A Kiss of Flame (Shadows Eternal #3)

Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

B arith lifted the princess off his lap and plopped her down amongst her companions on the pillows. She pouted loudly as he rose with a mumbled apology, stalking off after Levian. ‘ What in the Hells was she thinking?’ he wondered for what felt like the hundredth time in the last ten minutes.

He could feel everyone watching him, disappointed that he’d left the pile and anticipatory that he was chasing after the vampire and the mage. If the Eldreth had wanted him to be a spectacle, he was certainly delivering.

Did he think Deckland would actually harm her? Not necessarily, but Levian was overconfident at times, and not all of her plans worked out. He knew this from firsthand experience—scrambling to help her escape while maintaining all his limbs in the process. If he was wrong and Deckland did try anything, Barith was prepared to make sure he delivered the vampire’s remains to Sirus—personally.

The corner they had disappeared around led to a dark hall lined with doors. He stopped an attendant carrying wine who had just emerged. “Which room did the mage and the vampire go into?” he demanded.

The creature shifted uncomfortably. Barith growled. “Which room?” he repeated roughly.

“The axe room,” the attendant stammered. Barith shot off, not entirely sure what the axe room even was. “But you cannot enter unless invited,” the attendant called after him.

Barith planned on being invited—either that, or he’d break down the damned door. Enchanted or not, he doubted it would hold up against his sword.

The dark hall was lit with purple lights highlighting different weapons engraved on each door. He passed a knife, a spear, a flail, a bow, a sai, and a sword before finding the door marked with an axe. Barith tried the knob. Locked. He growled and banged on the door. Nothing. He banged harder and tried again. Still locked.

“Levian!” he shouted, taking hold of the knob and pressing his shoulder against the door. He hadn’t expected it to give way and was startled when he stumbled into the dimly lit room. Barith’s blood burned seeing Levian straddling Deckland, who lay on the lush crimson bed. He slammed the door shut behind him.

“I think I made a big mistake,” Levian said, her voice strained.

Dread filled his belly as he blindly ran over, ready to tear the vampire’s head from his shoulders. Smears of blood were spread over Deckland’s unconscious face, and Barith yanked Levian off the vamp and into his arms. “Are ye okay?” he asked, pulling away to scan her for bites. “I’m going to kill him,” he snarled. “I don’t care if he’s Sirus’s brother, I’m going to?—”

“Barith!” Levian snapped. He stopped his frantic survey. “His nose is bleeding. I didn’t let him drink from me!” She pushed him away in a huff.

“Oh,” he replied, the instinctive panic washed away with relief.

“Do you really think I would let him do that?” she hissed, disgust clear on her face.

“Ye did follow him in here!” he reminded her angrily.

Levian scoffed, pushing him aside so she could get closer to Deckland. Now that Barith got a better look at the vampire, he could see Levian was right. The blood was from Deckland’s nose, which had already stopped bleeding. The vamp was out cold.

Barith liked Deckland much better, unconscious and prone. “What the bloody Hells happened?”

Levian groaned, throwing her hands up. “I messed up!” she snarled. “I was trying to weave a spell discreetly so he wouldn’t notice—a little one that would make him more likely to tell me the truth. Except—” she groaned again. “The dampening magick here is worse than I anticipated.”

“Did he catch you?” Barith asked.

“No. He—” Levian grumbled a curse. “It doesn’t matter. All you need to know is I punched him in the nose, and here we are.”

Barith grunted in disbelief. “You punched the vampire in the nose and knocked him out?”

She glared at him over her shoulder, her violet irises flaring. “Why is that so hard to believe?” she snapped.

He shrugged. “You’re you. You can sling magick, but your punches don’t pack the same power.”

Levian’s expression soured as if she’d sucked on a lemon. “Well, I did,” she said, bristling. “And now he’s unconscious, and we’re screwed.”

Barith rubbed his beard. “Did you get anything out of him, at least?”

Levian stalked over to a small bar table, pouring herself a half glass of whiskey. “I’m fairly certain Deckland is involved in whatever deal is going down tonight.” She downed the drink and grimaced. “And that he’s going to wake up at any moment and want to kill me.”

The dragon sat at the foot of the bed, indelicately shoving Deckland’s booted feet aside. The vampire's body twisted awkwardly, which pleased Barith more than it should have. “What did the bloodsucker do, Levian?” he demanded.

She let out a deep sigh, looking up at the ceiling. “If you must know, he tried to kiss me,” she clipped. Barith's fists clenched, the temptation to throw Deckland’s unconscious body onto the floor becoming almost irresistible. “I was trying to get him to relax,” she continued, her words breathless. “I thought if we made out a little, he would be distracted enough not to notice my spell. But—” She groaned. “When he got close, I don’t know—I punched him. Right in the nose.”

Barith grunted. She must have been fast to get a shot off on the vamp. Or Deckland had been that distracted. The thought of them together in the bed made Barith want to scrub his brain with soap until his ears bled like Deckland’s nose.

He glared down at the vampire with loathing. “I didn’t think you could hurt anyone here without magick alarms going off and the Eldreth locking ye in chains?” The vamp’s nose was broken, and it would need resetting. Barith’s chest swelled a bit with pride at Levian’s handy work.

Levian shrugged, pouring another drink. “Apparently, they don’t care about protecting a vampire. Or maybe they don’t think it’s necessary. Or maybe he’s just that kinky and ordered them not to disturb whatever happens in his room as long as he’s the one being beaten.”

Not that Barith was one to judge anyone’s preferences, but it wouldn’t surprise him if Deckland enjoyed a beating now and then. He was only disappointed that he hadn’t been the one to bust his nose—or, better yet, his jaw. “So what now?” he asked.

“I’m thinking,” she snapped, slamming her empty glass on the table.

There was a knock at the door. Levian jumped, and Barith shot up from the bed. They exchanged tense glances before the knock came again, more insistent.

“Do you think they know?” Barith whispered.

Levian cursed under her breath, fiddling with her hair. “I don’t know. Stay behind the door,” she whispered.

“Levian, everyone saw me come back here!” he clipped.

She hissed a curse. “Well, it’s not like we have a bathroom window to jump out of. If we’re getting out of here, it’s through that door,” she told him.

Barith began summoning the fire from his core, drawing his long sword from his chest in a flare of flames. Levian’s eyes widened. “We can’t carve our way out!”

“What else are we going to do?” he whisper-yelled right back, his hot glowing sword now in hand.

The next knock was more forceful, and Levian looked up to the sky as if pleading with the goddesses for guidance. “Put it away,” she ordered him. “We don’t even know who it is or what they want. Besides, the Eldreth aren’t the only ones with leverage.”

Barith didn’t like the look in her eyes. He didn’t like it one bit. This night was going to Hells fast. “Are you sure about this?” he questioned.

She pushed his sword back toward his chest. “Yes,” she declared. “Just—trust me. Okay?”

Barith looked down into her face; her eyes were determined but pleading. With a curse, he did as she told him, placing his sword back against his chest. In a little surge of molten flame, he melded with it once again. The moment it was gone, Levian turned to the door. “Let me do the talking.”

“Apologies,” Sil offered from the other side when she opened it. “I came to make sure all was well.”

Levian fiddled with her hair, and Barith stifled a curse. She may have punched Deckland out cold, but it was his fault he’d drawn all this attention. He’d stormed off after her in a blind fury without giving it much thought or care.

“Well—not exactly,” Levian replied with a sigh.

Barith stilled, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach. That feeling always came when Levian was about to do something that might get him shot at. He regretted putting away his sword already.

“I am here to be of service,” Sil said. “In whatever capacity that may be.”

Levian glanced over her shoulder at the bed, gears turning in her mind. She then looked toward Barith, her eyes narrowing for a moment. He knew that look well: I think I have an idea, and you’re definitely going to hate it.

He tensed as Levian widened the door. “Deckland has had a rather unfortunate evening,” she explained. He was definitely going to be shot at before this night was through, he grumbled in his head.

Sil stepped into the room just far enough to see Deckland on the bed. The fae’s soft expression didn’t waver a fraction. Their gaze shifted, taking note of Barith hovering behind the door.

“Things got a bit out of hand,” Barith offered, unsure what else to say.

“He’s alive?” Sil asked pragmatically.

“Of course,” Levian declared. “There was just a miscommunication, and well?—”

Sil’s expression flattened. “Due to his unique composition, Master Deckland is exempt from our enchantments that protect patrons from undesired aggression. Miscommunication or not, this is a serious offense, I’m afraid,” the fae told them. Sil looked to Barith.

Levian stepped forward. “It was me,” she offered. “Not Barith.”

Sil raised their brows and turned to the mage. “Oh?”

“He tried to—” Levian began to explain.

Sil raised a hand to stop her. “Master Deckland’s tastes are well known. If this resulted from his request, it is still unfortunate.”

“I can’t say I wouldn’t have knocked him cold given the chance,” Barith admitted, “but it was all her.”

Sil glanced between them, then back to Deckland. “Follow me,” they said, their previously coy demeanor replaced by cold authority. “You will need to meet with the elders.”

Barith looked to Levian, who glanced back at him. “Hugh, you mean?” she asked.

Sil stepped out into the hallway. “Speak to the elders, and they will determine how to proceed.”

“And if we don’t?” Levian asked, trying to sound more curious than defiant.

The fae looked over their shoulder. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

Barith grumbled a curse. So much for having a fun and delightful evening.

“Don’t worry,” Levian whispered, following Sil. “I’ll handle this.”

He grunted. “The last time ye told me that in this situation,” he whispered back sharply, “I got an arrow shot into my arse.”

Hugh and Artie sat behind matching large wooden desks, pouring over papers stacked neatly in perfect piles. Neither looked up when Sil led Levian and Barith into the vaulted room. The space was simple yet tall, with a wide stone fireplace at the back and dark marble floors. A chandelier made of bone and crystal hung from the ceiling, casting light over a Persian rug between the desks.

There were no armed guards, no security rushing in to encircle them. In fact, Levian hadn’t seen any security at all. She had noticed an eerie touch of magick when Sil had led them through a nondescript door back and into a wing that was clearly not meant for any of the patrons of Kamár. The space felt stilted and smelled of paper, ink, and woodsmoke.

Sil didn’t speak, waiting patiently between the desks as the pixies turned papers. Levian wasn’t so patient. “I apologize for any trouble,” she offered, her voice echoing.

Both pixies ignored her, but Sil glared in silent warning: it was best to keep quiet.

Levian’s anxiety simmered. This is all my fault, she thought, determined to fix it. She’d wanted answers from Deckland, but she’d also followed him out of anger at Barith. The whole mess seemed stupid now. Standing in that room brought back unwelcome memories of being a child in The Towers, waiting to be reprimanded by the Headmaster. It made her feel small—a feeling she despised.

She opened her mouth, but Barith nudged her arm. Levian shot him a look, and his eyes widened in silent command: Do as you’re told, for once. She pursed her lips, trying to stay quiet. The tension prickled her skin, and small static shocks of magick skittered from her fingers as she tapped them against her arm.

Levian had been ready to burst when Hugh finally grumbled, “Speak.” His eyes remained on his papers.

Sil stepped forward, explaining what had happened as they knew it.

Artie grunted. “So Deckland cannot be roused?”

Levian cleared her throat. “He could be woken with magick, but he’d be groggy for the next hour or so.” Artie grunted again, turning back to his papers.

“It was an accident,” Barith insisted.

Hugh sighed, turning over another page before glancing at them. “The intention is irrelevant. What matters is that he is worthless to me now, and I need his expertise.”

Levian’s instincts took over. “I apologize—for the inconvenience. Is there any way I might help since he’s indisposed?”

Hugh’s sharp eyes stayed on her, calculating. “See if you can wake him,” he said—not to Levian, but to Sil. The fae nodded and turned to leave. “Ten minutes is all he gets,” Hugh added.

Sil left with one last unreadable glance at Levian, closing the door behind them. Artie flipped another page, and the fire crackled.

“Why have you come to Kamár, Levian Myrddin, daughter of Merlin?” Hugh asked bluntly after a moment.

Levian respected his directness. Years of experience had taught her that when dealing with sharp creatures like Hugh, it was best to be both clever and honest. She’d never dealt with an Eldreth before but trusted her instincts.

“I came to get your attention,” she replied earnestly.

“You’ve succeeded,” Hugh said. “To what ends?”

“I have an item to broker that I’d prefer to keep secret.”

“A rarity, no doubt,” he said, disinterested.

“Yes, in fact,” she confirmed, irritated at his disregard.

Hugh stood and came to stand at the edge of his desk; his gaze shifted between her and Barith. “There is truth here but also a lie,” he said. “The question is, where is your lie?”

Levian felt Barith tense behind her. To his credit, he remained quiet, hovering near her like an imposing shadow. In these situations, they always assumed their roles: she, the clever negotiator; he, the intimidating muscle. She knew he had to be irritated that she’d made him put away his sword, but Levian still hoped her approach would prevail.

“There’s no lie,” she said. And there wasn’t, not on the surface.

Hugh smirked, his golden tooth showing. “No invitation to Kamár is accidental, brokered, or bought. We invite members of the Folk for our reasons. I invited you and Mr. McCroy because you have the Heart Orb.”

Levian’s breath caught. She had no idea how Hugh could know that—unless Carvatticus had let it slip, which she doubted. Her thoughts raced. It was strange, in hindsight, how easily they’d gotten their invitation. Odd that Hugh and Artie hadn’t seemed surprised when Barith mentioned looking for a broker.

“The shop in Paris,” she realized aloud. It was the only logical source—the pixie who owned the shop in Montmartre who had told them about the last owner of the Heart Orb and his estate in Germany.

“She is Merlin’s offspring, alright,” Artie observed dryly, starting a new stack of papers.

Levian winced at the comparison to her father, but Hugh seemed to understand. “Don’t take offense,” he said. “My cousin is complimenting your cleverness.”

“Is he?” she questioned.

Hugh smiled. “Renault is an old acquaintance. The orb has been missing for some time, and it’s not every day Merlin’s daughter and the High Daemon Lord of Obsidian walk into his shop in Paris asking about it.”

Her stomach churned. She felt genuinely foolish now, realizing how obvious they must have been. She’d been so focused on catching her thieves that she’d been careless, and it stung.

“What do ye want?” Barith asked gruffly, stepping closer to hover behind her.

“Yes, what do you want?” she echoed in irritation. The pixies knew more than she would have guessed, and she was struggling to deduce why they’d not dragged them both into their office the moment they’d stepped into Kamár if all they wanted was the Heart Orb.

Hugh glanced at Barith, then back at her. “We are not enemies,” he said. “In fact, I believe our goals may be more aligned than you realize.”

Levian shifted, wary. “Goals?” she asked. “Do you wish to broker the orb, then?”

Artie huffed from behind his paper. “Tell her, Hugh. We’ve business to get to.”

Hugh wrinkled his nose at being rushed. Levian narrowed her eyes. “Tell me what?” she pressed.

Hugh stepped closer, but Barith leaned in over her, his presence forcing the pixie back. Hugh’s gaze flickered between them, and his expression hardened. “I know you have the orb,” Hugh said. “But we will not broker its sale.”

Levian’s heart sank.

“Why not?” Barith growled. “Isn’t selling priceless forbidden stuff what ye do?”

Hugh glared at him. “We will not handle its sale because the Eldreth are sworn never to broker an item of Dokk origin with Levian Myrddin.”

Levian didn’t even try to keep the shock from her face. “Why?” she demanded.

Hugh smirked, looking at her as if she were less clever than he’d thought. There were countless reasons, but the real one struck her like a stone in the head falling from a high cliff.

“My father,” she said hollowly, answering her own question. A chill spread through Levian, her arms wrapping around herself as she glared at Hugh.

Barith cursed, the sound echoing. “The bastard is rotting in prison,” he snapped.

“That may be true,” Hugh said, “but the deal was struck and remains in our ledger.”

Levian swallowed a lump in her throat. Part of her wanted to think her father had brokered this deal to protect her from following in his dark footsteps. But she knew the truth deep down. He did it to protect himself, to keep her from threatening his power if she ever tried.

“Well,” she drawled with bitterness. “I guess we have nothing more to discuss.” She turned to leave, her blood boiling. Barith didn’t move.

“What if it were me?” he asked. “Could ye broker it for me?”

Levian stopped, turning back slowly. Barith was glaring at Hugh, deadly serious.

“No,” she said firmly. She wasn’t going to let Barith risk his reputation over this. She wouldn’t allow it.

“But if—” Barith started, turning to her.

“No!” Levian declared.

Hugh seemed to find their little tiff amusing. “Perhaps we can devise an alternative arrangement,” the pix offered.

Levian was tired, angry, and had no patience left. “What kind of arrangement?” she asked, her skin prickling.

“We’d like to hire you,” Hugh said.

“To do what?” Barith grunted.

“Steal something,” Hugh replied. Levian kept her expression schooled though her heart jumped.

Barith snorted. “You want to hire Levian to steal for you?” he questioned in disbelief.

“I don’t care for thieves,” Hugh admitted, “but they are required occasionally, and I admit there can be some grey areas depending on the item in question. For example, you obtained the Heart Orb—a feat my cousin and I were both impressed by, given how long it’s been missing. Though it wasn’t precisely yours to take, was it?”

Levian bristled, but Hugh continued. “More importantly, I suspect you care little for the profit its sale would bring you, which means you must have an ulterior motive for going to so much trouble. Perhaps it has something to do with that lying half-fae robbed in Paris who claimed to possess it?”

Her heart fluttered, and she leaned into Barith. Levian could tell that Hugh knew far more than he was hinting at, which unnerved her. It unnerved her because she also had the distinct impression he may know something about her black-masked thieves. “What are you asking of us, exactly?” she pressed.

“We need our property back,” Hugh said. “You want information, I believe. Help us, and we’ll help you.”

Levian eyed him, still suspicious. “You could hire anyone. Why us?”

Hugh smirked and said, “You happen to know the person who can confirm the item’s whereabouts.”

She frowned. “I do?”

Hugh nodded. “We’re not permitted to visit, but his daughter is.”

“No,” she declared flatly. She was in no hurry to see Merlin again, let alone to ask him the location of some item he’d either helped steal or had stolen from the Eldreth himself. She knew it was pointless anyway. He’d never tell her.

Barith snorted. “Ye won’t deal with her because of Merlin, but ye want her to go to him?”

“The details are—” Hugh began.

“Complicated,” Barith scoffed. “Aye, I get it.”

Levian’s skin prickled as the truth seeped in. This was why they’d let her come to Kamár—they had information to dangle in front of her, hoping it would get her to do their dirty work. “My father’s debts aren’t mine,” she spat. “And neither are his problems.”

“Not yet,” Artie declared with a touch of foreboding.

Levian glared at him. “I beg your pardon?”

Artie cut her a look. “Help us, and we’ll help you,” he reiterated. “It’s a simple trade.”

The air around her crackled, and Barith stepped in front of her. “She told ye no,” he said, pulling her toward the door.

“No one else will broker the orb,” Hugh warned them. “One word from us, and no one will touch it. One word from us, and the world will know you have it.”

Her fists clenched and crackled with magick. “So blackmail, is it?” she seethed.

Hugh gave a little shrug. “Not if we can come to an arrangement. We harbor no ill will toward you or Mr. McCroy, but you did come to us,” he reminded her. “You came to do a deal with the Eldreth.”

It was like a punch in the gut. Barith growled menacingly, but Levian touched his arm to calm him. She’d dealt with slimy creatures her whole life, and Hugh was right; she had come to him. Levian knew it was risky. She had no illusions about her father or the Eldreth, but she also knew time was pressing, and she didn’t have many other leads regarding her thieves.

“Fine,” she relented. “But leave Mr. McCroy out of this.” Levian didn’t care what happened to her, but she’d be damned if they let Eldreth drag Barith into it.

Barith grumbled, pulling her back. “Levian, ye don’t need to do this.”

She looked up at him. “This isn’t your fight,” she told him. “I know what we discussed, but this?—”

“Yer daft if ye think I’ll let ye do this alone,” he interrupted. “Though I already think yer daft for trusting these two.”

Artie stood. “We need a decision,” he said. “We have other options if you decline.”

Levian bit her lip, staring up at Barith. He looked worried but determined. If she agreed, he wouldn’t let her go alone, which held her back.

“We’ll do it,” Barith growled. “We’ll get whatever it is back, and you’ll help Levian.”

Her breath hitched. “Barith?—”

He glared down at her, his expression determined and defiant.

“Excellent,” Hugh said, clapping his hands together. “You know where to find us when it is done.”

A knock on the door signaled Sil’s return. “Master Deckland is ready,” they said after Hugh beckoned them.

Barith cursed, and Levian gulped. Artie chuckled. “Is he angry?” the pix asked.

Sil tilted their head. “The vampire is… irritable.”

“We’ll deal with Deckland,” Hugh said. “You deal with Merlin.”

Levian’s guts churned at the thought of seeing her father again. Merlin had been cast into The Prison when she’d only been a girl, and she’d visited him only a single time since, and that had been out of desperation to save Gwendolyn the year before.

As they followed Sil through the wing of offices, Barith squeezed her hand, drawing her attention. “No arrows,” he told her.

Levian smiled, but a chill ran down her spine as they rounded the corner. Deckland stood on the other side, his face clean of blood, his shirt fresh, his nose pink and swollen, staring at her.

“Hello, kitten,” Deckland drawled, his voice sinister.

“Hells,” Levian blurted as Barith moved in, shoving her and Sil aside.

“Back off, vamp,” the dragon snarled, his eyes blazing.

Deckland’s cold glare fixed on Barith, but it soon slid back to Levian, his lips curling in a chilling smirk. She shivered. “Did you satisfy your curiosity?” he taunted, each word a dagger of mockery.

“Master Deckland, you are required in the Grey Room,” Sil interjected with irritation, displeased by the vampire’s hallway theatrics.

Deckland's eyes narrowed, lingering on Levian as he strolled around them. The mage swallowed, feeling her cheeks heat. She was embarrassed, and the effects slithered through her. Deckland was a vampire, and he was unnerving, but she’d treated him like nothing more than a pawn.

She’d been about to apologize when Deckland said, “It was diverting. I enjoy a partner that can play rough, even if you were only using me to make the dragon jealous.”

Levian sucked in a breath of shock while Barith’s growl rumbled like low thunder.

Deckland glanced at the dragon with an almost delighted glint. “Take her to bed,” he told Barith, “before your kitten gets herself into real trouble.”