Nectar of War: The Song of Verity and Serenity (The Nectar of War Series Book 1)

LAVEN HEPHAESTUS ARVENALDI, II

I LOOK BACK TO the bed as I hear Maivena stir. I smile as she sits up; her hair is scattered in messy curls around her shoulders, leveling right over her bare hips. She observes me as I pull black leather armor from a box that Roaner brought with him.

“I do not think those will fit you,” Maivena says, a deep rasp has overtaken her voice due to just waking.

“No,” I shake my head. “They surely will not.”

She crawls to the edge of the bed and sits back on her heels as I stand in front of her.

I lean down, pressing into the padding of the bed on either side of her. “They are yours if you wish to train again.”

Maivena looks down at the leather now sitting next to her, and she runs a hand over them. I watch as she stares. I can feel it; her eyes express it. She is drifting off someplace else, somewhere that is not benevolent of her thoughts.

“Maivena . . . where are you?”

She does not say anything. Instead, her head just slightly lifts, eyes meeting mine.

“Somewhere,” she slowly blinks, “but somehow right here.”

I touch my nose to hers. “Come back.”

Her lips curl.

That smile, dear Gods, that smile.

“Who will I train with?” She asks.

“Whomever you want.”

“You?”

“Yes,” I nod. “If you want me to.”

Maivena looks down at the leather again. “Yes.”

“You need to eat first, and then we will start after. What do you want for morning meal?”

Her head turns to the basket Mrs. Patro gathered. There are loaves of bread, cheeses, fruits, and jams. I walk away and grab it from the table.

Maivena’s smile is untamed as I approach. I will never get over her love for food; she should have never been deprived of it for so long. Or possibly, I did not try hard enough to be sure she consistently stayed fed.

When I open the basket, I see she put her mother’s scarf in it, along with the one I gifted her . . . and that wine as well.

She will want that wine after the training we go through.

Maivena grabs a loaf of bread and pulls off an end of it; she dips it into the jam and tears a piece of cheese from the block. She does not eat it, she holds the little combination outward, and I simper, shaking my head.

“You have given other people food over yourself for long enough. You eat first.” I sit behind her, and she slightly turns with her eyes narrowed.

She forces it into my mouth with furrowed brows, and I loudly laugh. She watches me chew, analyzing my face to see if I like it. I do.

Sweet, salty, and almost savory.

We both sit in silence as we eat. She devours half of a loaf along with apples, strawberries, and cheese.

“How often do you train with your father?” I ask while wiping jam from the corner of her mouth.

Before she responds, her head turns to the door at the sound of quiet bickering.

She leans, focusing on the voices.

“Who is that?” She asks, lifting her finger to the door.

“Roaner, he brought someone with him. I am not sure of who it is, but when he arrived in the middle of the night, I know he had someone with him.” Surprisingly.

The talking down the hall stops, and she goes back to eating more of the food.

“My father and I do not train often,” she answers my question. “He usually does not have enough time, and more often than not, I am busy elsewhere.”

“Then nothing too strenuous today.” I clarify.

I had the opportunity to see her father on the training grounds not long ago, and he is fatal with every weapon. Without using his powers, he alone is death walking with a spear. The strongest of men and women fear him. So, it is no wonder to me why they attacked Maivena’s home those years ago while he and his wife were away. An easy massacre is what that day would have been for him.

“We will only train to what you can handle. Do you mind if Roaner joins us?”

She looks at her arms now concealed in black leather. “I do not mind. He can help.”

Maivena is skintight in armor from neck to ankle. I kneel before her to fix the boots’ laces on her feet as Roaner recedes from the house to meet Maivena and me outside.

When I stand, I see the woman he brought with him.

Her face reads no expression as she looks past me and directly at Maivena.

She is in dark red leather with complex stitching along the shoulders and legs. These are Quamfasian leathers.

“Esme?” Maivena whispers.

The woman looks her over, analyzing Maivena’s face and roaming over her frame. Her golden eyes fill with a twinge of discomfort, an aching expression. “My Gods, Maivena.”

They run to each other and their bodies collide as they desperately hold one another.

I look toward Roaner, and he fixes his gaze upon them.

“Who is she?” I ask.

He does not dislodge his sight from the two.

“Maivena’s cousin, Esme Fondali.”

I gape at them; this would be the first she has seen another family member in years.

Esme places multiple kisses upon Maivena’s face as she holds her cheeks. “I did not know if I would ever see you again. Why did you not write me?”

“We were not allowed to,” Maivena shakes her head. She holds her cousin firmly, as if she is afraid this is all a dream, like she will disappear in an instant.

“Bouvestas*,” Esme speaks in Quamfasian. There is a steam of some sort that moves from the leathers on her skin.

“Do not worry,” Maivena tries to soothe her. “I have been fine.”

The soothing seems to work as that peculiar steam coming from Esme retreats.

“Have you seen Ethel?” She asks.

“Yes,” Maivena’s posture slightly slumps. “Kaden came with papa. I found her on the grounds; we arrived the same day. Papa and Kaden were only allowed in because of Lady Apolla; they were turned away multiple times before reaching Apolla.”

Ethel . . . she is whom Kaden came looking for.

Ethel must be Esme’s sister.

“She is,” Roaner confirms my thoughts but gives me no further elaboration and I do not question him.

“Gods, Maivena. Look at you, do they not feed you?” She examines her cousin’s small frame. “Is their intent to starve you to your grave? I brought food with me; we can eat first. Over my dead body will you train without eating.”

“I already ate with Laven,” Maivena says as she grabs Esme’s hand to guide her to me. “Come meet Laven.”

Esme’s golden eyes are set in aggression as she swivels around to me.

Slowly, Maivena guides her across the ample space between us.

It is easily seen that she does not wish to be in the same environment as me. Understandable.

She looks me in the eye, and the steam I saw from just moments ago pushes forward and it circles me. Maivena grabs my arm and her head snaps toward Esme who stares at us, glowering at Maivena’s hand on my arm.

At once, I see the realization in her eyes. Whatever this is she has encompassing me just alerted her of the mating bond. I want to advise her not to speak of it, but I do not know her, and it is not my place to tell this woman what to do.

“She will not tell her,” Roaner calms my thoughts.

“Esme,” she announces herself as she holds her hand out to me. Her nails are long, sculpted in a round point, and shiny.

I just know she has clawed eyes out with them.

I take her hand. Her grip is firm, a fair warning.

“Laven,” I nod, and our hands disjoin.

“I cannot say I am pleased to meet you.” Esme says. “Well, not with your scent all over my cousin.”

She and Morano would be interesting in a conversation together.

“You and Morano would get along very well, I believe,” Maivena faintly speaks.

I smile and pull her nearer. “I think so too.”

Esme does not seem to be too impressed with us saying this. Once more, she frowns at us.

“Be careful, Maivena.” Her cousin warns, looking between us. “Sometimes, your oppressor is nothing more than just that.”

I narrow my eyes at her and she stares back with ferocity—virtually daring me to say something back to her.

“Esme, do not be so keen on incensing him.” Maivena jumps to my defense.

She opens her mouth, and Roaner ascends, appearing near her. Immediately, she stops.

“Maivena,” Roaner says. “If you would like, we all will train you. Esme said she would help,” he says. Esme nods in agreement, and Maivena does as well.

Esme grabs Maivena and tugs her from my side; they walk down the large land area in front of the house. The ocean is still as I look outward and over the slope not far off.

“She is . . . intriguing,” I say as Roaner stands beside me.

He nods. “You have no idea. Esme has been trying to process this for years. First her sister, then her cousin. She does not hate you; she is very protective over her family after everything that has happened. Seeing Maivena with you is a culture shock for her, especially ever since the division of our lands.”

I do not know who this woman is to him, but they must have become close during his endeavors to New Quamfasi.

“I must warn you; she will challenge her,” Roaner informs. “You will not like it, but Esme knows what Maivena is capable of. We may help, but Esme is the only one who is aware of how far Maivena can be pushed.”

Cautiously, I watch the two of them.

“She is fragile, Roaner.” I try to hide my perturbation as it builds. “She is not as solid on her feet as she used to be. It has been years since she trained to those depths.”

“Trust her.”

Trust the woman whom I know wants to claw my eyes out.

Esme begins plaiting Maivena’s hair straight down the middle, starting from her hairline and down her back. A knot is tied at the end of her hair to keep the plait secure.

Widening the range of my hearing, I listen to what they are saying, but it is useless since I do not have full knowledge of the Quamfasian language.

They separate by drawing backward, putting multiple feet between one another and they stop simultaneously.

There is a shield Maivena is holding, but only that, nothing more.

In the blink of an eye, they are charging at one another at full speed.

“She is making her relearn protection over herself with each weapon on its own,” Roaner announces as I watch them move.

Every strike Maivena hurls is blocked, Esme moves too fast for her to keep up, and she knows it.

A hard punch is delivered to Maivena’s stomach, and she does not remain steady on her feet; she falls backward on the ground and winces at the blow.

I step forward, and Roaner grabs my arm.

Esme looks back at us. “She can take a hit, do not let her fool you.”

Swiftly, Maivena’s leg swings out. It takes Esme off her feet, and I hear a chuckle pull from Roaner. “Do not take your eyes off your opponent.” He speaks and quickly he receives a harsh glare.

They go at this repeatedly, resulting in the same ending as before. Unfortunately, each hit given by her cousin lands in a different place, forcing Maivena to grow short-tempered and tense.

“Has the General’s daughter lost her touch?” Esme jeers.

Droplets of salt begin to drip down Maivena’s neck, and through her posture I can tell she is growing exhausted.

“Come,” Esme holds her hand out. “Get up.” Maivena subsides her gesture and stands on her own. “Crotchety now, are we?”

“Fuck you,” Maivena snaps.

“If she pushes her over the edge, Maivena will want to quit.” I analyze the slumping of her shoulders; the shield is growing to be too heavy on the left side of her body.

“And you will allow her to?” Roaner responds.

I exhale heavily, watching her stumble again. “No.”

“You would test her just as hard. Esme just has a harsher way of going about it.”

A loud gasp pulls from Maivena as she falls to the ground, her hands flatten against the earth, feeling around. When I look at her eyes, they are clouded in white.

I move across the vast area in mere seconds.

Kneeling next to her, Maivena grips onto me the moment she feels me near.

“What the hell are you doing to her?” I growl at Esme.

“Give me my sight back!” Maivena shouts loud enough to make the birds flock from the trees.

“I would not have to use my powers against you if you fought better, which you can.” Esme snaps. “Get up, Fondali. Use your senses.”

“She has no real control over her senses; she has not ever shifted into her Wolf. Now give her sight back!”

Esme studies us as Maivena reaches up to me with her other hand, searching. Her fingers latch onto my arm, stilling the shaking moving over my hands.

I do not know if she is looking for support or keeping a hand on me to stop me from strangling her cousin.

“You need to get away from her, princeling.”

I ignore her insults. “And why would that be?”

“Can you not see? You make her weak. Leave her,” Esme’s tone is crueler than before.

I grace Maivena’s cheek, softly touching as I look at her.

Her words rattle in my ear, and I ignore Roaner as he tries to talk through the bond.

After years of being someone else’s strength, it is horrifying to leave them alone in distress.

Esme’s expression is teasing as she tilts her head at us. “Seems today’s lesson is for two people.”

“Am I to leave her stranded when she is being attacked while vulnerable?”

“No one said that. A war is possibly approaching, and you will not be near her every blinking second; she needs to do this independently. She has been able to fend for herself in the past, and she can again.”

Maivena’s hands slowly loosen, but she does not let go.

There is a slight smile that appears. “It is fine,” she tries to diffuse the rising tempers.

I follow her from the ground as she stands.

“War or not,” I look toward Esme. Roaner is now standing not far behind her. “You can chase me down with the strongest warriors known, but not a single person will stop me from being at her side the moment I feel her strength falter.”

I reach down, grabbing her shield and fit it back on her arm. Esme opens her mouth to protest, and she stops when Roaner touches her shoulder.

“We said you could train her,” I begin. “But I did not say I will sit back and not direct her. It has been years since she has trained like this; you should have had her practice stances before just punching her to the ground. A proper trainer would know this without needing to be told.

“Separate your feet wider,” she listens. Her balance will stand firmer, and it will be harder for her to be knocked down. “Square your shoulders,” as she does this, the shield lifts higher, guarding her greater than it was before. “Do not just use this as a shield,” I tap the iron on her arm before I lift her chin and look into her grey filled eyes. “It makes one hell of a weapon. Use it as so.”

And beat the hell out of her with it.

When I glance at Esme, she almost seems to be satisfied.

“Go,” I step away.

Esme runs forward, but Maivena waits. I watch her ears flinch. She is listening to the pounding of feet coming toward her.

Still blinded, Maivena rushes forward and drifts around Esme with ease. The shield glides down her forearm and she catches it by the handle centered directly in the middle as she moves in a tornado around Esme. Her leg reaches back in a lunge, bringing herself to a steady stop. She punches Esme with the curve of the shield, right in the center of her back. The hit throws her forward, not only making her stumble to the ground in defeat but the punch nails her hard enough to knock her powers short, giving Maivena her sight back.

Before Esme can stand, Roaner shouts. “Again!” Maivena charges at her without hesitation.

She does not touch the ground again other than with her feet.

*  *  *

I sit down at the table in the kitchen as Roaner slides me a glass with dark liquor in it. The windows around us sit wide open, allowing in the night breeze.

I did not remember how much I had left to furnish in this house until I arrived here again for the first time in months. The kitchen is practically empty. Other than the bedchambers, everything needs more furnishing. I believe this is what the result is when you build a home out of an impulse.

“Who is Esme to you?” I ask Roaner as I drink all of what is in the vessel. I grunt at the burn as the alcohol settles.

He shakes his head. “Someone I met while moving back and forth through our lands.”

“How did it come about you bringing her here?”

“She wanted to see if her old home was still standing from years ago.” Roaner sips the liquor before continuing. “Esme resided here in our Western Court before the war. I told her she could stay with me after searching.”

“And did she find anything?” I inquire.

“Yes,” he nods. “Her old home is not far from here, so it was convenient for her to be here.”

I smile. “Sharing a bedchamber with this woman?”

He smiles back, stands from the table, and starts a fire in the oven to avoid answering my question. “When will Amias and Morano arrive?” He asks.

“They are already here; they are at the Training Grounds with Carmen. They have been enlisting new methods of training. I will be visiting the grounds tomorrow to help.”

“I will start a roast for supper, it should be ready by the time Maivena, and Esme are done bathing. You will most likely be taking the food up those stairs tonight.” Roaner chuckles.

I saw the way Maivena walked up those stairs. Every muscle in her body is in agony after today. The only stop she had was to eat, and then she returned outside to swim laps in the large pond stretching along the pillars and trees out front.

“Either way,” I say. “She is eating before she sleeps.”

He stands and walks over to a small, black-leathered trunk. He retrieves a vial from it, and I can smell the oil before he tosses it to me.

Lavender.

He does not say anything. He dismisses me by looking to the hall that leads upstairs to the chambers. “Unless you need help navigating a home you built with your own hands?” He curtly says with amusement.

I ascend from the kitchen to the bathing room in my chamber.

Maivena’s eyes are closed as she rests in the steaming water.

“I need help getting out,” she mumbles.

I did not need to announce my arrival, she felt my presence as I feel hers.

I walk over and sit the lavender oil on the edge of the stone. She looks over to it and painfully shakes her head no.

She closes her eyes and her head leans back to rest. “I do not have the vitality for such movement.”

“I do.”

Maivena looks at me again. She wraps around my neck, and I reach through the water, lifting her. She soaks my bare chest as she clings to me, staring, admiring every inch of my face.

She stands on the shag rug in front of the tub and touches my lower abdomen, as I kneel, her hands gravitate over my chest and grip my shoulders. Grabbing the linen, I start by drying off her legs and lead up to her stomach. She looks down as I kiss along her legs. Her breathing falls short the higher I move.

I taste the skin along the curve of her breast, I ever-so-lightly touch her cinnamon-colored nipples with my lips, and fight the urge to bite down. Her eyes flutter shut, and I fear she may faint.

Then, I wonder how much weaker I can possibly make her.

I smile at the thought and finish drying her off before carrying her to the bed.

I return with the oil, and she stops me. “The oil will get all over the bedding.”

“I really could not give a fuck.” Finally, I breathe.

Maivena looks back as she lays on her stomach, her backside perches right below me as I straddle her thighs.

“What are you waiting for?” She whines while wiggling around.

Her ass lifts high enough to graze the outline of my length through the cloth of my trousers. “Maivena, you cannot–fuck,” I tremble at such a gentle touch and grasp her hip, so quietly, she moans.

She hides the inert smile on her face by biting into her lip and leaning into my hand.

I grab the vial and pull the cork with my teeth; the popping of the cork makes her jump.

She flinches at the touch of the oil trailing down her back, and goosebumps raise across her skin as the oil drifts, pooling right into the dip of her back.

She moans out like a song as my hands rub over her skin. The golden glow in my palms works with the lavender oil, relieving the ache throughout her body.

Her skin coats in a sheen as I massage from her lower back and up her shoulders, gently squeezing and pushing my thumbs into the base of her neck. I see her body rest farther into the bed and her tense muscles find an ease from the pain.

I scoot backward and trail more drops of oil down her soft, brown thighs.

Maivena grips the bedding as I massage her inner thighs and up the curve of her backside. I smile, returning to that spot of her inner thigh. She tremors as the tips of my finger near where I can see her glistening. “God, look at you.”

I close my eyes for only a second, and she turns. Her legs open and my mouth waters, looking down, I continue the slick trail up and down her thighs, and her eyes shut.

A groan tears away from me as I lean further down. “Teach me,” I beg. Her cheeks heat as I look up to her from the position I lay in between her legs.

“Teach you what?” She sounds just as breathless as she was when training.

I smile artfully as she stares down at me, her chest rapidly rising and falling. “Teach me how to make you come.”

* Old Quamfasian: Bouvestas     Translation: Bastards