Sword of Darkness

by Kinley MacGregor

  He should see the creature punished for his insubordination. It would serve him right.

  But as he sat there alone, the mood passed and he considered what the mandrake had said. He'd made Seren happy. In all these centuries, Kerrigan had never made anyone happy before.

  Not even himself.

  Seren sang quietly to herself as she sat on the floor of her room working. How she wished she knew Kerrigan's measurements. But it was too late now. The cloth was already cut. Not that it really mattered, she had an uncanny ability to always make clothing to fit. It was something Master Rufus commented on constantly.

  She didn't know why. She just seemed to know when something was right and when it was wrong.

  Blaise, who had been kind enough to get her the shears, needle, and thread, had warned her that Kerrigan would most likely spurn her gift.

  He might at that. But it felt right to do this. He was the only one she knew who held a high enough position that he could wear the color of her cloth, and it would look good on him. The deep red would accentuate his dark coloring.

  And it would match his eyes when they burned…

  Seren!

  Well, it was true. His eyes did burn almost the same exact red.

  Dismissing those thoughts, she fell into what Wendlyn called her working trance. Every time she wove on her mother's loom, something strange happened to her. It was as if time stood still. She could work endlessly without tiring.

  If only the same could happen while she worked Master Rufus's looms.

  "Seren?"

  She heard the sound of Blaise's voice as if he were a great distance away. "Aye?"

  "I've brought your supper to you."

  "Please set it aside. I'm not hungry yet."

  Blaise did as she bade while he watched her work. He could tell that she was only vaguely aware of his presence. There was an odd aura around her…one he'd only seen a few times in the past.

  It was something that only his magical sight could pick up on, not his true eyesight. He listened to the beauty of Seren's voice as she sang an ancient lullaby under her breath. Her hands worked the stitches on the tunic in an effortless beauty. There was no snarled thread, no misstitching whatsoever.

  He'd never known anyone to work faster, and at the rate she was going, she would have the tunic ready in only a few more hours. He was impressed.

  But more than that, he was suspicious. He'd been around enough magical beings in his life to recognize the species, and as he watched Seren working, he was beginning to understand why she was so important to Morgen.

  There was much more to this "simple" peasant than what met the eye.

  "Seren?"

  It took her several minutes before she realized he'd spoken. "Aye?"

  "Who were your parents?"

  He could tell by her face that the question surprised her. "My mother was a weaver and I know nothing of my father. He died shortly before I was born."

  "And your mother? Where is she now?"

  Her green eyes turned dull as a deep, heartfelt sadness filled them. "She died not long after I was apprenticed to Master Rufus."

  A chill of foreboding went through him. "How did your parents die?"

  "I know not of my father. My mother refused to speak of it. As for her, she perished in a fire that broke out while she was sleeping."

  "Are you sure?" the question was out before he could stop it.

  She frowned at him.

  "Forgive me, my lady," he said quietly. "It was a thoughtless question."

  "Is there something you know that I do not?"

  Blaise shook his head. There was no need to speak of his suspicions. Not until he had more proof, anyway. "You should eat before it grows cold."

  Slowly, she got up and crossed to the platter, where she picked up a piece of bread to taste it.

  There was something beautiful about her even though her features were rather plain. She moved with a decided grace and assuredness that was unusual for a woman of such lowly birth. She wiped at her mouth daintily with the white linen cloth. "Am I doing something wrong?"

  "Nay."

  "Then why do you stare at me so?"

  Blaise laughed at her innocent question. "I can't truly see you when I am in this form," he explained. "I see your shadow, and when you move, I see you much like a gray haze that is a bit blurry."

  "You're blind?"

  "Only as a man. As a dragon, I have perfect vision."

  "Why?"

  "I know not. 'Tis a curse of my birth." What he didn't tell her was that with his magic, he could see a great deal even as a human (that was a secret he'd always kept to himself), but colors and such weren't true to form.

  "I'm sorry, Blaise. Do you need any help?"

  It was all he could do not to laugh at her question. Imagine her helping him. And yet the kindness of her gesture warmed him. "Nay, my lady. I shall leave you to your work."

  "Blaise?" she asked as he turned to leave.

  "Aye?"

  "Thank you so much for bringing the food. 'Tis most delicious and appreciated."

  Her sincere gratitude sent a strange warmth through him. "My pleasure, Seren."

  Blaise took one last look at her before he used his powers to leave her. And as he dissolved into his nether form, he saw the faint white aura around her…

  Aye, she was as he suspected, and he wondered if Kerrigan knew it.

  Blaise let out a long breath as he realized that he was in a precarious position. He was caught between two Merlins.

  One who had embraced evil happily and one who didn't even know she had those powers. It was actually a frightening thought because whenever you put a positive with a negative, you either got a deep attraction…

  Or one hell of an explosion.

  Blaise let out a slow breath. May God have mercy on the girl. Poor Seren had no idea what was in store for her. Especially if Morgen ever learned the truth of her birth.

  Chapter 7

  It was almost dawn before Seren completed the tunic. Stretching her cramped muscles, she yawned. She was tired, but her joy at having finished her project overwhelmed her. It was truly her finest work ever. The scarlet cloth practically glowed in the candlelight.

  Even her embroidery around the neck was exceptional. If only she'd possessed gold thread to stitch it, but even so, the black had turned out quite well. Surely even a man as temperamental as Kerrigan would like it.

  Smiling at the thought of pleasing him, she stretched her cramped muscles once more before she rose and left the room. For once her door wasn't locked—most likely because there was no one else here besides them, and where could she go since they were on an island in the middle of a sea she didn't know?

  She pushed the door open to step tentatively out into the hallway, where she half expected Blaise or Kerrigan to show up and force her back into her room.

  She wasn't sure where Kerrigan might be. The most likely place would be the hall since he'd said that he didn't sleep. She wasn't even sure where that was in this large, cold place. Still, it seemed only natural that the great hall would be on a lower floor in the center of the castle.

  Relying on instinct, she made her way through the darkened corridors and down the spiral stairs until she reached the first floor.

  Sure enough, it opened onto a giant hall that was lined with trestle tables. Ornate banners that were mostly threadbare hung from the rafters over her head. But she wasn't paying attention to them. Her gaze focused on the man before the roaring fire who wore armor blacker than sin.

  Kerrigan sat quietly in a large carved chair with his legs propped on a small wooden stool. At first she thought he was still awake until she drew closer.

  His head was propped against his fist, but his eyes were closed, and they didn't snap open at her silent approach.

  So much for his prideful boasting. The man slept after all, and that knowledge made him seem much more human.

  Shaking her head, she took a moment to study the angles of his
perfectly sculpted features that were relaxed for the first time since she'd met him. Dark whiskers lightly covered his chin, cheeks, and upper lip while his long black hair fell over his forehead. He was without a doubt the most handsome man she'd ever beheld.

  The firelight danced in the darkest waves of his hair and caressed the planes of his face. He no longer looked like a harsh demon out to destroy everyone in his way. He looked like a man, pure and simple. One with a most kissable mouth. Indeed, he was quite inviting like this. Quite approachable.

  And before she could think better of it, she reached out to touch the lock of hair on his forehead. Her hand had barely brushed his brow before he jerked awake with a speed so fast that she was unaware of his movement until she felt something hot and sharp in her stomach.

  Her eyes wide from pain, she looked down to find Kerrigan's dagger buried deep there.

  Kerrigan blinked twice as he felt the warm, sticky blood run over his hand. It took a full heartbeat before he woke up completely to see Seren standing before him. Her lips trembled as she dropped the red cloth in her hand.

  She stared at him with tears in her green eyes that were wide in disbelief.

  "Seren?" he breathed.

  She staggered back.

  Kerrigan pulled his dagger out from her stomach, then caught her against his chest as she fell. "What were you doing, little mouse?"

  "Gift…" The word came out as a pale whisper. "For you."

  He looked to the cloth. Unable to comprehend her intention, he lowered her to the floor. Her long blond hair fanned out around her while her blood soaked her dress.

  She choked on her own blood as she stared up at him accusingly.

  Kerrigan wiped at the blood on her chin as a foreign emotion gripped his heart. It was sharp and painful, a bitter ache the likes of which he'd never known.

  What had he done?

  "Shh, little mouse," he whispered, picking her up to cradle her against his chest as strange emotions tore through him. Fear, sadness, confusion. But the strangest of all was the grief inside him that didn't want her hurt. The part of him that actually ached with the knowledge he'd harmed her.

  She was trembling from the pain as her face paled even more. She was dying and he knew it.

  "Blaise!" he shouted, summoning the mandrake. He didn't have the powers to help her. His magic could only be used to harm others, never to help.

  The air around him stirred an instant before the mandrake appeared.

  Blaise gasped as he saw the two of them entwined on the floor. "Morgen?"

  "Nay. She surprised me while I dozed."

  Blaise sucked his breath in sharply as he crossed to the space between them so that he could kneel on the floor by Seren's side.

  Kerrigan grabbed the collar of Blaise's tunic in a tight fist as he glared at the mandrake. "Save her." He growled the order in a low, deadly tone.

  He saw the surprise that registered an instant before the dragon hid it.

  Kerrigan rocked her gently in his arms as Blaise placed his hand to her wound. Summoning his powers, the mandrake whispered the ancient words, "Arra terac sisimea dominay narah." He repeated them over and over again.

  Seren went completely limp in his arms. Atremor of fear swept through him that she was gone.

  But she wasn't dead.

  Kerrigan let out a slow, deep breath as he felt her heart still beating. Her skin was still warm.

  Aye, she would live. Thanks to Blaise.

  He wasn't sure why that knowledge brought an instant relief to him, but it did.

  Holding her close, Kerrigan closed his eyes and flashed them from the great hall, back to her room where he could lay her down on the large bed so that she could sleep in peace. Even with Blaise's spell, she would need rest to regain her strength.

  "You are a senseless little mouse," he breathed, covering her with a blanket.

  He hesitated as his gaze fell to the large bloodstain on her gown, and his stomach actually clenched. He'd damned near killed her, and the sight of what he'd done sickened him.

  Waving his hand over it, he changed her gown to a soft cream silk that was as unblemished as her innocence.

  He placed the heavy blanket over her and then paused to lay his cold fingers against the blush of her cheek. Her skin was so warm and soft. The delicateness of her cheeks was only emphasized by the brutish strength of his callused fingers.

  He could tear her apart…

  Instead he only wanted to kiss her.

  How very strange. In truth, he didn't like these odd feelings inside him. He had never been a kind man or a kind child. He'd always believed in striking the first blow before it was delivered to him. Better to stun his opponents so that when they struck their blow it would be less forceful. Less painful.

  He knew of kindness only from watching other people receive it. And that had made him even more bitter. More cruel. Why should other people have something he'd always been denied? What had been so wrong with him as a child that no one could ever look at him with fondness in their eyes? Or gently touch him?

  In time, he'd convinced himself that he didn't need kindness or fondness.

  Now, he no longer even wanted it.

  "Gift…for you."

  Her pain-filled words echoed in his head. What gift had been worth almost dying for?

  Curiosity got the better of him. Sealing her door to make sure she didn't leave the room again and find danger, he returned to the hall, where he saw the dark red cloth on the floor.

  There was no sign of Blaise, who had most likely retired to his rooms.

  Wiping the blood from his hand on his armor before he reached for it, Kerrigan retrieved the cloth from the floor. He held it up to see a tunic that was obviously designed for a man. One that was made of tiny, delicate stitches.

  Thoughtful, handmade stitches.

  Something inside him shattered. And that made him angry. How dare she make him feel like this! No doubt that was her intention. She would ply him with kindness until she had him tamed and mastered. Until he fed from that delicate hand of hers as she led him about by his nose.

  Fuck that. He was no woman's pawn. He bowed before no one. Ever.

  Balling the tunic into his fist, he moved toward the fire. But as he started to toss it in, he paused.

  The cloth was so soft against his skin. It was her precious cloth that she had wept over. Cloth that had meant everything to her. Why would she give it over to him? He would never give up something he held in such regard to another for any reason.

  Burn it!

  To keep it would make him weak. It would give her sovereignty over him. It would leave his heart open.

  And still he couldn't make himself throw it into the flames. Do it! The words echoed forcefully through his mind over and over again.

  Closing his eyes, he brought the cloth to his face. Seren's scent clung to the fabric. That woodsy rose smell filled him with a desire so raw, so potent that it was all he could do not to return to her.

  Instead he did something he hadn't done in countless centuries. He melted his black steel cuirass from him and pulled off the black tunic he wore beneath it. He replaced the black wool with the scarlet tunic and hissed at the softness of the fabric against his skin. It was as gentle as the brush of a fey's wings.

  And it smelled of Seren.

  He ran his hand over the perfect material. It fit him as if she'd had his measurements. His little mouse was certainly talented. Her work was without fault.

  "Thank you, Seren," he whispered in the silence of the hall, knowing that he would never be able to say those words aloud to her. Only a weak-kneed milksop would ever thank someone.

  He felt the heat inside him build as he summoned his armor back onto his body. He would keep her gift, but no one would ever know it.

  Not even Seren.

  Seren came awake with a start. She was stabbed! Her heart hammering, she waited to feel the painful throb that had burned like fire in her stomach.

  But
there was no pain to be felt.

  Was she dead?

  Terrified, she opened her eyes to find herself alone in her bed. She was beneath the heavy covers, and bright sunlight was spilling in from the open windows.

  Had she dreamed it? She looked to the floor where the remnants of her sewing was still exactly where she'd left it. The thread, the shears, the scraps of cloth…

  Nay, Kerrigan had stabbed her. She was sure of it.

  Frowning, she pushed the covers back, then hesitated at the sight of her new cream gown.

  Kerrigan had been here. After he'd stabbed her, he must have returned her to her bed. But then why didn't she ache from the wound?

  Kerrigan stood silently invisible in the shadows, watching Seren as she awoke. He'd been here all day while she slept, wanting to make sure that she really was fine after his attack.

  By the changing expressions on her face, he could read every thought in her mind. At least he could until she lifted up the hem of her gown.

  His blood fired as she unknowingly bared the whole of her lower body to him while she looked for a scar from her wound. There wasn't one. Blaise's healing had left her completely unblemished.

  The cream fabric pooled at her waist as she ran her hands over her flat stomach. Her thighs were slightly parted, and all he could focus on was the light triangle of hair that teased and beckoned him with thoughts of the part of her it concealed. She lifted one leg up, exposing herself even more to his hungry gaze. It was more than he could stand.

  Without thought, he stepped forward.

  Seren frowned as she ran her hand over her stomach. There had to be a wound. Didn't there?

  She wasn't insane. Kerrigan had most definitely stabbed her.

  She pushed herself up on the pillows so that she could better see her skin and raised one leg for balance. All of a sudden, something warm and firm brushed up against the center of her body.

  She gasped as a hot, searing pleasure swept through her. "Kerrigan?" she breathed the name.

  All that answered her was another stroke of pleasure that was followed by another and another. Her entire body trembled from the force of it. Never had she felt the like. She shivered and groaned.