nodded and said, “I think I’ll stay put for a while.”

  * * *

  The next morning, I felt like an aleph had marched over my back, kicked me, and then marched over my front. Every muscle in my body ached, and my head throbbed. My mouth was dry and tasted like mud. Pretty much, I felt awful.

  Bîcav brought me water, tea, juice, and milk, but I only managed a few sips of each before I made him take the tray away. Zîvrünê came in twice to check on me, but he stayed in the doorway, a furrow on his brow.

  The magî he’d sent yesterday changed the appearance of my bands. Instead of the three vibrant-golden bands he’d given me, I had picked blue like a common magî of little consequence. She said it would fade with time, but it was the best she could do. I didn’t care, but Bîcav and Zîvrünê stayed up late into the night
discussing it. And here he was, at my door again, staring at me.

  “Are you coming in this time? Or will you huff and leave?” I asked, keeping my lids half-way closed.

  “I do not huff,” he muttered.

  “Okay,” I replied agreeably as I closed my eyes again. “If you say so.”

  Creeper.

  15

  Today

  “What?” I snapped. Rünê’s meaning sank in, and I reeled on Bîcav. “Are you joking? He didn’t know I was coming back?” If I could have glared fire, I’d burn him to ash. Anger and hurt wrenched through me, and I stormed over to my friend and poked him in the chest. “You—” I clenched my teeth and then corrected myself. “—no, whoever you got to talk to me in here”—I tapped my head with my fingertips—“was it Basvîk? Anyway, he said”—I jerked my head toward Zîvrünê—“that Rünê would die if I—”

  Zîvrünê raised his voice and, right over the top of me, started yelling. “You brought her here? How dare you—”

  Bîcav grabbed my arms, holding me still as he bellowed, “Stop.”

  I snapped my mouth shut, and Zîvrünê was likewise silent.

  Bîcav released me and, marching toward his master, continued to rant. “You need her, you fool. What you and Zerôn…” He slammed his palm into the prince’s chest and growled, “This is madness, and you’re blind to your own stupidity.”

  “How dare you?” Zîvrünê snapped, smacking Bîcav’s hand away. “I said—” Rünê gasped suddenly, and his body trembled.

  I stood rooted to the spot, blinking with shock as I tried to make sense of what was happening.

  As he shuddered, his skin rippled, and seizing, he stumbled and released an inhuman growl.

  What the rot? I sucked in a huge breath as he landed on the ground, thrashing on the leaf-litter. Fear scattered my thoughts, and I didn’t know if I should go to him or stay away.

  “Bêrde,” Bîcav shouted while waving for me to get back.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, my voice hoarse with panic.

  Bîcav ignored my question as he knelt next to the prince. Before I could ask again, Bêrde ran through the doorway, joining Bîcav, and the two magî crowded around Zîvrünê, muttering to one another and blocking my view.

  Ruin yowled in the distance, and my attention flicked toward the tree line for the panthera even as I inched closer to Zîvrünê and his men. My gaze jumped back when I heard a grunt, and my panic lessened with Bîcav’s matter-of-factness.

  “Let’s get him to the springs,” Bîcav said. “He’ll be fine after he soaks and has something to eat. Bêrde, help me lift him.”

  Bîcav scooped his hands under Zîvrünê’s arms, and Bêrde picked up his feet. I shuffled behind them, refusing to let Zîvrünê out of my sight but uncertain if my presence was welcome.

  Pinning me with his gaze, Bîcav gave a jerk of his head. “Come on, Zädîsa,” he called as they rounded the building. “Hurry up.”

  My heart fluttered with trepidation, and I closed the distance. There was no reason to voice the questions burning the tip of my tongue; Bîcav could hear every one of them. The longer the silence stretched, the bigger my fear became until I felt like I would explode if he didn’t say something.

  We went to the waterfall, where I’d hurried to bathe earlier today. The sun was up now, but the cool water—normally delicious in the heat—didn’t even register until mid-thigh. “What’s going on?”

  “I’ll pull him through the waterfall,” Bîcav said, wading deeper into the water.

  Frowning at the non-answer, I sucked in a seething breath, but before I could speak, Bêrde released Zîvrünê’s feet and faced me, offering a sad smile when our gazes connected.

  “You should go to him,” the Serîk said.

  I only had time to look at Bîcav before he bellowed, “Hurry up, Dîsa.”

  Jolting into action, I dove forward, taking long strokes to catch up.

  “The waterfall will probably be enough to wake him up. Then you shouldn’t have any problem getting him into the hot springs.”

  “Why does he need to sit in the spring?” I asked. But I wanted to know what was wrong. Why was he seizing? And why would the heat help?

  “Once he starts talking, ask him all your questions as fast as you can,” Bîcav said. He treaded through the deep area, pulling Zîvrünê like they’d done this a hundred times.

  Something about Bîcav’s expression made me hesitate. This was bad—really bad. So did I want answers? Stupid question. Did panthera eat tapir? I swam toward answers like a caiman was chasing me.

  At the waterfall, Bîcav took a deep breath, and then ducked under the pounding water, letting it beat against Zîvrünê. His legs jerked, and his feet splashed in the lake, evidence that he was awake. After filling my lungs, I followed, diving under the punishing force to avoid the brunt of the cascade.

  I popped up on the other side, the dark cavern lit by bioluminescent moss on the ceiling. The scent of sandalwood and ylang ylang permeated the air, and I smiled at the nostalgic scent. Memories of him kneeling next to me and patiently giving directions when I was young surfaced, and emotion clogged my throat. He had to be okay.

  “He’s steady now, so you can take him to the spring in back,” Bîcav said, pushing Zîvrünê toward me. “Give him a minute or two to become coherent, but then… Don’t hold back. When he stops talking, come and get me.”

  Without waiting for a reply, the big Serîk dove back under the waterfall and disappeared, leaving me with Zîvrünê.

  He stood, staring blankly at the back wall, and here in the dim light, his skin was even more leeched of color, his eyes glazed. With a huge shiver, he whimpered, and a moment later, his teeth started chattering.

  Rot.

  “Come on,” I said, sidling up to him. I pulled his arm over my shoulders, and slid my arm around his waist, squeezing to get his attention. “Let’s get you in the warm water.”

  He let me guide him, saying nothing as he followed along. We climbed out of the lake and crossed the dark granite to where the hot spring-fed pool bubbled with warmth. The hint of sulfur hung in the air, but more pronounced were the heavy smells I associated with him. I smiled when I spied the soap we’d made, hundreds of bars, still stacked against the wall. He slid into the water and exhaled with relief, settling on the ledge.

  I studied every plane and angle of his face, from his hairline over the arch of his dark eyebrows, and the water glistening off his eyelashes, illuminated by the moss above. I visually traced the slope of his nose and the bow of his lips, and my breath quickened. Two years away… still not over him. I might never be.

  He stared at me with his bright blue eyes, and I wondered how long I’d been daydreaming.

  “Hi,” I said lamely, frowning when I couldn’t even think of a single question.

  “You should leave,” he said, his voice low.

  I flinched, and the retort flew out of my lips before I could consider the wisdom of it. “Stop treating me like I’m a child. I grew up.”

  “I can tell,” he replied with a chuckle. After a beat of silence, he added, “But it doesn’t matter. You should still go.”

  “Why?” Questions. Right. I had lots of them, but the one running through my head on replay escaped first. “What’s wrong with you?”

  He stood, water running down his sculpted chest. “Does it look like there’s something wrong with me?”

  This sounded more like Zerôn’s arrogance. Fine. Two could play this game. “Why are you answering my questions with questions?”

  “I’m trying to avoid them,” Rünê said, his expression growing troubled. “Why are you here? You shouldn’t be here.”

  “At least one of your men thinks otherwise. I only came because…” Yikes. What to say? Did Zîvrünê think he was dying or did Bîcav? “Because I got a message from Bîcav.”

  Zîvrünê crossed the pool, making the water ripple out before him. My skin tingled with anticipation as he drew near.
I expected him to stop, but he closed the gap between us. Pushing into my personal space, he boxed me in, and I reactively stood. Now there were only inches between us, and the heat from his body radiated to my skin.

  “Bîcav called you home?” he asked, studying me.

  “Yes,” I said, looking everywhere but at him. “Or he had someone else do it, rather. That’s not his magîk, but you know that. Anyway, he was worried about you.”

  Zîvrünê snorted. “I’m fine.”

  Grimacing at the obvious lie, I glared up at him. “Magî who are fine don’t have seizures. And they don’t look like you.” I waved at him, blushing because he was practically the most perfect male magî ever. “I mean you’ve gained weight, not that it looks bad. But you’re paler than you used to be, and why do you have all these scars?” I ran my finger along one of the pink lines, and desire ripped through me so suddenly I jerked my hand away as if he’d burned me. My gaze returned to his and, when I spoke next, my voice was breathy. “Also, you’re moody—which might not mean anything, except you’ve never had a temper, not even when Zîyanâ left you for Zerôn.”

  He raised his eyebrows, and I cringed with guilt. That was probably a low hit.

  “You’re really going to go there?” He laughed, but the sound was dark and filled with self-loathing. “It doesn’t matter.”

  My guilt evaporated, and I smacked my palm on the water. “Yes,” I snapped. “I am going there because it does matter. That was over three years ago. And Zîyanâ…”

  He shifted closer to me, and the water rippled again. I glanced down at his chest and the top part of his wet abdomen, bare but with tight squares of muscle, and swallowed. Relax. Don’t like him.

  Pushing my attention up, I forced another swallow as my gaze skimmed over his chest again. So not right to be that attractive… and I was definitely not over him. He waved his hand in front of my face then snapped his fingers, and I shook off the stupor. Double rot. “Where was I?”

  Smirking, he waited long enough so I knew that he knew I’d been ogling and then said, “Zîyanâ.”