The Moon Witch

by Linda Winstead Jones

  She ran for the lift. With any luck, she’d be on Level One and inside Sebestyen’s bedchamber before the sentinels could call for help. They were both on the floor, winded and hurting, and it would take them a few minutes to rouse assistance.

  The lift carried her from Level Five to Level One quickly. Liane exited the contraption and turned left, walking down the hallway to find four guards loitering casually around Sebestyen’s door. They were surprised to see her, and immediately snapped to attention, even though there was distrust and even hate in the eyes of those sentinels who knew her from the time when she had been a concubine. But they did not dare disobey or disrespect her. Not now.

  “I wish to see the emperor,” she said almost haughtily.

  “He is...” The sentinel who spoke almost choked on his words. “Engaged.”

  No minister should be bothering him with official duties at this hour! Perhaps one or more of the priests were with him, haranguing him about his latest choice in wives.

  Liane knew too well that she had not been a choice. Sebestyen had married her because she carried the child he had never thought to have. Still, he would likely welcome the interruption. Most of the priests were sour men without joy, and their company could not be pleasant. “So you intend to stop me from entering my husband’s bedchamber?” Liane managed a slight lift of one eyebrow, to convey her outrage in a subtle manner.

  One sentinel opened his mouth to answer, but the more senior Taneli—a young but ambitious guard who had searched and insulted Liane many times before her station had changed—interrupted. “If the empress wishes to call upon her husband, it is not our duty to hinder her.”

  Taneli did perform a cursory search, but those quickly moving hands were nothing like the insolent invasions he had offered in the past. A gentle skimming to see that she carried no weapons was all he dared.

  When he was done, Taneli opened the door quietly and bowed, and if not for the tilt of her head, Liane would not have seen the smile he tried to hide.

  When she saw that smile, she knew what she would find in Sebestyen’s chamber, and for a moment she considered turning away before it was too late. But she didn’t. She walked into her husband’s bedchamber with her head held high, and the door closed gently behind her.

  Sebestyen was in bed, as she had suspected, and he was not alone. He and the woman who shared that bed were so thoroughly engaged they had not yet heard her entrance. Liane walked toward the bed on silent feet.

  She should have suspected this. In fact, she was a fool not to have realized the truth of the matter. Sebestyen was not a man to go for weeks without sex, and since he had not touched her, it made sense that he was touching someone else.

  The dark-haired girl who had milky skin much paler than that of her emperor rode him quickly and without finesse. The lovers had tossed away the coverlet, and so Liane could see everything. They were both naked, of course, joined and sweating and glowing with the flush of sex. There was no art in this encounter, just raw need and a blinding quest for pleasure. Sebestyen seemed not to care that the woman who rode him was not particularly skilled. His large hands gripped the girl’s slim hips; his eyes were closed as he neared completion.

  Liane made not a sound as she approached the bed. As part of her training in years past, she had watched others perform a variety of sexual acts. Some were interesting and stimulating to watch. Others were repulsive or simply boring.

  Nothing she had ever seen cut to the core the way this did. She should have killed Sebestyen when she’d had the chance. She’d been standing before him alone, the tip of the knife in her hand pressing into his flesh, and she had failed to complete the job. She had allowed his insincere I love you to sway her. To stop her. The bastard had ruined everything. Her plans, her life. He had given her the child she craved, and even worse, he had made her love him.

  She had been completely quiet, but Sebestyen’s eyes flew open and found her as if he instinctively knew that he and his whore were no longer alone. He was surprised, momentarily, but there was no shame on his face. No regret. And after a moment he actually smiled at her. He moved deeper into the woman atop him, thrusting his hips and pulling her down hard.

  The whore cried out and shuddered; she came as inelegantly as she fucked.

  Sebestyen did not. He continued to move without haste, while the sated woman licked her lips and collapsed atop him.

  “Do you care to join us, darling?”

  It was the first clue for the dark-haired girl that she and her emperor were not alone. She jumped up, squealed, and rolled off a still-hard Sebestyen. She grabbed the coverlet and tried to shield herself.

  “You must forgive Wisla’s rudeness,” Sebestyen said calmly. “She’s new, and still cursed with a bit of modesty.”

  “So I see,” Liane said calmly. “You wasted no time replenishing Level Three.”

  “So many of the concubines are with child.” Sebestyen’s lips thinned slightly. “They’re all getting fat and misshapen, and more than one of them has a nasty habit of retching without warning.”

  “You find pregnant women disgusting?”

  “Of course,” he answered without hesitation. “Doesn’t everyone?”

  For a moment Liane stood there, studying Sebestyen as if he were a complete stranger. No, she knew this man well. It was the man she had fallen in love with who was a complete stranger. A myth. A fantasy of her mind.

  “What do you want?” Sebestyen asked without patience. “Wisla and I have business to attend to.”

  “I thought I might go now.” An obviously embarrassed Wisla edged toward the filmy gown that had been tossed to the floor near the foot of the bed.

  Sebestyen turned cold eyes to her and spoke in a voice that no man or woman denied. “You will go when I tell you to go.”

  The girl stopped in her tracks, wide-eyed and afraid. Not of Sebestyen, not this time, but of the empress who had arrived at such an inopportune moment. Liane vaguely remembered what it was like to be so young and naive. She remembered what it was like to be dragged away from home and forced into a life she did not want. Had Wisla been kidnapped? Sold by her family? Or was she here because she had no other place to go? Whatever the case, Liane could not hate the girl. She could hate Sebestyen.

  “I’m bored,” Liane said, her words and the expression on her face revealing none of her pain and anger. “I’d like permission to take a lover.”

  Sebestyen lifted his eyebrows slightly. “A lover?”

  “I could take one without permission, I suppose, but I remember what happened to the last suitor who visited the empress’ chambers without your authorization. Since I am already carrying your child and you’re obviously not intrigued by this body, there’s no reason for me not to take a man into my bed.”

  Sebestyen’s blue eyes hardened, just enough for her to know what the answer would be. “True enough,” he said in a lowered voice.

  “So I have your permission?”

  Sebestyen lifted his hand and summoned Wisla back to the bed. When the girl was near, he sat up and yanked away the coverlet she so modestly held before her body. He pulled her onto the bed, spread her thighs, and rolled atop her. The girl was uncertain at first, since apparently having an audience was a new experience for her.

  And then Sebestyen touched her. He placed a hand between her legs and stroked. “Just close your eyes and pretend she’s not here,” he instructed.

  “I don’t think I...” Wisla began breathlessly.

  Sebestyen leaned down to take one nipple into his mouth. He drew that nipple deep and continued to move the hand that rested between the girl’s legs. Wisla closed her eyes and her body arched toward his. She’d had some rudimentary training, to respond so quickly. That, or she’d been primed with one of Gadhra’s stimulating potions. If that were the case, she might very well be here all night, always wanting, never entirely satisfied.

  “Well?” Liane snapped.

  Sebestyen lifted up slightly and looked Liane
in the eye as he pushed into the girl on the bed. “No,” he whispered.

  “Why not? It’s obvious that you don’t consider the vows we took to be binding in any way. Why should I?”

  “I have never taken marriage vows seriously, as you well know.” He moved in and out of the woman beneath him, but he looked at Liane. She did not turn away or blink or flinch.

  “And yet you expect me to—” she began hotly.

  “I expect you to protect my child from the pokings of a strange man’s cock. I expect you to behave as an empress should. You are no longer a concubine, Liane, and it wouldn’t be proper for you to behave as if you were. Try to remember that small fact.” As he spoke, he moved faster, harder. And he stared at her with eyes so cold she could not see any life in them. No life at all.

  And still she wondered...did he care for her a little? Is that why he was so determined that she not lie with another man?

  “I won’t allow you to make a fool of me,” he said, as if he had read her thoughts and decided to dash her last hope. Maybe he had seen a touch of tenderness in her eyes, or in the set of her mouth. Tenderness. Weakness. Whatever it might’ve been, it was now gone. Everything was gone.

  She had once been the woman on the bed, the woman Sebestyen shared his passion with. Even when she had hated him, even when she had plotted to kill him, she’d taken her own pleasure in this bed and laughed at the empresses who resided on Level Five. She’d laughed at their powerlessness and their coldness and their loneliness. And now she had become one of them.

  Sebestyen’s body stiffened, he climaxed into another woman’s body, and Liane turned away. She did not wish or need to see more. She was anxious to make her escape, in fact had her hand on the door handle, when Sebestyen’s words stopped her.

  “If I hear of any man entering your chambers, I will have him killed without question.”

  She did not turn to face him. “And what of the poets and singers who provide entertainment?”

  “There are surely female entertainers available.”

  “Surely,” Liane whispered as she opened the door.

  “Liane,” Sebestyen snapped. She turned to face him, fully aware that the sentinels now watched the end of this scene unfold. Taneli was amused, though he would not dare to laugh aloud in her presence. Like it or not, she had too much power for him to laugh in her face.

  But he would talk behind her back, and word of this encounter would travel. Palace gossip quickly spread from Level to Level.

  So Liane kept her eyes dry, her head high, and her heart cold. Wisla had once again covered herself in the deep blue coverlet from Sebestyen’s bed. The modesty would not last. The girl would not last. Sebestyen expected more from his lovers than compliance. He expected passion and skill. Wisla would soon be passed down, and another woman would take her place. There would always be another woman to take her place.

  “Yes, my lord?” Liane said, not so much as a waver in her voice.

  “Take care with that child you carry. He’s the future of Columbyana.”

  “I’m well aware of that, my lord.”

  Again Wisla tried to slip from the bed, but Sebestyen snatched her back. The girl fell onto his bare body with another squeal. Sebestyen hated weakness, girlish shrieks, and lovers who lacked skill. And yet it was Wisla who shared his bed. Wisla who would be in the imperial chamber for yet a while longer.

  Liane closed the door knowing there was no reason for her to see or converse with Sebestyen ever again. She was a womb for his child and nothing more.

  And after the baby was born? She would serve no purpose then, no purpose at all. Her life would be worth nothing, and she would live the rest of her days locked in a fine suite of rooms on Level Five. Perhaps she would be paraded about now and then, when a ceremony took place. If she kept her mouth shut and did not annoy her husband, perhaps he wouldn’t kill her or banish her to Level Thirteen, as he had done with his previous wives. If she made this farce of a marriage easy for him, perhaps he would be content with his concubines and his unobtrusive wife and his child.

  There could never be another baby. Not for her; not for Sebestyen. This child she carried was a miracle.

  No, not a miracle, though the priests were calling it just that and taking credit, as if their prayers had been answered and Liane was nothing more than a poorly chosen vessel. It was magic that had got her this child, as much as Sebestyen’s seed and her ill-placed love. Witch’s magic.

  She should have killed Sebestyen when she’d had the chance.

  Chapter Three

  Sunrise turned the sky gray before Bors ordered the soldiers and their prisoners to dismount for a few hours’ rest. There was water close by for the horses, and again it was for their sakes that he halted in his relentless journey.

  Juliet slept for a while. Her weary body demanded it. Isadora slept, too, or at least it appeared that way. Lying on a coarse blanket, covered with her own cloak to protect her from the morning chill, the eldest Fyne sister remained motionless and silent. She had been that way for most of the journey, as if she had withdrawn into herself completely.

  Coming awake with a start, Juliet lifted her head from the rough blanket that lay between her and the rocky ground. Like her sister, her only covering was the cloak she’d worn for this journey. Bors might not want them to die, but he cared nothing for their comfort. He had made that clear.

  They were camped on a bit of a hill, where it was possible to study much of the land that surrounded them. In every direction, the scenery was dramatically different. The thick forest where Juliet had sensed the watcher had been left behind a short while back, and to the north a mountain range such as she had never seen stretched forever, starting with low hills and growing to massive heights. The magnificence of the mountain chain made Fyne Mountain seem an anthill. To the south the land was flatter. A few hills turning gold and red rolled across the land, but they looked friendly and warm. If there were farmers and ranchers on this border of the barren heart of Columbyana, they likely lived in that direction.

  To the west the barren heart spread for as far as the eye could see. The ground was hard, hilly in some places and completely flat in others. A few scrubby trees grew here and there, but for the most part the landscape was an unwelcoming and harsh brownish gray. Even the few trees that grew there looked dull and faded.

  Juliet studied it all with eyes that had never traveled away from the very small part of the Southern Province she called home. The landscape she studied as the sun rose was austere and daunting, but was also beautiful in its own way. To the south the land was at least similar to home, but to the north and the west...she had not known such a land existed. The harshly cold gray of the mountains to the north didn’t look at all welcoming, and yet her eyes were drawn there, much as they had been drawn to the forest last night.

  As Juliet shifted her body, a tangle of red hair fell past her shoulder. If she had had a mirror in her possession, she would probably have broken it so she could not see her reflection. There had been no time for bathing and primping on this journey, not that she had ever been one to spend more time than necessary in front of a mirror. Sophie was the pretty sister, and Isadora possessed her own elegance. Juliet had never needed the constant reminder of a mirror to know that she was the plainer of the three Fyne sisters.

  But she did like to be clean, and it took some time and effort to keep her red curls manageable. Her curly copper hair was always well restrained, pinned back and up, or braided as neatly as possible, though even in a braid her hair was never sleek like Isadora’s and Sophie’s. Her hair was a tangle now, the braid untidy after too many nights of sleeping on the ground and too many days without the special shampoo she made herself and the combs that were now burned to ashes. When she’d been gathering her herbs to take with her, such things as combs and hairpins had not crossed her mind. Right now she’d gladly trade a few of her medicines for both.

  “Are you happy?”

  Juliet jerked her head
around to see Isadora shift awkwardly into a sitting position. The cloak that had covered her body while she slept fell, draping around her lap. It was not easy for the eldest Fyne sister to manage even that simple move. Her hands remained tied behind her back, a precaution Juliet had not been able to persuade the soldiers to abandon.

  “Of course not.”

  “Your decisions, your actions, brought us to this place.” Like Juliet, Isadora was rumpled and travel weary, and strands of dark hair had come loose from her braid. Still, the fire in her eyes had not dimmed.

  “Your actions would’ve killed us both.”

  “I’d rather be dead than here,” Isadora snapped.

  “I wouldn’t.”

  As long as they were alive, there was hope. Isadora had left hope behind a long time ago, but Juliet had not. She didn’t know what the future held for her or for Isadora, but she did know that whatever came would be preferable to death. It was too soon; they had things to do before they moved into the land of the dead.

  Around them soldiers wakened, and those who had been keeping watch bedded down for what would surely be a brief sleep. The man nearest the prisoners yawned and gave them a cursory glance. He was not concerned. After all, there had been no trouble from the witches since they’d left the cabin. Another delved into the food supply and came up with small rations of hard bread he passed around. When the soldiers had been served, he tossed two small pieces toward Juliet. She grabbed them both and moved toward Isadora.

  “I don’t want—” Isadora began.

  “You need to eat.”

  “Why?”

  Isadora protested, but when Juliet held a piece of the hard bread to her mouth, she took a small bite.

  The back of Juliet’s neck prickled, much as it had on that night the cabin had been raided. Was Bors watching? Was it his angry gaze she felt upon her? She shook off the sensation and concentrated on getting Isadora to eat. When that was done, she’d consume her own meager breakfast.