by Donna Hatch
He remembered only too well how the Hanorans had tried to ravage her in Arden. Unable to bear the thought of her helpless in the face of such monstrous violence, he kept reminding himself that they had found no evidence Jeniah had been injured. Yet.
The sun hung directly overhead when they reached the traces of another Hanoran campsite. They found footprints too small for a man—the princess, most likely. Yesterday, she was alive.
They pushed on, riding hard. Kai didn’t want to stop to sleep, but the duocorns were exhausted before nightfall. As the team set up camp, he paced restlessly.
Garhren approached, chewing on his lower lip and eyeing Kai warily. “Permission to speak, Captain.”
Kai gave him a curt nod, turned, and walked beyond the circle of camp with Garhren in step with him.
When they were out of earshot, Kai braced himself. “What’s on your mind?”
“You are.”
Kai nodded grimly. After Jeniah was kidnapped, Kai had told Garhren about the Jeniah’s true identity, the escape, and her alias. Garhren had listened without judgment, as Kai knew he would.
Garhren waited until they could not be overheard. “She’s well, Kai. I just know it.”
“She has to be.”
“We’ll get there in time to save her.”
“They’re still a day ahead of us!” Kai fumed. “She may not have that long.” He raked his fingers through his hair as he tried to rein in his helplessness and frustration.
“What are you going to do, go on foot? The duocorns are spent. We can’t push them any faster.”
“How are we ever—” Kai nearly choked, fighting with his emotions.
Garhren looked away. When Kai began walking again, Garhren matched his stride. “It’s not your fault.”
“Of course it is! I swore to keep her safe.” Kai’s voice cracked, but he swallowed hard and continued quietly. “I failed. I failed to help her people, and now I’ve failed her.”
Garhren was silent for several moments. When he finally spoke, his voice was hushed. “You cannot control everything that happens to the people you love. And you cannot blame yourself if harm comes to them.”
Kai squeezed his eyes shut.
“It’s impossible to be there every second of every day. The king’s best men were guarding her. Everyone thought she was safe.” Garhren’s grip on his shoulder was firm. “We’ll find her before she comes to harm.”
They made a wide circle around camp, neither of them speaking, while the team set up camp and tended to the duocorns. “You’re not wearing Ariana’s braid,” Garhren observed.
Kai’s mouth dried. “I buried it next to her grave.” He glanced at Garhren, half expecting to see recrimination. If anything, Garhren looked relieved.
Kai took the first watch while the men bedded down. Sleep had eluded him for ages. He felt as if he would never sleep again. Jeniah haunted his dreams; harsh reality taunted his wakefulness. He found no rest. Guilt bored a hole through his insides, and pain filled in the hole.
Chapter Twenty-Three
In the land of Arden, Jeniah let her gaze sweep over the forest to the meadow beyond. As the road turned and they neared the shore, Jeniah could hear the roar of the sea and smell the salty air. When at last they neared the shoreline and the trees thinned enough for her to see the ocean, Jeniah watched, spellbound, as the waves dashed joyously onto the rocks and danced along the sandy beach. She drank in the lovely view, longing to embrace the beckoning, pristine water. Every rock, every shell seemed like an old friend welcoming her back. A lump rose to her throat. She was home. All of the ugliness and the horror her kingdom had suffered seemed far away as she embraced the splendor of nature. At least the Hanorans had not spoiled the landscape. The snow had melted and the air warmed. Spring would not be far behind.
The moment they crossed the border into Arden, Jeniah repeatedly called to Maaragan in her mind, but her chayim failed to come to her.
When they stopped that night, Commander Lalen approached Jeniah with a steaming bowl of soup. He eyed her grimly.
“I will remove your gag and feed you, if you will swear by all you hold dear that you will not utter any dark words of magic.”
She nodded. Her mouth raw and dry from the gag, she looked up at his face. All touch of the softness he had shown her previously had vanished.
“I don’t know any words of dark magic, Commander Lalen.”
His eyes searched hers. “How did you disappear?”
She hesitated. Being honest with him could destroy any hope of escape, yet she had little to lose. The commander already thought she was a dark sorceress. Perhaps telling him the truth might soften his anger, his mistrust. Something about him, despite his fierceness, convinced her she could trust him. She might yet find an ally in Commander Lalen.
She moistened her cracked lips. When she took a breath, it aggravated her cough and set off a hot pain deep in her chest. A moment later, she explained, “I call it blurring. It’s an illusion I project. It allows me to blend in to my surroundings and not be noticed.”
“You’re a form-changer?”
“No, I only become unnoticeable to the eye. I don’t actually change.”
“What else can you do?” he demanded.
“I can project an illusion momentarily. Nothing else.”
He stared hard, his eyes unyielding. “I do not know if I can believe you.”
She coughed again, and he looked down at the bowl in his hand as if he had forgotten it. She ate as quickly as he could spoon the soup into her mouth. The soldiers had not fed her all that day. They avoided her as if they thought she carried some sort of dreadful, contagious disease. She knew their aversion had nothing to do with her cough, but rather her magic.
“Commander, the ropes are pointless. Keeping me tied will not take away my ability to blur.”
He snorted. “And I don’t suppose you’ll tell me how I can prevent you from using your magic.”
“I’m no threat to you, Commander. Your metal chains have blocked my powers. Even so, whatever magic I possess is not dark. I’ve never studied the dark arts. I know no dark words. I cannot harm anyone.” She looked up into his black eyes, silently pleading with him.
He sat back, considering her words.
She moistened her lips. “Please. My arms are throbbing and I can’t feel my hands.”
Suspicion leaped into his eyes, but he relented and untied her bindings. She rubbed her wrists, frightened at the bluish tint in her fingers. A ragged sore formed a ring around her wrists. The commander waited with his hands on his weapons, his body taut as if ready to spring at the first sign of flight or deceit. When the feeling returned to Jeniah’s hands, it brought pain, but her skin quickly assumed a healthier color. He retied her hands in front of her but kept the ropes loose enough that they would not cut off the circulation again. He even pulled the fur more securely around her.
She looked up at him in gratitude. “Thank you.”
He frowned darkly at her and stomped away muttering. She caught the words “soft” and “weakling.”
The weight of the chains around her neck bore down on her, always hot, and she wondered if they were responsible for her chayim failing to come to her. Disappointment tasted bitter in Jeniah’s mouth. She had been so sure the moment she returned to Arden and began mentally calling to her, that her chayim would help her escape, vanquishing Jeniah’s captors the way she’d driven off the wyrwolves as Kai lay wounded.
Kai. Where was he now? Surely he knew she had been captured. He would be searching for her by now, probably with his best knights. But he might be too late. Jeniah curled into a ball and tried not to let despair consume her.
They rode hard over the next few days, pushing their mounts to greater speed, and riding much later after dark, as if they had a pressing deadline to meet. Late one afternoon, as Jeniah and her captors came around a bend in the main highway, the castle of Arden became visible. Even from this distance, the scars from the war were clearly visible. A su
dden lurch choked Jeniah as she beheld how much had changed.
Arden now belonged to the hateful King Rheged. Jeniah’s heart pounded and perspiration ran down her sides. She had to escape. It didn’t matter that there was nowhere to go and that she would probably die alone. She had to get away.
Riding next to her, the commander watched her through narrowing eyes as if he sensed her rising fear. In a flash of desperate courage, she grabbed the sword from the commander’s scabbard where it hung from his saddle and made a thrust toward his chest. With her hands tied, she couldn’t get a firm grip on the pommel and she swung embarrassingly slow. He parried the attack with his dagger and thrust the sword back easily. Its weight threw her off balance, and she was forced to let it drop before it dragged her off her mount. Before the sword hit the ground, she turned her scaly mount around and kicked it into a run. Savagely, she kicked the animal harder in a vain attempt to outrun the close pursuers. The poor beast ran with all its might, but it was used for carrying packs, not for speed.
“No, don’t shoot her!” shouted the commander from behind.
Jeniah risked a glance back. An archer stood in his saddle with an arrow nocked and aimed at her.
“We need her alive and unharmed!” Commander Lalen shouted again.
The sound of pursuit followed. The soldiers’ younger, quicker mounts easily outran hers. When a rope was thrown around the neck of her mount, it obediently slowed. Jeniah slid off the scaly beast with the intention to run, but instead fell on her face. Her feet were still tied. She cursed her stupidity and struggled to stand. Heavy footsteps sounded directly behind her. Commander Lalen grabbed her around the waist and held onto her as she thrashed.
“Stop fighting me,” he growled.
He used a foot to sweep her legs out from under her. As she fell, he straddled her with his knees. Tight-lipped, he untied her ropes, threw her onto her stomach, and bound her hands behind her back. She cried out as the ropes reopened the wounds on her wrists.
“I knew you would attempt to escape again,” he said through clenched teeth.
She shouldn’t care, yet shame trickled through her that she’d repaid his kindness by attempting to stab him.
He picked her up and dumped her on her mount, whose sides still heaved from the exertion of running. Silently, the commander tied her to the saddle.
He glanced up at her, his anger clearly mingled with a touch of admiration. “I would have done the same thing.”
Jeniah fixed her gaze on the horizon in an effort to prove she didn’t care about his opinion of her. Kai would have been disappointed in her weak attempt at using a sword. She kept her tears of frustration at bay by sheer willpower.
By mid-afternoon, they arrived at the outer gates. Jeniah choked down a sob as she looked up at the castle that had once been home. As they entered the gates to the city, she rocked back in shock at the profound destruction.
Most of the shops that lined the main thoroughfare were in ruins. Few homes or buildings still stood. Little more than charred timber remained of the thriving capital city of Arden. Except for the outer walls and gates, which had been patched crudely, no effort to rebuild had been made. Jeniah stared, horrified at the devastation.
As they traveled through the city, a few Ardeenes watched with frightened eyes from crumbling doorways, but most of the city appeared deserted. Only patrolling Hanoran soldiers walked out in the open.
An utter depression of soul, a sinking, sickening dread, crept over Jeniah, threatening to rob her of her sanity. The Hanorans had won. Soon she would face their king, who would humiliate, torture, and kill her.
“I’m finished,” she whispered.
She had failed to save her people.
The young commander looked stony as they rode to the main castle stairs. The majority of the company broke away, leaving only a few of his men. After he dismounted, Commander Lalen cut Jeniah’s ropes. She nearly fell as he placed her on her numb feet, but his hand shot out to catch and steady her until she could stand. Clutching at him to get her balance, she looked up into his dark eyes, sending a silent plea, searching for any sign of softening.
He held her for a moment, his gaze locked with hers, until he brusquely pushed her away. Surrounded by Hanorans, she mounted the stairs, each step bringing her closer to her doom.
With great effort, she gathered her ragged courage. She would not be truly beaten. Whatever they did to her, she would never give them the satisfaction of breaking her. With her mother’s image firmly in her mind’s eye, she lifted her head proudly, squared her shoulders, and went forward to meet her fate with all the grace and dignity of a queen. She maintained this façade as they led her through the castle to the king of Hanore.
King Rheged glowered down at Jeniah from her father’s throne. Arden’s banner had been replaced with the Hanoran king’s. Such a thing seemed a desecration. King Rheged’s face was so twisted with malignant evil that just looking at it turned her blood cold.
King Rheged gazed down at her as if she were an annoying insect. “So, the elusive princess finally arrives. Excellent. You will be publicly executed. That will end any hope the peasants have that their so-called rightful heir will ever return.”
His glittering eyes bore down into hers, and Jeniah had to fight to maintain her composure. He would not break her. She raised her chin.
“What, no pleas for mercy? No crying?” Rheged mocked. He leaned forward.
Jeniah stared straight at him without a quiver, letting her distain show clearly.
His mouth twisted into a gruesome smirk. “You are a proud one, aren’t you? How delicious. Perhaps, rather than a customary execution, I should allow you to take part in the Ceremony of Souls in place of the victim I had planned to consume. Your arrival could not have been better timed.”
The king rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Yes. You shall take part in the ceremony.” He leaned forward gleefully. “Tonight, when both moons are aligned at their apex, I will make a petition to the god of the demons. Then I will cut out your heart and eat it even as it continues to beat.”
Terror and disgust clutched at Jeniah and she had to concentrate to keep her face expressionless.
Smiling, Rheged obviously took great relish in telling her gruesome future. “One by one, I will cut out and consume your organs, then drink your blood. Finally, I will devour your soul.”
This description went far beyond Jeniah’s imagination. She drew upon all her strength to not show the unspeakable horror and revulsion that seized her.
“You will be conscious and feeling through the whole thing, of course. Pain provides the most power. The ceremony itself lasts nearly until dawn. A long and painful death for you. Exquisitely pleasurable to me and the Lamia. The Ceremony of Souls only happens twice a year. I look forward to it with great anticipation.” Taking delight in the thought, he rubbed his hands together. “Nothing to say? No last requests?”
Jeniah remained silent.
His face reddened and a vain popped out in his forehead. “Say something!” he thundered.
Everyone in the room jumped, except Commander Lalen, she noticed, who stood beside her, ramrod straight.
Jeniah didn’t twitch. She remained tall, head erect, eyes level and unflinching. This horrible, barbaric monster had no power over her spirit. She stood before them ragged, dirty, her hair hanging in a tangled mass. But she remained in perfect, dignified splendor, completely unruffled and with all the majesty of the rightful queen of Arden.
“Well, well,” King Rheged finally said, admiration shining in his perverse face. “You are rare.” He regarded her in silence for what seemed a long time. “It is not often that I meet one of such courage. I will enjoy consuming your spirit. You will give me great power.” The king’s gaze turned to the commander. “Well done, Aragaëth. You surprise me. I didn’t think you would be man enough to find her and bring her to me.”
Aragaëth?
The commander’s jaw tightened and the cords of his neck mus
cles stood out as he glared back at his king.
King Rheged met his gaze with the barest flicker of approval. “Perhaps you will be a worthy son after all.”
Son? Commander Lalen was Aragaëth, the king’s son? Suddenly unable to breathe, Jeniah looked at him in disbelief. This young man who had won her respect was the son of the most diabolical creature who had ever lived. She could barely conceal her shock and horror.
Prince Aragaëth glanced at her without a flicker of emotion before returning his eyes to the king. His father. Revulsion turned her stomach.
“Take her to the tower,” commanded the king.
A new set of guards came forward and seized her arms. Outside the throne room, Jeniah fell into a coughing spell, white-hot pain shooting through her lungs. She glanced back at Aragaëth, who left with his men, never looking her direction. Jeniah’s new guards prodded her up several winding flights of stairs into a part of the castle where she had never dared venture. She maintained her composure as they took her to the tower, shoved her inside a cell, and chained her to the wall. The air reeked of human waste and decaying bones. Insects and rodents were even more plentiful than prisoners. At least the oppressive gloom reduced visibility enough to spare her from the grisly sights. To her knowledge, the prison towers in Arden had not been used in generations, yet Rheged appeared to have made use of them immediately.
The door to her cell closed with a creak and a reverberating bang.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The tiny window in the prison tower above provided Jeniah some indication of the passing day. No matter how much she willed it otherwise, the cruel sun moved mercilessly across the sky and sank. Soon she would meet her death. She was running out of time.
No food or water had been brought, and her throat was raw with thirst. Her wrists and hands bled freely. Torn flesh hung below her shackles where she had worked all afternoon in an attempt to free herself. She’d tried magic, but the metal chains encircling her neck blocked her power and made her head feel as if it were about to explode. Using her blood as a lubricant, she twisted savagely. With a frenzied jerk, she wrenched her left hand free of the shackle. She began working to free her right.
