Prince of Swords

by Linda Winstead Jones

  “You know much of Prince Ciro, it seems,” she said, and her eyes widened a little. “What can you tell me of my father?”

  He could easily lie to her and tell her he knew nothing of the wizard. Until now it had been easy enough to avoid the subject, simply not telling her all that he knew. But Lyr did not tell falsehoods, not even to make his own life easier. If she had not asked, then he could not consider his silence a lie. But once the subject was broached, he had no choice.

  “I was told by a powerful seer that the house where I was to collect the crystal dagger was once the home of a wizard who is now deceased. I’m sorry.”

  Tears filled her eyes, but did not fall. “Do you know who killed him?”

  “No.”

  “It wasn’t…you, was it?”

  “No. From what Keelia said, I believe your father was killed before I even knew of this battle.”

  Rayne’s head dropped. “I’m not surprised to hear that he’s dead,” she whispered. “My father was doomed from the moment he involved himself with Prince Ciro.”

  “Are you similarly doomed?” Lyr asked without kindness.

  This time when Rayne looked into his eyes, tears ran down her cheeks. “Yes, I believe I am. If Ciro is as powerful as Jiri claimed him to be, then there’s nowhere I can hide that he won’t find me. If he wants me badly enough, then there is no safe place.”

  So, that was her game. She wouldn’t be satisfied to be deposited at a farmhouse or a small village. She was going to claim that there was no safe place for her, and therefore in order to fulfill his part of the bargain, he would have to keep her with him.

  Pretty as she was, vulnerable as she seemed to be at the moment, that was impossible. The sooner he was rid of her, the better. “Then you’d best hope that this dagger does what it’s supposed to do. If that is the case, you won’t have to worry about the prince’s intentions much longer.”

  By the light of the fire, her eyes became livelier. “The crystal dagger is to take Ciro’s life?”

  “Yes.” He watched her for some reaction, and saw only apparent relief.

  “I should not wish anyone dead, but when we’re speaking of Prince Ciro, when it means an end…”

  “Try again to sleep,” Lyr said when Rayne faltered. “I need a couple of hours myself. Morning will soon be here.”

  “Yes. Yes of course.” She rose silently and returned to her bedroll, again settling down with her back to him. While she had boldly looked him in the eye more than once on this night, she did not do so again.

  SHE WAS ALONE. ENTIRELY, COMPLETELY ALONE. NOT THAT she’d expected her father would be of any help where Ciro was concerned, but still…he was her father. He had been her father, if Lyr was correct about the house belonging to a dead wizard.

  Whether or not Ciro had been the one to kill her father, he was certainly responsible. Rayne believed that to the pit of her soul. Her supposedly pure soul.

  Soul, heart, and body, Jiri had said.

  Was wishing Ciro dead enough to tarnish her soul or her heart so he no longer found her desirable? Surely wishing another person dead was a sin of some kind. What kind of trade would she be making if she ruined her soul simply to make herself unattractive to the monster? She’d be trading one damnation for another.

  But at least it would be a damnation of her own choosing.

  The path they traveled was not as arduous as it had been in the past two days, and Rayne no longer felt as if she were in danger of plummeting to her death. And yet today she trembled. She’d never been truly alone in her life. Her childhood had been a good one, with a loving mother and a protective—if often absent—father, and many attentive servants. After her mother’s mysterious illness and resulting death, her father had not become more loving, but he had remained protective, as a father should be. As she’d grown older and taken over the duties as woman of the house, she’d had not only her father but the companionship of servants who were more than servants to her. They were her family as much—perhaps more so—than her father.

  And now they were all gone, all gone thanks to Ciro and his soldiers, and she was entirely alone in the world. She had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. She couldn’t even engage her reluctant rescuer in a decent dialogue to pass the hours of an unbearably long night.

  Last night, the second night since their departure, she hadn’t even attempted such foolishness but had pretended to go directly to sleep. If anyone had heard the tears she tried to hide, they hadn’t let on.

  As sunset colored the sky before them pink, she thought of ways in which she might tarnish her soul or her heart enough to make herself unsuitable for Ciro’s intentions. Were the vengeful thoughts enough? Or did she need to take her plans further? What sins would tarnish one’s soul?

  Blasphemy, murder, theft, coveting, an abundance of arrogance, wanton destruction of beauty…lust.

  She blushed simply thinking about such things, but also realized that now was not the time for timidity. If she did not want to end up married to a monster, trapped in his life and his bed and bearing his children, then she had to do something.

  Not murder. She set that possibility aside quickly. The very idea of taking another’s life was repugnant. Lyr and his men had killed in battle, but their cause was good. She didn’t think that sort of killing counted as a sin, but even so…she didn’t think she could lift a hand in that situation.

  Blasphemy might be easy enough, but would that alone be enough?

  Jiri had also insisted that she be pure in body, and she knew very well what it would take to undo that particular purity. Still, perhaps that could be called upon as a last resort. Surely a lesser sin would do the trick.

  Rayne turned her head and looked at the soldier who rode closest to her. Til was nice enough, though he was also tough and she did not fool herself into thinking he considered her anything other than cargo to be transported from one place to another. He would be handsome enough for a man of his age if not for the scars on his arms and chest and the crookedness of his oft-broken nose. He wore his long brown hair in a sloppy braid.

  She lifted her chin. “When are we going to damn eat?”

  His reaction was subtle, but there was a reaction. Deep-set eyes sparkled. “I beg your pardon, m’lady?”

  “When are we going to damn eat?” she asked again. The heat of a blush rose to her cheeks.

  “We’ll have a quick bite in a couple of hours,” he said. “Pardon me for saying so, m’lady, but if you wish to pepper your language with curses, it is best to do so with vigor and without the blushing.”

  “I did not know there were rules.”

  “Not rules so much as commonly accepted procedures,” he said seriously. “For instance, if you wanted to make a point at this time, you should say, ‘Damn it all, you cursed ass-kissing scalawag, when are we going to fuckin’ eat?’”

  She felt herself blush again, and she knew the reaction showed when Til grinned widely. “I’m not sure I can say that,” she confessed.

  “If you wish to take up cursing, you should attempt to do it well,” Til said, a touch of censure in his voice. “Cursing is like swordplay or a woman’s sewing or any other skill. One must throw oneself into the activity with enthusiasm, or else why bother to curse at all?”

  “You do have a point. Perhaps, as this part of the journey is less arduous and demanding, you might give me…lessons.”

  “Lessons on cursing, m’lady?”

  “Yes, please. If you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Fuck no, I don’t mind.”

  Rayne wrinkled her nose. “I do hate to be finicky, but can you teach me to curse without using that word?” She had heard the cook rail against a stableboy once for using that word, and had come away certain it was not a word fit for a lady’s ears. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t heard enough cursing from the servants when they thought she wasn’t listening. It was one of the advantages to being quiet and unobtrusive. “A few damns and sh…shits should be sufficient.” She h
oped that was the case.

  Til sighed. “It won’t be the same, m’lady, but I can give it a try.”

  “Thank you,” she said, certain that she had found her first true friend among the Circle of Bacwyr warriors. “You may begin.”

  ARIK WAS NOT SURPRISED WHEN THE HIDDEN DOOR which opened from a secret stairway into his bedchamber opened and Ciro emerged. His son knew all the hidden passageways and secrets of this palace which had always been his home. Before she’d left the palace, Ariana had warned him many times that though Ciro might appear to be his son, that was no longer true. She said that Ciro’s body was now home to the Isen Demon, and would show him no mercy.

  But as Arik looked into Ciro’s eyes, by the light of the candles which kept his room from darkness, he saw only his son. Twenty-two—no, now twenty-three—years old, a young man still, in spite of his responsibilities as prince and his position as next in line for the throne. Handsome, with much of his mother in his features. He certainly had her hair, straight and fair and spun like gold, and he had her pale blue eyes. He’d grown in his time away from the palace, grown taller and broader, as young men sometimes did.

  Ciro smiled at him, and all Arik saw was his son. Not a demon, not an ambitious prince. He saw the child who had sat on his knee, who made friends among the servants and sentinels’ children. He saw the baby he’d held in his arms at birth, and the young man who had studied so ardently to become a worthy ruler. He saw it all as if it had happened yesterday, not years past. Had he spoiled his son? Yes, he had, but that did not mean what stood before him was a monster.

  One shout, and a dozen sentinels would rush into the room and place themselves between Ciro and Arik. The emperor considered raising his voice, but then Ciro stepped toward him gently, smiling the entire time.

  “Father, I’ve missed you.”

  Arik sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I’ve missed you, son. I swear, I believe you’ve grown quite a bit since last I saw you.” Ciro had always been thin, but he was not too old to have a growth spurt, and apparently that had occurred.

  He stood, glad that Ariana’s healing work had made him stronger so that he could stand on his own and face his child. “We have fallen upon difficult times. I beg you, tell me that what I hear is not true.”

  Ciro hung his head. “I swear that what you hear is not true, Father. A demon did try to take me, but I fought it off. I gathered all the strength you gave me to my heart and I drove the demon away. I have come home to ask your forgiveness for the injustices I have committed.”

  Arik sighed in relief. Ariana had been wrong, they had all been wrong. Yes, Ciro had fought a difficult battle, but he’d won. He’d bested the demon and returned home, and soon all would be as it should. He would sit on the throne for a few more years with his son at his side, training for the day when Ciro would take that duty. That right.

  A young woman stepped through the doorway and surveyed the room with critical eyes. She was pretty enough, but there was a nasty scar on her face and she was much too thin. Her clothes were ragged and dirty, but then she had been traveling. He supposed that explained away her state.

  “Who is your friend, Ciro?”

  “This is Diella.”

  An unfortunate name. “My brother was once married to a woman by that name, when he was emperor. If what I hear is correct, she seduced a sentinel and tried to have my brother killed.”

  The young woman grinned, crookedly thanks to the scar on her cheek. “Actually I seduced many sentinels, and once I tried to kill that bastard Sebestyen myself.”

  For a moment, Arik did not understand. His mind didn’t know how to accept her words. By the time he began to make sense of her claims, Ciro was upon him. The child, the man, moved quickly.

  Ciro—whatever Ciro had become—was very strong. He clamped a powerful mouth down on Arik’s throat, he broke the skin and slurped hungrily at the blood that poured from that wound. Arik tried to shout, and could not. His voice was frozen, as was his body. He was able to shift his eyes to the side and see that Diella watched with an evil smile on her face.

  Darkness crept upon Arik quickly as his blood was drained. He should’ve remembered all of Ariana’s warnings. He should’ve been stronger of spirit when he’d looked into his son’s face. Perhaps he had been fated to this moment. What man can look into a face of a child he loves and see the demon?

  Was anything of Ciro left in the body that restrained and attacked him? His son would never do something like this, not to him, not to anyone. Ciro was a good man, a good, noble prince.

  Arik forced a word past his numb lips. “Son.”

  Ciro yanked his head away from Arik’s throat. Blood stained his lips, and darkness filled his eyes. Black had taken the place of his mother’s pale blue. “Father,” he responded without emotion, and then bloody lips curved into a smile.

  “Finish it,” Diella ordered sharply. “The sooner it’s done, the sooner you’ll be emperor. Taking the palace is a major victory.”

  “Maybe I should keep him alive for a while,” Ciro said thoughtfully. “Maybe I should allow the emperor to survive long enough to see all that his son has become.”

  Diella scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Finish him off so we can get started.” She surveyed the room. “Is this the nicest room, do you think? I don’t care for the colors. I do prefer blue.”

  Suddenly Arik wished for a quick death. He did not want to see all that his son had become. He did not wish to watch as evil took this palace where he had worked so hard to bring goodness.

  “I haven’t taken his soul yet,” Ciro said casually. “I think I’ll let him live awhile longer.”

  Diella spat on the floor. “You’re only saying that because I told you to finish him off. Well, fine. Play with him all you’d like, but I am taking control, and I will have the proper bath I’ve been denied for so many weeks.”

  Ciro seemed to have forgotten Arik, yet still the emperor could not move. “That body you’ve taken has likely never had a proper bath, and I will be as happy as you are to see that task accomplished.”

  Diella ignored the insult. “So we leave the emperor alive for now. What is our next step?”

  Ciro sat on the side of the bed, dropping Arik’s limp body beside him. He closed his eyes and lifted his chin. “Now I call my legion to my side. Ciro’s Own will soon rule the palace. They will soon rule all of Arthes. Many of them are already here, waiting. Waiting for this moment.” He grinned, and his body twitched, and Arik finally accepted that if there was anything left of his son, it was buried so deeply in this damned body it would never again see the light of day or goodness.

  Ciro looked down at Arik, and the emperor could feel his son—whatever his son had become—pushing into his very mind. He fought, but it was difficult and painful. Was that why he had ignored all of the warnings? Was it the demon who had pushed memories of the past into Arik’s mind?

  “Do you know where Ariana has gone?” Ciro asked. “That bitch has been snatching away souls I once called my own. She’s making it very difficult for me to attain the strength I should now possess. What of the army? Do you know of their plans?”

  No matter what happened, he would not tell. To foolishly sacrifice his own life was bad enough, but he would not aid the demon in defeating the others. Arik attempted to shake his head, and managed little more than a tremble.

  Ciro did not seem concerned. “I can get the information from you, Father, one way or another.” The eyes which were sometimes that lovely pale blue went black once more.

  Again Arik wished for a quick death, but death was not coming for him. Not yet. This thing had other plans for him.

  Arik had been fighting death for months, and now…now he prayed for it to come. Death would be easier than watching a thing which had once been his child destroy everything he had worked for. Death would be easier than looking into those black eyes.

  4

  LYR NARROWED HIS EYES AND STUDIED HIS CAMP. ALL was
not as it should be on this cool autumn night. There had been no sign of trouble from Ciro’s followers thus far, and thankfully Rayne had not attempted again to draw him into friendly conversation.

  But she had been speaking regularly to Til and Swaine, who now smiled at her on occasion and asked too often about her comfort and her disposition.

  If they began to care about her, would they protest if she balked at being left behind?

  It didn’t matter. They were his soldiers, and no woman would come between Circle Warriors. Would innocent-looking Rayne be foolish enough to try to seduce one or both of the soldiers to her side? If so, she wouldn’t be the first woman to use her body to bind a man to her, to make him her slave.

  Circle Warriors were not easily swayed, but neither were they made of stone.

  Segyn had walked the horses to a nearby stream. He could’ve ordered one of the other men to take care of that chore, but Lyr’s first in command had always been fond of animals and had been caught speaking to them on more than one occasion. He took some comfort in the chore, so Lyr allowed him to do as he wished. Swaine and Til prepared supper for all, such as it was. The meal consisted of dried meat and hard biscuits, and until they came across a village where they might purchase fresh food, it would serve them well enough. Til gave Rayne a plate and nodded toward Lyr. Lyr was not blind to the fact that both of his men were suppressing smiles, and not doing a very good job of it. Had Rayne’s seduction already begun? Were they so totally entranced by her? She was the kind of woman who could entrance a man if she wished.

  Rayne walked toward him with the tin plate held steady in both hands, as if she were serving a fine meal instead of dried food that wouldn’t be at all damaged if she tossed it to him from the opposite side of the camp.

  When she was close, Rayne spoke. “Here’s your damned supper, m’lord. I hear it tastes like shit, you cranky old bastard.” Her face turned bright pink, and her nose twitched a little.

  Lyr lifted his eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I said, here’s your damned—”