by Donna Hatch
Kai turned cold. Behind him, urgency rippled through his team as they rechecked their weapons, anxious to do battle. But as he opened his mouth to give the command to move forward, his gaze returned to Zayla. She looked up at him with thinly disguised hurt and longing.
Regretting that he’d hurt her, yet knowing there was no way to soothe her, he slid off Braygo and went to her. “Thank you, Zayla.”
Her words came out stiff and cold. “I’m only doing my duty.”
“Still, I consider this a personal favor.”
Her eyes flashed. “I do it out of loyalty to King Farai. No other reason.” She turned away, then stopped and turned back, a faint, self-mocking smile touching her lips. “A princess.” She shook her head and melted back into her feline shape before disappearing into the shadows.
Kai let her go, gratified to see her pride intact.
Anxiously, he looked up. The moons had moved closer together, the halos around the glowing orbs already blending into one. Stealthily, he led the team to the far side of the castle, opposite Tarvok’s diversion, to the base of the castle. A sewer drain, protected by a metal grate, emptied into a ditch that led away from the castle. Kai eyed the filthy, sluggish water.
Garhren slapped him on the shoulder. “Nothing but adventure and glamour, eh?”
Kai tried to smile but it came out as a grimace. He took a breath, dismounted, and led the way through knee-deep water to the grate. He glanced at Garhren, who smirked and withdrew two large, metal files, which the two knights used to begin sawing through the bars. With each screech of the files, Kai expected to see a regiment of Hanorans upon them, but Tarvok’s diversion appeared to be effective.
The files broke through, and Kai and Garhren removed the grate. Kai glared at the mouth of a tunnel. It was dark and narrow, definitely not wide enough to walk upright in.
“What are you waiting for? Let’s go.” Garhren plunged into the tunnel.
Kai clenched his teeth and climbed in after him. The other members of the team followed. Kai dragged in his breath but suddenly couldn’t make any air enter his lungs. Within a few hand spans of the entrance, total darkness overcame him. He couldn’t even see Garhren. It took all his will to refrain from shrieking in a cowardly flight out of the sewer and back to the safety of open air and light. The tunnel grew smaller and tighter, shrinking as they moved further in. If the water had made any less noise, the others would have heard Kai's labored breathing as Kai struggled to force himself to keep moving.
Cold sweat poured off his body and his weak knees could hardly support his weight. Every muscle in his body shook. He felt as if he were falling, though his fingers dug into the unyielding sides of the tunnel.
Someone bumped into him from behind, and he clawed his way back to life.
“Sorry, sir,” came a mumble, the voice echoing dully off the walls.
The terror receded, not completely, but enough to make Kai aware he was holding up the team. He managed to keep moving. He had the presence of mind to begin a Sauraii mind-clearing exercise. Closing off his thoughts, he pushed them roughly into an empty place and locked the door. He concentrated on controlling his breath, his heartbeat.
First his breathing evened. Then his pulse slowed and his muscles unclenched. The fear hadn’t left, but it pulled back. He felt it there, lurking like a deadly predator waiting for him to lose control. But it was manageable, and for now, it was enough.
The expedition moved slowly through the darkness, carefully feeling their way along the slippery rocks. Although the water was never deeper than waist-high, it was icy, and the steady current taxed their strength. How far they traveled was impossible to tell in the endless blackness. Kai could only rely on his groping hands to guide him.
Garhren stopped and Kai ran into him. “Gar—”
“Do you see it? Light!”
Kai lifted his head and peered into the darkness. Far ahead, there did seem to be a faint glimmer of light. His spirits lifted and the team pushed ahead more quickly now. Soon he saw Garhren’s faint outline.
Another grid barred their way, but Kai and Garhren sawed quickly through it. One by one, the determined rescue party emerged triumphantly from the sewer and climbed up into the castle proper. Kai never wanted to see the inside of a cave or a tunnel again. He lurched to his feet, consumed with the thought that they might be too late to save Jeniah.
Ceremonial drums beat to the rhythm of a human heartbeat. Torches and candles illuminated the courtyard, sending eerie shadows flickering over the faces of the people jammed in the courtyard. The smell of incense permeated the air. Voices chanted softly, rhythmically.
Jeniah followed the dark sorceress the Hanorans called the Lamia, the sorceress who invited demons to the ritual, a monster who fed on the death of mortals to fortify her immortality.
The waiting crowd parted, clearing a path. In the eyes of the people, Jeniah saw both fear and a fanatical sense of reverence. Many in the crowd were Ardeene. By the furtive looks they cast toward the Hanoran guards, she knew they had been dragged here against their will to witness their queen’s execution.
The dark, invasive spell the Lamia had cast over Jeniah took away her ability to control her body. With no will of her own, Jeniah did exactly as the Lamia commanded, despite her own mind screaming in protest. When Jeniah had no power to resist, the Lamia’s men beat her until she could barely stand. The Lamia had told Jeniah in an arrogantly cruel voice that the spell would keep her alive—and conscious—through the ritual, which was far beyond normal mortal endurance. Jeniah would only be released to death after her spirit was devoured. The pain would be excruciating beyond human comprehension.
Jeniah retreated behind a shield of numbness, refusing to think beyond putting one foot in front of the other. Bruised and aching, she tried not to stagger as she carefully placed her bare feet on the cold stones of the courtyard.
They neared the platform and climbed the wooden steps. On the platform lay an altar carved with hundreds of symbols similar to the figures carved into Thenisis’s chambers, but these symbols were vastly different. They positively oozed evil. Jeniah looked away, feeling tainted. At either end of the altar stood a tall pillar, also covered with runes.
The drums beat faster and the chanting grew louder. King Rheged approached the platform, dressed in black robes and carrying a globe that flickered and glowed while smoke poured profusely from the top. He set it on the altar and turned to Jeniah, towering over her. Lust and hunger burned in his eyes—not the lust and hunger of a man for a woman, but of a starving man looking at a feast.
He grabbed her gown by the neckline and tore it apart. The fragile fabric shredded and fluttered down to the floor. Jeniah’s breath caught.
The Lamia pointed to the altar. In her disturbingly musical voice she said, “Lie down and remain still.”
Jeniah shook with the desire to defy the sorceress, but the Lamia’s power over her was too great and she was forced to obey. The Lamia picked up a pouch of dust and sprinkled it over Jeniah’s body before raising both hands high above her head. The moment the dust touched her skin, Jeniah felt the forces of light and darkness converge upon her.
The Lamia chanted while her eyes rolled back into their sockets. She spoke in an unknown language, but that it sprang from sinister origin Jeniah had no doubt. The strange words chilled her.
Jeniah called feebly to her chayim but felt nothing in response. The moons began to melt into one. The Lamia continued to chant.
Fear clawed Jeniah’s chest, her breath coming in sharp gasps.
This was the end. She would die here, painfully. She had never felt such pure terror. Betrayed by her own body, she waited for the nightmare to begin.
An image of her mother and father came into her mind. The perfect examples of decorum and duty, they were the rulers all Ardeenes expected. Jeniah pulled together her courage. As their daughter, she would not die cringing. She would face her death with the dignity her people deserved from their last survivi
ng monarch. Regardless of how the king took her life, she would choose how she would die. She chose to die with courage.
Peace gently stole over her.
The king placed the smoking globe on the altar near Jeniah’s head, then sprinkled dust from the pouch over her body. Again, Jeniah felt as if all life and light, all death and darkness, converged in one point inside her.
The Lamia picked up an ornately carved dagger and held it over the smoking globe until blue sparks burst out of the globe, then presented the dagger to the king. He cut a long line in his own hand and let the blood drip on Jeniah’s forehead, her chest, her abdomen, and then upon his own tongue.
The Hanoran king looked up toward the two moons that had nearly melted into one. The chanting voices rose in pitch and volume. The drums beat louder, faster. The moons joined into a single, perfectly round, cold orb. King Rheged raised the dagger high above his head, poised over Jeniah’s abdomen. The drums beat one final time and the chanting ceased. Jeniah closed her eyes.
At the edge of her consciousness, she felt the soothing presence of her chayim. Another presence, more fleeting, but strong and familiar, touched her mind. From both of them, she experienced an infusion of power flowing into her, fortifying her.
An explosion erupted, and Jeniah opened her eyes. The king frowned at something behind her. Another blast rocked the ground.
“Sir! We’re under attack!” shouted a guard.
The king cursed and looked to the Lamia.
Impassively, she replied, “I can continue without you, but you will not feed unless you actively participate. And if you shorten the ceremony, you reduce the power you consume.”
Another explosion shook the ground. The king steadied himself on the altar and he looked up at the moons, perfectly joined overhead. He shouted orders to nearby soldiers, then turned back to Jeniah. Once again, he raised the dagger.
A third explosion rocked the platform. A faint whistling noise sounded, followed by a soft thud. The king grunted. Jeniah blinked, wondering if she imagined the shaft of an arrow protruding from his shoulder. Cursing, the king shouted for his sword and pulled the arrow out as if it were a mere annoyance.
In the courtyard, pandemonium erupted.
The crowd became a churning mob of panic as soldiers poured into the square. Hanoran soldiers trampled civilians in their effort to fight off the invaders who stormed the courtyard, yelling and brandishing weapons. Jeniah thought she heard someone call her name, but there was so much noise and confusion that she could not be certain.
The king swore again and emitted a battle cry. The Lamia looked at him with mild annoyance before turning her gaze to Jeniah. Pure, undisguised evil radiated from the Lamia.
Approaching the altar, the Lamia said, “You are nothing.”
Jeniah met her gaze. “I’m the daughter of Darvae and Ellorian, king and queen of Arden. I’m chayim-bonded. And I’m the rightful queen of Arden.”
She struggled against the power that held her captive like chains controlling her body. Suddenly, the power seemed to bend. Jeniah threw all her strength against it, and it bent further. She sat up. The spell wavered and for an instant, Jeniah thought she saw surprise and fear flicker in the Lamia’s eyes.
Jeniah pushed harder against the bonds that struggled to contain her. The spell cracked and then fell away like shattered glass. She was free! She stood. The Lamia stumbled backward, raising her hands and murmuring an incantation.
“You have no power over me,” Jeniah’s voice rang out.
The Lamia’s dark words bounced off Jeniah and fell back, scattering like smoke in the wind, powerless. The Lamia faltered.
Jeniah projected a mass of metal chains around the Lamia’s neck. The Lamia screamed as real chains formed around her. Jeniah reached toward her. Backing away, the Lamia screamed.
In that moment, Jeniah understood with perfect clarity how the Hanoran king had become so twisted. This Lamia, with her dreadful rituals, was the real enemy; the king was only an apprentice. The power, the sheer evil radiating from this woman far overshadowed that of the king. But it was hollow.
“You are nothing but illusion,” Jeniah said. “Your life has been extended by stealing from others, but it is not real. It is only a manifestation of your will.”
“You know nothing!” the Lamia screamed.
Jeniah touched the Lamia’s shoulder. It was cold and damp, like mist. The Lamia shrieked, clawing at Jeniah’s hand, but her flesh passed through Jeniah’s like a ghostly image.
The image changed, fading until it became nearly transparent. The Lamia’s face visibly aged in seconds. Her skin crumpled, shriveled like dried leaves, and fell off her skeletal form. Her bones crumbled as well, yet the Lamia’s screams continued. A moment later, all that was left of her was a pile of rags, dust, and gold chains. Finally, the last of her screams faded away.
“Jeniah!”
She turned, seeking the voice calling her. It sounded like— “Kai?”
Kai Darkwood fought his way through the battle, his foes falling with every stroke of his sword. He was deadly, but a light shone around him as he charged up the stairs to her side. Not a killer, but a savior. Gathering Jeniah into his arms, he held her in a crushing embrace and buried his face in her hair.
“You came!” she sobbed as her arms went around his neck. “You came.”
He shuddered. “I nearly lost you . . . ” his voice broke and he held her breathlessly.
Below them, the battle raged.
Chapter Twenty-Six
In the Ardeene camp, Kai paced outside a tent while the doctor examined Jeniah. Moonlight cast shadows behind every rock and stump. The Ardeenes and Govians had retreated from their attack on the castle an hour before, as soon as the princess was secure, but the lingering energy that follows a battle kept the camp lively.
Ignoring the others drinking toasts to their success, Kai continued pacing, his fists clenched. They’d arrived in time to stop the horrific ceremony, but they’d been too late to protect Jeniah from harm. The Hanorans had beaten and starved her. She was ill, and her wrists were an almost indistinguishable mass of torn flesh. What else they had done to her he could only imagine.
Helplessness and terror threatened to drive him mad. “I need to train. Garhren!”
“Oh, moons, you’re going to grind me into dust,” Garhren moaned.
To two knights, Kai made a quick gesture toward the tent housing Jeniah. “Sanchen, Duvall, stand guard. No one enters that tent.”
They snapped to attention and moved to obey his command. Other knights shot Garhren a look of sympathy as he withdrew his sword, looking as if he were about to get a beating he knew he deserved. They went to a clearing and faced each other in the bright moonlight.
Kai pressed him hard, knowing Garhren could take it better than anyone else in Darbor. Sometimes he wished he could find someone who was truly his match and let loose without holding back. The brief melee at the castle should have tired him enough to cool his fury, but it didn’t. Garhren withstood Kai’s onslaught surprisingly well. Kai grinned darkly. Garhren was getting very good but would have some interesting bruises in the morning.
Kai gave vent to his anger, falling into a battle state where he saw every detail with perfect clarity, every twitch of his opponent revealing his intentions a second before he moved. Kai went deeper into a state of semi-consciousness where all that remained was his need to destroy.
Kai pressed his adversary until he stripped him of his sword. His foe stumbled and went down, and Kai drove his sword tip down toward his opponent’s throat.
“Kai! Peace! By the moons, I said peace!”
Kai blinked.
From the ground, Garhren looked up at him with shock and something resembling true fear. Cursing himself, Kai re-sheathed his sword and pulled Garhren to his feet. Then he retrieved Garhren’s sword and offered it to him.
Garhren wiped the perspiration off his face with his sleeve and eyed Kai before taking the sword. “For
a second, I thought you were really going to kill me.”
“Sorry, Gar.” Sick with the thought he might have actually harmed or killed his best friend, Kai held out his hand.
“Don’t ever do that again.”
Kai shook his head and made an attempt at levity. “If you spent as much time training as you spend chasing women, you’d be able to best me.”
Humor returned to Garhren’s face as he took Kai’s arm in the warrior’s grip. He clapped him on the shoulder. “Go spar with Duvall next time you’re worried about her. And send a woman to my tent to soothe me.”
Kai felt his lips twitch and shook off his guilt. Garhren was unharmed. They returned to camp as the doctor emerged from Jeniah’s tent. Kai hurried to him and braced himself.
The doctor grimly rubbed his hand over his face. “She’s been beaten. She’s completely exhausted, and her lungs are filling with fluid. I’ve given her a tea from the best herbs available, but she’ll need them every two hours day and night. The worst of it is her wrists. She literally tore off the flesh. I had to clean out bits of metal embedded in the bone. I fear she’ll develop infection.”
Kai put a hand to his face. “She did that getting free of shackles.”
The doctor nodded soberly. “She told me.”
Kai ducked inside Jeniah’s tent, followed closely by the doctor. Wearing a man’s tunic and a borrowed cloak, she sat on a bed devouring a piece of bread. Though her face was pale, bruised, and twisted in pain, she offered Kai a smile, her eyes soft. She coughed, the sound tearing from deep inside her chest. The doctor frowned and handed her a steaming cup of tea. She smiled her thanks and emptied her cup before finishing the remainder of the food, her manners still perfect. Kai almost smiled.
“How do you feel?” He sat beside her.
“I desperately need a bath, but I feel better now.”
