Read Online Power & Majesty by Tansy Rayner Roberts - Free Book Online Page A

masculinity.
    He ate a few mouthfuls from the supper plate left out for him, and stretched out on a couch to have a snooze before the servants woke him for his first official engagement as the Spring Consort of the Duchessa d’Aufleur.
    The sky cracked open, raining blood across the city. Ashiol laughed aloud. ‘At least it isn’t any ordinary battle that’s going to kill us.’ He had missed the glory of this, saints, he had missed it.
    They had been fighting all nox, and, just as they thought they had beaten the damn sky into submission, it had this to throw at them. Shapes of darkness sizzled out of the wounds in its expanse. Spears of light and silver stabbed and pierced the city below. In the centre of it all, a screaming, pulsing rift tore the sky apart.
    Livilla screamed as a hail of fire burst across the rooftop where she stood. It was Macready, the sentinel, who saved her from the flames, tackling her to the ground below.
    Ashiol tried to go to them, but his body would not move. ‘Not here, not really here,’ he reminded himself. He ached for his animor, for the ability to transform himself into the clawing chimaera and feel the thrum of battle in his veins.
    The Lords and Court streaked into the sky, throwing everything they had at that awful, tearing rift.
    ‘If it’s my dream,’ Ashiol said, ‘why can’t I have my powers back?’ He launched himself up through the clouds. As the cold air flooded over his skin, he shaped himself into his chimaera form. His arms lengthened and thickened. His body swelled with strength, new flesh and muscle. Claws descended from his knuckles with a nasty sound.
    Someone was caught in the rift. He couldn’t see who at first, there were too many Lords and Court struggling at the mouth of it. Ashiol batted away several of Priest’s winged courtesi. Useless waste of skin and feathers.
    Warlord was working so hard that sweat splashed off him. He diverted various screeching missiles of light and ice with his own bolts of power, shielding the others.
    Poet was the closest in, his feet braced against the stiff edges of the rift as he tried to save the idiot who had been weak, stupid and careless enough to get himself caught.
    As Ashiol soared past the crowd of glowing, defensive courtesi, he finally figured out that it wasn’t a courteso thatPoet was trying to save. Not a courteso, and sure as hell not a Lord.
    It was a Creature King. The Power and Majesty. It was Garnet.
    ‘My Lord,’ whispered a nervous voice. ‘My Lord Ducomte? It’s time to get dressed for the festival.’
    Ashiol awoke with a grunt. It was still dark, an hour or so before dawn. Garnet’s alive .
    ‘Thank you,’ he said, and rolled off the couch, fumbling for the ornate white tunic and trousers that Isangell’s people had provided for him. Some of the servants tried to help, but he growled at them until they backed off.
    Once he was clothed and tidy enough that he wouldn’t disgrace his cousin, he allowed the servant to lead him to her.
    She was waiting for him in a cloud of pink roses masquerading as a dress. ‘What do you think?’ she asked, evidently delighted with herself.
    ‘I hope there isn’t too strong a breeze as we cross the Church Bridge,’ he said, reaching out to pick at her petals. ‘Or you’ll be flashing your shift to the City Fathers anyway.’
    Garnet’s alive .
    She slapped his hand. ‘Don’t even think it. Your job is to protect me from breezes, rain and assassins.’
    ‘Marvellous,’ he said. ‘And me armed only with a pair of lacy cuffs. Mind you, they will serve as blunt weapons in an emergency.’
    They were led out to a horse-drawn pavilion that looked like a bridescake. Even as he bantered back and forth with Isangell, Ashiol kept his eyes on the quiet nox sky. Had he been dreaming a real battle, one that was taking place at this very moment? Without his animor, he had no way of knowing. Damn you, Garnet. Took my eyes as well as my power .
    The pavilion began