The Goblets Immortal by Beth Overmyer (read 50 shades of grey .TXT) 📕

Beth Overmyer

The Goblets Immortal

FLAME TREE PRESS

London & New York

Know what is to be; everything, you see:Drink from the Goblet of Seeing.

Lighter than air, float without care:Drink from the Goblet of Drifting.

Strength and survival, no beast is your rival:Drink from the Goblet of Enduring.

Strategic and cunning, to war shall be running:Drink from the Goblet of Warring.

Take what you can, banish at hand:Drink from the Goblet of Summoning.

Luck is your friend, all others must bend:Drink from the Goblet of Questing.

Immortality to he who drinks from one and the rest—And a curse for the soul who was born as a Blest.

Chapter One

Aidan cut his hand and watched his blood pool in the inkwell. When the flow came to a standstill, he cursed and squeezed until the crimson flowed again. “You’ve the pen?” he asked Tristram, the only person who would buy land from a wanted man.

Tristram passed the iron quill. “You won’t regret this, Aidan.”

“I never have regrets.” He pressed his lips into a hard, thin line and paused before dipping the nib into the blood.

Tristram laughed, a nervous sound. Aidan could imagine him raking his lily-white hands through his corn-blond hair. It took all of Aidan’s strength not to tear at his own dark locks. Below his breath, he swore.

For the last ten years, he’d lived in peace. That was before the money he possessed had run out, and he was forced to return once again to Breckstone. If Lord Dewhurst got wind that he was still alive….

After a moment, the scratching ceased, and the deed was done. “There.” Aidan set down the pen and stanched the flow from his hand. “It’s over.” When his friend said nothing, Aidan looked up. “Am I keeping you from some pressing engagement?”

Tristram stowed his timepiece in his waistcoat. “Not at all. We just need to be mindful of the time, that’s all. Jina’s due home in half an hour.”

Aidan’s brows drew together. He looked around the parlor. The Prewitts had painted again, and the pianoforte occupied a different position in the room. Other than that, the place had not changed since he and Tristram had snuck in there as boys for sugar cubes.

The aroma of baking bread wafted in from the kitchen at that moment. Aidan’s stomach rumbled and then clenched. He swallowed a mouthful of bile and nearly crushed the signed paper in his fist.

Tristram cleared his throat. “That should be dry now.”

Aidan nodded and extended the deed over to his friend. But before the other’s fingers could close on it, Aidan withdrew and said, “Money first.”

Tristram snorted. “You trust me so little?”

Clank went the pen into the well. Aidan looked up. “In my position, you can afford to trust no one.”

“And yet here you are, in my parlor, no exits but the window and the door.” Tristram laughed. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you making escape plans. Just in case, of course.”

Aidan managed to crack a slight smile as his friend opened his billfold. “Of course.” The deed and money exchanged hands, and they shook on the deal.

“You won’t regret this.” It needed repeating, but it did no good.

It was signed in his blood. No amount of regret could wash that magic away. Aidan sucked on his hand, which still oozed, and reached for the inkwell. “You keep a lot of iron in here,” he noted, Dismissing his lifeblood from the well and getting to his feet.

Tristram laughed. “I’ll never get over how you do that.” He waved his hand with a flourish. “Just simply willing objects away. Wish I was so able.”

“No, you don’t.” He clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Thank you, Tristram. This means a lot to me.”

Tristram made to cut him off. “Going so soon? How about taking tea with me?”

And risk having a servant spying him there? “No, thank you. I’ll just be going out the back way and—” He moved to the front window, having felt a human Pull. Sure enough, there was a woman coming up the walk. A middle-aged, wire-thin woman with a yellowing lace shawl draped around her shoulders. Aidan moved into the shadows. “What the devil is this?”

Tristram was beside him, pulling back the curtains. “I don’t— Oh, that Roma woman. She’s been pestering my wife and me these last ten days at least.”

“For what?” Aidan Dismissed the money and donned his hole-riddled riding cloak. His heart pumped hot blood hard through his veins, which prickled as they always did when he scented danger. But what could be wrong? Aidan pushed the feelings aside and repeated himself. “What does she want?”

“To tell us our fortunes, of course.” Tristram hesitated, still peering out the window. “Blast. She’s going to the back. You’ll have to wait here ’til I’ve gotten rid of her, I’m afraid.”

Aidan grimaced. “I shall leave through the kitchen.”

Tristram was already moving to the hall. “No good. I ordered all of the servants to stay in there ’til they’re told otherwise.”

“Then I’ll just have to leave through the back and risk the Roma.” Aidan picked up his riding bag and Dismissed it. He’d left his horse, Triumph, out in the back wood, tied off to a tree. Please don’t wander off.

Tristram was on his heels as he moved to the back door. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? What if she’s a spy?” He grabbed Aidan by the arm and stayed him. “It’s not worth the risk. For any of us.”

That made Aidan hesitate. If he was caught on the property, it wasn’t his life and freedom alone at stake. He turned and looked into his friend’s eyes.

“Please.”

A vein throbbed in Aidan’s forehead. So many ghosts in this town, in this house even. A starving child at an iron gate. Two soft hands bearing food. There was laughter, good times, even. Fool. You are a sentimental fool. Aidan’s spine stiffened but he moved back into the parlor. “Very well.”

“You’re a good man, Aidan.” Tristram turned to go, saying over his shoulder, “Have a seat. And take some refreshment. You haven’t touched