Stolen Dagger

by Shawn Wickersheim

  Come to me, reds.

  He dropped toward the street and landed on another cushion of wind. A second downward pillar of air struck the ground inside the wall and moments later a third hit the cobblestone street. By then, Gylfalen had already disappeared into the night. His mischief was not finished yet.

  Chapter 32

  Lady Cecily sat rigidly in the back of the public carriage and stared at the stolen letters clutched in her hands. It was too dark to read them again, but the words and phrases were already etched in her mind. All she had to do was close her eyes and they were there.

  More than once, she thought about ripping the letters to shreds. Let that image replace the words and phrases. Let that act erase Ian’s dirty deeds. If she destroyed the embarrassing proof of her husband’s infidelity, perhaps she could expunge the truth and . . .

  She stopped herself.

  As embarrassing as the situation was, she had to remind herself of one thing; these letters were her passport to freedom.

  Cecily dwelled on that thought. Freedom was a luxurious idea and not one in which she held much faith. Her duty to the Throne of Yordic would never allow her true freedom and her gender would never allow her true power. She would always be a princess, never a queen. When her grandfather eventually died, the throne would pass to her father and then on to her son. If she had not produced a male heir, the Rutherfords would have been forced to relinquish the monarchy and another noble family from within the courts would have gained the crown ending her family’s three-hundred-year reign.

  Of course, it may yet still end, she thought grimly, once her grandfather and father died.

  Many around the city and throughout the country were unhappy with a Gyunwarian half-breed as the heir to the Yordician crown. She had heard the nettlesome rumors and discriminatory complaints from the noble purists ever since her betrothal and the voices of their discontent had only grown louder after Tyran was born:

  “Only a pure-blooded Yordician should sit on the throne.”

  “Another noble family should usurp power after Prince Edmund’s reign ends.”

  “That half-breed will never be our king!”

  She had heard them all and had borne the brunt of the public’s ire. Despite having no choice regarding her marriage, she had become the scapegoat for the entire problem. After all, she had been the one to expel the unpopular half-breed from her womb. However, the whispered comments discussing her private life were the ones which truly upset her:

  “How can she bed that Gyunwarian?”

  “How often, do you think, she defiles herself with that . . . man?”

  “I would rather lie with an animal.”

  She had learned to bite her tongue and pretend not to hear their foul remarks. The gossipy noble women would have loved to add the juicy details of a confrontation, had it occurred, to their list of sordid stories told and retold over tea and crumpets.

  Cecily glanced at the letters again. Revealing the truth about Ian would complicate matters for Tyran. The sins of the father would forever burden the son. By seeking freedom from Ian and thus breaking the bonds with Gyunwar, she would give the noble purists the means to force Tyran out. He would be declared non de’herytae and the Rutherford lineage would end with her.

  Unless . . . she tapped a finger against her pursed lips . . . unless she remarried a Yordician and bore a new, pure-blooded son.

  The carriage turned onto the tree-lined boulevard leading to the castle. Cecily chewed on her bottom lip. Perhaps visiting the castle at this hour was not such a good idea. There were too many ears within those stone walls, servants spying for rival families, and it would only be a matter of days, if not hours before the news of her crumbling marriage spread throughout all Belyne.

  “Driver!” she called out.

  “Yes, M’lady?”

  “Turn around . . . I’ve changed my mind.”

  The carriage stopped beneath one of the flowering magnolia trees. The youthful, dark-haired driver swung down and around and peered through one of the side windows at her. “Shall I take you back home, M’lady?”

  Cecily glanced at the letters again. She did not feel like returning home, not tonight, not ever. She wanted to talk to someone, but whom? No one in her family, obviously. At least, not yet. And it was too late to call upon two of her closest friends, Lady Dalian and Lady Baumgarden. She would have to wait until morning or risk seeming impolite. She opened her mouth, closed it, frowned, and finally said, “Take me to Lord Devin Ragget’s estate.”

  The driver nodded and returned to his bench. Cecily squirmed in her seat. An odd giddiness well up inside her. It was improper to visit him at this late hour, and yet, he was the only person she wanted to see. She valued his opinion and thought he might be able to help her through this difficult time.

  “It’s not like I’m going there to pursue anything else,” she said to herself. The carriage circled and headed away from the castle. “We are just friends. The kiss earlier was nothing more than two friends . . . two friends comforting each other.”

  The memory of the kiss played again in her mind. She lingered on the feel of his lips, the way he had held her close and the look in his eyes. Oh, that look! Her breath caught in her throat.

  “The kiss meant nothing . . .” she whispered to the night. “Honestly. We’re just friends.”

  But you were once lovers; the night reminded her, passionate, inseparable lovers.

  “That happened such a long time ago,” she argued. “We were young and foolish then. And besides, I would never have kissed Devin again if I hadn’t just learned Ian was sleeping with dock whores.”

  The night was stubbornly quiet.

  “Ian has done more to damage our marriage than that simple, inconsequential kiss,” she persisted. “I could easily go years without seeing Devin again and not once think about that kiss . . .”

  She trailed off. She could lie to herself, but it was folly to lie to the night. There had been something more to the kiss. And that look! She had seen the truth of his feelings in his eyes and it had scared her. At the same time, she felt jittery-excited by the prospect of seeing him again. Would he be asleep when she arrived? What if his guards refused to admit her? Suddenly a darker thought struck her, and she nearly stopped the carriage again.

  What if Devin had a woman with him?

  Cecily chewed on her lower lip, pondering that last thought until she tasted blood. She just could not imagine him with another woman. In fact, she could only imagine him . . . with her!

  That was all it took to unlock the sweet memories she had hidden away, forgotten over the years, refused to revisit while married, brief images of her and Devin coupling in his enormous bed, the ecstasy on his face, the way his body moved and the way her body responded when he touched her, kissed her, entered her and thrusted into her, over and over.

  Cecily slid over to the carriage window and opened the curtains. The crisp night air cooled her heated skin and dried the beads of perspiration forming on her brow and between her breasts. She looked down at the gown she had casually chosen to wear to the castle and winced.

  Has Devin seen me in this before . . .?

  The emerald and ivory bodice was snug to the waist, as was the fashion, and flared outward at her hips. She liked how the dress hugged her generous curves and exaggerated her cleavage, but perhaps she should have worn a shawl. A wrap would have made the dress seem . . . less obvious.

  She ran her tongue gingerly over her ragged lower lip, tucked the incriminating letters into her etui and folded her hands together in her lap. It simply was too late to return home and change, and besides what did she have to feel guilty about? When she had dressed earlier, there had been no thought of seeing Lord Ragget. In fact, she’d had every intention of going to the castle.

  Every intention.

  The carriage lurched to a stop outside Devin’s estate. Twin braziers illuminated the tall, arched mahogany front doors and the various lamps glowing from within ga
ve the impressive stone keep a warm and inviting air. There was a solid, yet graceful design to the architecture of the building and Cecily decided as she stepped out of the carriage the estate suited Devin. There was an obvious similarity between the man and his home. She glanced up at the imposing central tower, the largest in Belyne . . . and blushed.

  A hulking figure broke from the shadows near the door and moved to intercept her. “No visitors,” he announced in a low growl.

  “Lady Cecily Rutherford Weatherall,” she called out, keeping her voice even, “to see Lord Devin Ragget.”

  The giant man stopped short. “I beg your pardon m’lady; I did not know it was you.” He bowed. “You are of course quite welcome here. I am Amarias.”

  Cecily blinked. Amarias! She remembered the name. He was the stable boy who always favored her horse with a special treat. He would smile up at her after she’d returned from a ride with Devin and give her a flirtatious wink. The last time she had seen him he’d been a scrawny, little boy. Now, he stood well over six feet, much closer to seven, with the muscle mass to make the young women his age swoon. Perhaps even women a little bit older . . .

  “Has it been so long you don’t remember me?” His rich baritone filled the night. “I used to-”

  “No, I remember,” she said quickly. “But, I don’t think I would have recognized you had you not told me your name.” She laughed merrily. “You’ve grown up.”

  “I’m one of Lord Ragget’s personal guards now.” His broad chest swelled beneath his tight, black leather armor. “Forgive me I did not know you were coming. Is the lord expecting you?”

  “No, but I must see him.” She offered him a smile. “I know it’s late.”

  “Nonsense,” Amarias said, with a casual wave of his hand. He tossed the carriage driver some coins. “Lord Ragget is still awake. I will take you to him directly.”

  Cecily followed Amarias through the mahogany doors and paused just inside, her eyes drawn away from his broad back, and up to the intricate glass chandelier hanging from the wooden rafters. Hundreds of white candles decorated the chandelier. Its size took her breath away.

  “Impressive, isn’t it?” Amarias craned his neck. “Four maids clean it every week and replace the burnt-out candles. It takes them all day.”

  “I’ve never seen its equal,” Cecily muttered softly. “Not even at the castle.”

  Amarias smiled and gestured for her to follow. Crossing the black and white marble floor, he led her into an arched hallway lined with hundreds of suits of polished armor.

  “You are certain I am not disturbing Lord Ragget?”

  Amarias glanced down at her from the corners of his deep, blue eyes. “I don’t believe you, of all people, could disturb Lord Ragget . . . if I may be so bold.”

  They reached the end of the hallway and began to climb a series of marble steps, each worn a little in the center. The air grew warmer as they climbed and soon Cecily found herself struggling to catch her breath. Reaching the head of the stairs, Amarias paused. “I should have warned you about the climb. Shall we continue, or do you need a moment to catch your breath?”

  Cecily held up a finger, too out-of-breath to speak. She had forgotten about the long flight of stairs. Devin had insisted the exercise kept him fit. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she gestured for Amarias to continue.

  “Are you sure, M’lady?”

  She nodded.

  Amarias led her to a wooden door set back into a side corridor at the end of the hall. She recognized it immediately. Devin’s private study.

  She was only here for advice, she silently reminded herself, just advice. She glanced down at her half-exposed breasts and sighed. She was only here for advice . . .

  Cecily swallowed dryly and took a deep breath. Perhaps if she told herself that often enough, she’d begin to believe it too.

  Amarias knocked and waited for an answer.

  “Come,” a cold voice beckoned from within.

  Amarias opened the door, ducked, and stepped inside. “M’lord, Lady Cecily Rutherford . . . um . . . Weatherall is here to see you.”

  Cecily followed Amarias inside. Devin rose from behind his oak desk. He’d replaced his old dilapidated chair with one resembling a gilded throne. A couple of oversized armchairs and a couch were the only other pieces of furniture in the room. She looked for the familiar tapestries depicting the last Great War, but he had replaced them with a single painting instead, a grand scene depicting the ascension of the One before a throng of prostrate followers. That was odd. Devin had always been a devout follower of the gods. When had he started believing in the One?

  Several letters lay scattered across the top of his desk. “I’ve come at a bad time,” she said, pausing just inside the room, “you are busy with correspondences.”

  “No . . .” Devin’s jaw dropped. “. . . Not at all!”

  Her cheeks redden as his violet eyes ranged freely up and down her body before quickly returning to her own. “You look . . . absolutely wonderful!” He smiled broadly and came around the desk to greet her. “I was not expecting to see you again so soon! This is indeed a most pleasant surprise.”

  “I know it’s late . . .”

  “Nonsense.” He dismissed Amarias with a wave, took her by the hand and led her over to the couch. “Shall we?”

  “Are you sure I’m not intruding?”

  Devin glanced back at the letters and grinned sheepishly. “I must confess, after our discussion earlier in your sitting room, I was reminded of the letters you had written me all those years ago.” He sat on the couch beside her. “And I couldn’t help but pull them out and read them again.”

  Cecily blinked with surprise. He had kept her letters! She felt like a stupid little girl with a terrible crush and her mind blanked. Devin’s grin spread to his beautiful eyes and she wondered what he could be smiling about. It was then she realized she was smiling dreamily too. She blushed brighter.

  “Can I offer you something to drink?” He started to rise.

  “Yes. No.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “I mean, I’m thirsty, but that isn’t why I am here.”

  He glanced down at her hand. “Why exactly are you here?”

  “I had to see you again.” She reached into her etui and removed a handful of wrinkled letters. “I found proof.”

  “Proof?” Devin looked at the papers and then his eyebrows rose with understanding. “Oh!”

  “Everything you said earlier was true.”

  “I’m so terribly sorry, Cecily.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “I was truly hoping it was all a lie.” He pursed his lips in thought. “Does he know you know?”

  Cecily shook her head. “I set off the vault alarm and snuck back into his study while he went downstairs to investigate. He found me later, but I had put everything back, except these.”

  “What are you going to do now?”

  “I don’t know.” She looked into his gentle, violet eyes. “I suppose that is why I came here. What do you suggest I do?”

  Devin broke free and began pacing around the room, his hands clasped together behind his back. “Cecily, you put me in a rather awkward position.”

  She regained her feet and caught his arm as he walked past. “I know, but you must understand, I had no one else to turn to.” She bit her lower lip and winced.

  “Oh! Look what Ian has caused you to do!” Devin reached out and touched her bleeding lip. His fingertip brushed lightly at the torn skin and sent a thrill through her body. “I will have my healer fix this.”

  “I’m not worried about my lip.” And before she realized what she was doing, she had kissed his finger. Stop this, she screamed to herself, she was only here to talk, only to talk, perhaps gain some advice, but not kiss. Not kiss! She moved a step closer. No, she shouldn’t move closer. “What can I do about this?” She held the letters up between them.

  Devin’s fingers moved from her lips to her wrist. “You
don’t want my help.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Devin shook his head firmly. “I would make my suggestion and you would despise me for it.”

  “Never.”

  “You would say I was being cruel.”

  “Devin, please!”

  He turned away. “I can’t. You would end up hating me and I could not bear that.”

  Cecily grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back. “I am asking for your help. Do not make me beg.”

  “In any other situation, I would help you, without hesitation, without reservation, but this . . .” He shook his head.

  Cecily’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t believe you ever cared for me!”

  “You know that is not true.”

  “Do I? If you did, you would help me.”

  “Don’t say that!”

  “If ever you loved me, you wouldn’t-”

  He grabbed her roughly around the waist, pulled her very close and kissed her savagely. She placed her hands against his rugged chest as if to push him away but didn’t. Couldn’t. His tongue slipped into her mouth and she sucked on it gently, moaning. Just as abruptly as it began, he shoved her away and held her out at arms’ length. “I swear you will be the end of me!” he gasped. Wiping at his wet mouth, he came away with her blood on his fingers.

  “Please, Devin, I don’t think I can do this alone.”

  He rubbed the blood slowly between his finger and thumb and with a great sigh, he nodded. “I could never say no to you, Cecily.” A pained expression flashed across his face. “But damn me to hell if this plan causes you to hate me.”

  “I could never hate you.”

  “Don’t make me remind you of those words.” He paced back to his desk. Resting his hands on the edge of the polished wood, he bowed his head. “The truth must come out,” he said after a long pause, “but not by you or me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Someone else must charge Ian with this crime,” Devin continued. “You must appear to be an innocent victim, shocked and surprised by the tragic news.” He straightened. “And though I am the Chief Inquisitor, if I were to accuse him of infidelity then someone else would have to perform the investigation.” He paced around the room. “Also, since he and I often disagree on matters, some might think I was creating a story to discredit him to further my own ends, and that would just not do. No, what we need is someone else to bring this matter to the court’s attention.”