“Madam, you never did.” The stark honesty on his face nearly blunted her anger. “To me you are always, and ever will be, the queen.”
His words tugged at her heart. “Oh Robert,” her voice threatened to break, “you should never have reached for my power. How can I ever trust you?”
“I serve you always.” His stare smoldered into her. “We are bound by more than mere words.”
The woman in her longed to believe him, longed to forgive her intellectual equal, her confidant…her lover. But she was also the queen, and this betrayal cut too close to her crown. “We cannot have those we trust act behind our back. A queen must be ever vigilant. We have made our decision.” She made her voice cold and implacable. “Master Raddock is appointed our new shadowmaster. If you wish to serve, you will report to him, but henceforth, you shall be banished from our sight.”
He gaped at her, openly hurt, an expression she’d never seen on his face.
His voice dropped to a hoarse rasp. “Don’t make this mistake.”
“It is you that made the mistake.”
As if he aged a decade before her eyes, he slowly climbed to his feet. For the longest time, he stared at her, his eyes as dark as obsidian chips, drinking up the light, and then he bowed. “Ever yours,” and turned and walked away, his back stiff and his shoulders straight, as if he wore pride like a cloak.
Her fingernails scraped against gold, her hands clutching the throne, but she refused to speak, refused to rescind her command. She watched as he walked the length of the throne room, crossing the checkerboard floor. The massive gold doors closed with a dull thud, swallowing him whole, and she was once more alone. Alone with her crown. Her hands laced across her stomach, knowing she had more than one crown to protect. A single tear escaped her eye. In her mind, she knew she’d made the right decision, the only decision a queen could make, but then why, oh why, did it hurt so much?
13
Danly
Rain fell like a plague, churning the road to mud. The wagon wheels clogged, slowing the horses to a dull plod…but Danly didn’t mind. Speed was his enemy, taking him deeper into exile. Huddled beneath a sodden blanket, chains chaffing his ankles, the prisoner-prince considered his options. For the first time in his life, he had no gold in his pockets, no servants swarming to serve him, no loyal soldiers at his beck and call. Everything he’d valued had been stripped away, lost in defeat. Despair threatened to drown him…yet the need for vengeance persisted. A prince of the realm, he refused to go quietly into exile.
The journey gave him time to think. His fever abated and the pain at his groin lessened to a dull ache…but the loss of his manhood galled him. Memories of his past dalliances tormented him. A eunuch prince, Danly shuddered at the thought. To never know a woman’s pleasures, forever scorned as less than a man…his hatred built to a rage, a black bonfire burning in his chest. Torn between hatred and despair, he realized he’d kept one thin advantage. He giggled at the thought. Perhaps his past could mortgage his future. The Spider Queen thought she’d taken everything from him, but Danly still had his reputation. His spending and debauchery had been legendary, the Prince of Excess, a patron of wine, women and gold. He wondered if it would be enough to win his freedom.
Captain Talcot kept them moving, a bark of orders at dawn’s first light. Always heading west, the wagon creaked and groaned, passing through villages and farmland, his escort of soldiers staying close. Peasants gathered along the muddy road, gawking at the shackled prisoner. Bearded and bedraggled, wearing little more than rags, Danly sat hunched in the wagon, realizing how far he’d fallen. A few threw rubbish, but Danly saw no sign of recognition in their faces, just a common criminal paraded before the crowd. Just a prisoner, not even a prisoner-prince, the humiliation burned deep, branding his soul. The Spider Queen had much to atone for. Pulling the blanket close, he hid his face, thankful the wagon kept rolling.
On the captain’s orders, they avoided the village inns and taverns, camping in the fields at twilight. But the rain made the nights miserable, the soldiers grumbling against their orders…all to Danly’s advantage.
League after league, he studied his captors. Captain Talcot proved a stern-faced man wedded to duty. Danly suspected the captain was a queen’s shadowman in soldier’s clothing, a dangerous adversary. His second in command, the burly sergeant, was almost as bad, always sharpening his sword while keeping a keen eye on the prisoner. Carter, the former Red Horn, was full of spite, taking every chance to heap insults on the prisoner-prince. But among the other three soldiers, Danly found fertile ground for whispered words. One in particular, proved susceptible, Athon Baird, a peasant turned soldier, a young man with six kids and too many debts. The red-haired soldier enjoyed a good story and Danly sought every opportunity to spin tales of wine, women, and gold, trying to parley his past into a future.
Twilight threatened, streaks of red creasing a soggy sky. The wagon rumbled off the road and came to a stop under a stand of birch. Danly waited, feigning weakness, watching as the soldiers fell into their nightly routine. Splitting logs and collecting kindling they made camp, bedrolls spread around a crackling fire.
As he did most nights, Athon Baird finished his duties and then came to help Danly from the wagon. “Hungry?”
“Always.” Danly eased toward the back of the wagon, his chains clanking with every movement. “And I need to walk. I’m stiff from too much sitting.” Athon led him in a slow walk around the camp. Danly stretched, shuffling to the limits of his chains. “It’s good to walk.” The rain came to a stop but the ground remained sodden. Water leached through the rags wrapping his feet. Rags instead of boots, each soggy step reminded him of how much he’d lost. Danly swallowed his bitterness, struggling to keep his voice friendly. “Did I tell you about the time I bet a thousand golds on a single roll of the dice?”
“A thousand golds!” Athon grinned, eager for a story.
“Duke Anders had a fierce reputation as a gambler but I knew his luck was about to change, so I bet it all, a thousands golds, and I dared him to match the bet.”
“Did he?”
Danly nodded. “I’d pricked his pride, challenging his reputation in front of his friends. The duke couldn’t back down, but he didn’t have enough golds to cover the wager, so he drew a ring from his finger, a gold ring with a ruby the size of a pigeon’s egg.”
Athon whistled. “A ruby that size would be worth a king’s ransom.”
“It was a family heirloom, a rare ruby of uncommon worth. I’d seen him wear it in the council chambers and I wanted that ring.”
Athon flashed a grin, as if a common foot soldier could gauge the worth of such a ruby. Danly lowered his voice, drawing out the tale. “I passed the dice to the duke, giving him the first roll. Everyone gathered around to watch. The dice tumbled across the table…coming to rest on a ten.”
Athon nodded gravely, “A hard throw to beat.”
“Exactly, but lady luck was with me.” In truth, he’d lost the throw and the ring to the Lord Raven but truth would not help his cause. “I scooped up the dice…and rolled an eleven!”
Athon took the bait, whistling in amazement. “Victory by a single pip! To gain a ruby like that for a mere throw of a dice.” He shook his head. “Such a ring would change a man’s life.”
It was the response Danly had been fishing for. “Sometimes you have to take a chance, to risk everything when the prize is worth it…else your life will never change.”
Athon snorted. “Chances like that are for princes…not men like me.”
“No, my friend, I’m offering you just such a chance,” Keeping his voice to a whisper, Danly lied with conviction. “I still have that ruby ring, and plenty of gold, all hidden in a safe place.”
Athon stared at him, uncertainty in his gaze. “Where?”
“In Pellanor, with friends.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “That ring could be yours…if you help me escape.” Athon shied away, but Danly gripped his arm. “Think
on it.”
The redhead looked troubled but he did not pull away…and he did not rouse the others.
“Bradford might join us,” Danly named the dark-haired soldier who always grumbled at the captain’s orders. “There’s plenty of gold for both of you. Enough to make you rich men.” His voice dropped to a hush. “Just find a way to slip me a dagger and the three of us will do the deed while the others sleep.”
Athon shook his head. “I don’t know,” but the seed was clearly planted.
“Just think on it. It’s all I ask.”
“Baird!” The captain’s voice rang from the campfire. “Get the prisoner back here.”
Athon jumped, startled like a thief caught with a stolen purse. “Yes, sir!”
Danly smothered his fear, praying the redhead would not give the game away.
Savory smells of beef stew wafted from a cast-iron cauldron, waking his hunger. Danly perched on a small rock, accepting a plate heaped with stew and a steaming mug of tea. He used a biscuit to sop up the gravy, shoveling mouthfuls of tender meat and chunky carrot. The others ate in companionable silence, all except for Athon. Sitting on the far side next to the sergeant, the redhead fidgeted with his food instead of eating. To Danly’s eyes, he looked guilty as hell. Worried the others might notice; Danly contrived to lean sideways, spilling his tea.
“Hells below!” Carter roared with pain, franticly wiping the steaming tea from his crotch. “You clumsy oaf!” He aimed a vicious kick at Danly. “The queen should have taken your bloody head!”
Danly curled into a ball, pain throbbing through his side.
Captain Talcot growled, “Enough.”
Carter glared. “He’s up to something, I swear it.”
Fear pierced Danly’s hopes.
“Enough, Carter.” The captain’s voice brooked no argument. “Let the prisoner be.”
“I’m watching you.” Carter grabbed his plate and moved to the far side of the fire.
Danly grimaced, exaggerating the pain. Reclaiming his plate, he asked for a second serving. Keeping his shoulders hunched and his head bowed, he ate in silence, hoping to be ignored…but all the while he spied on the red-haired soldier, worried Athon’s nerves would give the plot away. Danly scowled, knowing the fate of a prince should never depend on the courage of a peasant, but the die was cast, the bait was set, and all he could do was wait.
14
The Priestess
The royal audience hall erupted in chaos. Princes roused by the threat of assassination bellowed for their guards. Servants dropped platters and scantily clad women fled screaming. Grim-faced guards circled the king, swords drawn, providing a thicket of protection.
Amidst the chaos, the Priestess remained still as death. Draped across the marble steps like an offering, she held the king’s stare, daring to speak despite the sword at her throat. “Sire, I am innocent.”
The king barked a laugh but his gaze was drunk with lust.
A captain of the royal guard approached, his fist pounding against his gilded breastplate. “My liege, the eunuch writhes in convulsions, foaming at the mouth, death by poison. The temptress and her servants must pay the assassin’s price.”
A male voice yelled, “Give her to me, lord, I’ll see that she pays!”
The Priestess studied the king, her mind frantic to unravel the plot. The eunuch had seemed healthy enough when she’d left the holding chamber, which meant that he must have been poisoned after she’d been summoned. If the king had ordered his own eunuch poisoned, then he knew she was free of threat. And knowing she was not a threat, he might succumb to lust. Drawing on all her Dark powers, she stared up at him. “Sire, you know I’m innocent.” Her sultry voice held a thousand promises, her life depending on her allure.
King Cyrus flashed a cunning smile, a python swallowing a meal. “You came from Razzur, a debt payment from my dear half brother.” He shrugged, his smile deepening. “Such a tempting opportunity, how could I not?” But his dark gaze brimmed with wanting, bitten by seduction’s poison. “Now that I’ve seen you…” His voice sank to a hoarse whisper. “I want to taste you…”
“Then taste me.” Her voice was low and sultry, stoking his need. “I’m only a woman…trained to please.”
He licked his lips.
The captain of the guard intervened. “She’s dangerous, sire. Let me kill her for you.”
A male voice yelled, “I’ll take her to bed! This one’s too luscious to be wasted on a sword.”
She stretched her hand out in supplication, the tips of her fingers brushing the king’s sandaled foot. “Sire, take what you want.” She gazed up at him. “You know I’m no threat.” Her voice was low and throaty. “Do with me as you will but do not deny your needs.”
The king’s gaze darkened.
A second prince yelled, “Give her to us, Cyrus, we’ll take the risk!”
The Priestess hid her smile, knowing the male rivalry helped her cause.
Another voice boasted, “I’ll take her here, on the floor of the audience hall. We’ll see how well she dances to my sword.”
“Let me have her, sire! I’ll plumb her secrets!”
“No, give her to me! I’ll make her squirm!”
Anger flashed across the king’s face. “Silence!” He roared like a lion brooking no rivals.
The pride of princes fell silent.
The king stood, hands on hips, a giant in height as well as girth. He glared at the assembly, his voice ringing with command. “House Razzur needs to be humbled. The two bearers and the boy shall pay the assassin’s price. Take the bearers to the market and have them crucified.”
Guards leaped to obey.
The boy screamed a piteous wail. “No! Spare me!”
“As for the boy,” the king flashed a dangerous grin, “cage him in the market with two cobras. Add an additional cobra at every sunrise. We’ll see how long his flute can keep the serpents at bay.”
A prince yelled. “I’ll wager he lasts three days!”
“Double the purse and I’ll wager he lasts four!”
The Priestess shuddered, such a cruel court, and the king was the worst of all. The boy wept as they dragged him away. She regretted his fate, but pawns were often sacrificed for kings.
“As for the woman.” He stared down at her, lust burning in his gaze. “Will you swear to serve?”
The Priestess drew on her power, her voice liquid allure. “Anything to please.” She saw the fire stoked in the king’s dark gaze.
A rumble of male approval echoed through the hall.
“And please me, you shall.” The king gestured and the sword was removed.
She hid her triumph, reaching out to caress his foot. “Yours to command.” Laying her head flat against the cold marble floor, she lifted his sandaled foot and placed it upon her head, the gravest insult to the desert-born, the gesture of a slave submitting to a master.
Shocked gasps echoed through the chamber. Women of the karesh were the third and fourth daughters of noble houses; they served but were never debased...at least not in public, but the Priestess knew her prey well, betting games of dominance and submission would ignite a reckless passion in her royal prey.
The king’s voice rumbled with hunger. “You will attend me this very night.” Removing his foot, he gestured for her to rise.
She sat at his feet, gazing up at him.
The king licked his lips, his face blazing with need.
A prince clapped. “Hazzuh!”
Another yelled, “Give her to us when you’re done!”
The king’s stare snapped to the pack of princes, scavengers hungry for the royal leavings. Annoyance washed across his face. “Be gone!” He waved a bejeweled hand, fat fingers thick with rings. “I grow weary of your chatter. You’re all dismissed.” Reaching down, he grasped her wrist and hauled her to her feet, urgency in his touch. “Come, my dark beauty, let’s see how you dance in the royal bed chamber.”
His grasp was like iron, cruel an
d unrelenting. Beneath the rolls of fat, Cyrus had strength enough to crush, to maim, to kill, a dangerous man to provoke. Clamping a meaty hand on her wrist, he led her down the dais to a side door. He half dragged her through a maze of hallways, his stride lengthened, full of purpose. Guards snapped to attention and servants bowed low, but the king paid them no heed.
Someone struck a gong while liveried servants rushed to open gilded doors. They entered the royal bedchamber, sending a bevy of servants to their knees.
The Priestess recognized the chamber from her scrying bowl. A sumptuous affair draped in green silk, every aspect lavish in scale and gilded with gold, a temple to decadence. Thick carpets covered the floor while gilded braziers lit the chamber, releasing a breath of frankincense. And in the center of the chamber, a massive divan dominated a raised dais. Large enough to hold an orgy, it was a bed befitting the appetites of an insatiable king.
Cyrus roared, “All of you out.”
Servants scurried to obey, mice escaping through the only door. The king slammed the double doors shut, bolting them from within. Turning, he stared at her, a hungry smolder in his gaze. “Now, my dark beauty, I have you all to myself. What did you learn in Razzur’s karesh?”
“How to dance.” Her voice deepened. “How to tease.” Tugging at a layer of silk, she offered a glimpse of cleavage. “A thousand ways to please.” She knew just what he wanted, she’d seen it often enough in the scrying bowl. Steeling herself for what was to come, she held out her hand, beckoning him close. “Come, my king, let me show you the delights of House Razzur.”
A predator gazed from his eyes, a conflict of hatred and wanting. Without warning, he charged, his quickness belying his massive girth. And then he struck, his hands coiling around her neck in a python’s choke. Fat fingers squeezed with incredible strength, an iron grip choking her throat, his gold rings digging into tender flesh.
S&SS [04] The Poison Priestess Page 13