The Path Now Turned

by Colleen Connally

  Rubbing the growing stubble on his chin, Silas nodded for Prince Pieter to follow him. He led him out into the Ysmay Garden off the Royal Garden.

  The garden was simple, with only grass covering the ground, a fountain and a long bench situated in the middle of the walkway. Enclosed by open pillars connecting the Great Hall to the Gold Tower, King Edulf used it often to hold his private conversations without the ears of court to hear.

  “Allow entrance,” Silas commanded the guard. “Let no other within.”

  The guard bowed his head in acknowledgment. Silas’s mood worsened. He pivoted around and faced Pieter. “Now, speak. I swear it better be of importance.”

  “I am done wasting my breath with you,” Pieter said. “There is danger within Yucca to all with King Edulf’s actions. If you can’t see that, then all is doomed.”

  Silas heaved a sigh. “Another talk about Kela…you know…”

  “That she is dead?” Pieter challenged. “I thought we had gone beyond that pretense. She lives. She is your Euchoun. She is my attached. The question now lies with where is she?”

  “You know nothing.”

  “I know that it was you who killed an innocent to convince me that Kela died,” he said, his voice thick with anger. “What would Kela think to know that you have done so? Moreover, her friend. What was her name? Cassie, was it not?”

  “Do not threat me, Brixtonen!” Silas uttered between white lips. Helpless fury raged within him. He needed not a remembrance. Damn the Brixtone spies! Yet, he could not deny the girl haunted him.

  Silas had killed many a man without a second thought, but in battle, it was kill or be killed. Never had he had ever considered harming an innocent.

  In truth, there had been atrocities performed in the name of peace. Rapes and looting of villages conquered. Yet, never had he participated. Never had he allowed his men to do so.

  Never had he harmed an innocent until his grandfather commanded him to do so. There had been little choice. At least, it was what he told himself.

  “I threaten you, Sordarin?” Pieter continued. “It is not me, but do not lie to me more. I know many secrets.”

  “I ask you why you have carried out your threats,” Silas pressed, done with conventional formalities. “Do you truly believe Scarladin will allow you to take our Euchoun? You are nothing more than a trickster!”

  “Nay, I gave to you your Euchoun. Did I not come to King Edulf? I could have instead gone to my father. What then would you have done?”

  The Brixtonen silenced Silas for a long moment. “Explain yourself.”

  “My patience is done,” Pieter said. “I understand the importance of a Euchoun as powerful as Kela. I have no intention of keeping her from her destiny. I never have.”

  “You say.”

  “It is not for you to understand. I assure you I would not have come to you unless it was absolutely necessary.”

  “Tell me then. Tell me what is of the utmost importance.”

  “There has been a darkness that has been cast upon those close to you. King Edulf. Prince Falco.”

  Silas shook his head. “Impossible. Dark magic in Yucca? Never.”

  “This I tell you true,” Pieter insisted. “Tell me how then you came to marry Ulric’s daughter?”

  “Millicent was proposed for Falco until your refusal of Belasquita. You know better than I, the marriage was a political match. No more, no less.”

  Pieter smirked. “You have no knowledge of who you married. Her name is not Lady Millicent, but Syybyl. She is Ulric’s youngest daughter. Lady Millicent died from a fever no more than a month after the agreement. Upon the reversal of Falco for you, Lord Ulric was insulted.

  “I was told Lord Ulric felt vindicated with exchanging daughters without knowledge of your grandfather. I ask you how King Edulf could not have known. Why would have Lord Ulric dared?”

  Stunned, Silas stood speechless. He wanted to protest such a thing would have never happened. Such insolence from a Sordarin clan! King Edulf would have none of it. Yet, something told Silas the Brixtonen had not lied.

  The most telling—it dawned upon Silas that perchance his bride’s nervousness was not due to him, but the fear she was to lose her head at the deception.

  “That is not all. Sareta has been rumored to be a strong Witheleghean. Where then is her magic? At the Soaring, Falco had to demand she use her magic. Moreover, it is unusual, for magic is instinctual within a Witheleghean.”

  Prince Pieter’s precision in his deductions could not be denied. Silas had made his own inferences.

  Dark magic lived within Yucca.

  “I do not believe we have a choice,” Pieter said finally. “There is a great need to work together to uncover what this darkness is before it’s too late for either of us.”

  CYAIKA

  The Darkness

  “Oh, my prince. Oh. OHHH…”

  Belasquita’s legs twisted around his. Her breast heaved as the whole of her body shuddered.

  Only moments before, the two had returned back to Falco’s chamber in the Glas Keep. An airy apartment, the windows had been left open, allowing a cooling breeze to flow. Though little had dampened the heat between them.

  Dismissing the servants, Falco had kicked the door closed behind them. He had kissed her with the taste of mead on his lips. He crushed her hard against him.

  His hand went to her bodice and yanked it. She had heard the ripping of velvet, then her breasts spilled free.

  She took great pleasure in his eyes devouring the sight. She stripped the rest of her clothing. He had done the same, revealing his arousal.

  The two tumbled into bed.

  His beard was scratchy against her soft skin, but it mattered little. She was lost in a yearning that he had to fill.

  Afterward, Falco climbed off their bed and walked over to the sideboard. He poured a goblet of wine for himself.

  “Do I not get one, my love?”

  Flexing his wings, Falco laughed. Naked, he turned, holding another goblet for her. “I cannot refuse my wife anything.”

  “It is only a small glass of wine,” Belasquita teased.

  “What more do you need?” He sat back on the feather bed, handing the goblet to his wife. “You have me.”

  “The world, my love.” She took a long sip of the wine. “The world.”

  “It is yours.” He gave her a sly look.

  Extending her long leg out of the cover, she smiled. The objections her husband had before they exchanged vows mattered little. In truth, he had thought little of her. Ambitious. Spoilt. Manipulative.

  Belasquita had made certain he forgot about his oppositions. Though, she had found that her own suppressed needs had been met. Falco had more than served his purpose.

  A pleasant diversion.

  “I saw you in deep discussion with Silas this eve. Tell me, my husband, what was my brother’s concern? Pray, not King Edulf.”

  She watched Falco grimace. Leaning upward, she kissed his lips. Her breasts lay freely visible to his eyes.

  “A nasty affair.” He reached over and brushed her nipple. It hardened at once. “It seems word has filtered back that Ulric tricked us. His daughter, Millicent, passed away from the fever shortly before the marriage. He exchanged his youngest daughter to pass for the girl without Grandfather’s permission.”

  Belasquita gasped. “How horrid. What is the king to do?”

  “Lord Ulric was taken to Torini. From there, he awaits the king’s decision.”

  “Off with his head,” Belasquita said with an edge to her voice. “The king cannot be insulted in that manner, not in front of his subjects!”

  “Silas has spoken for caution.” Falco cupped her breast in his hand, then bent to take a nipple in his mouth. His hand moved across her belly.

  She caught his hand and drew back. “Silas is not one for empathy. Do not tell me he wants to keep this traitorous bride.”

  “The girl has little to do with it,” Falco said. “She i
s but a child. We have the realm to consider. The king does not want a civil war to brew.”

  “He cannot show weakness!” She frowned and released his hand. “I cannot believe that my husband would permit the king…”

  “I permit the king? My wife, I permit the king nothing.” Falco scoffed. “I am his servant.”

  Angered, she threatened, “Perhaps I need to withdraw to my chambers.”

  Falco leaped off the bed. Throwing his hand wide, he gestured toward the door. “I will call for Lunda.”

  Belasquita fumed, but it would do no good to lose her temper. She softened and shook her head, refusing to leave. She laid back, throwing off all the covers. “Do you want me to leave?”

  His eyebrow rose in a playful manner. Wordlessly, he crawled back into bed. Inching upward slowly, he kissed her bare leg. He was about to go higher when a loud knock came to the door.

  Falco rose, scowling. “What is it?”

  “Your Highness,” Fendel, his servant, called through the door. “Prince Silas begs your immediate presence.”

  “I left orders not to be disturbed.”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Fendel stated. “The prince is most insistent. He says that Lord Twiten cannot be found.”

  Belasquita saw Falco’s expression change. Worry emerged in his eyes.

  “Very well. Tell him I will be there presently.”

  Once more, he left Belasquita alone in bed. He picked up his pants and laced them up. Quickly, he put on his boots.

  “Stay,” he told his wife. “I will be back shortly.”

  She nodded absently, but waited only until after he left. Then, she called for her maid.

  * * * *

  Belasquita tossed the hood back from her black cape. Her hair was disheveled. She hadn’t time for Lunda to arrange it after the announcement Twiten had been found.

  Her maid now walked in front of her with a lit torch. Through the shadowy opening, Belasquita descended down the steep lower steps into darkness. The stairs ended abruptly in a small four-walled chamber.

  Before her, Lady Dogmar waited in silence. She, too, had hurried. She wore her bed gown under her cloak. The lady bowed her head.

  Raising her hand, Belasquita spoke under her breath and watched her mother change into her Arachnidan form, a Gušteroči. Her bones elongated, her skin became as leather, and her eyes yellow with a glassy sheen and slit-like pupils.

  Belasquita took the staff she held and placed it against the stone wall. “Otvori vrata!”

  The stones shook, and then opened.

  Hesitating a moment, she circled her hand in front of her. “Kao i ja, da će biti!”

  Immediately, she morphed into what she was, as her mother before her. She grew taller, standing over nine feet. She had no hair, only scales. Her eyes were a deeper yellow.

  She hissed. Her tongue extended, long and forked.

  Her anger had grown with each step she had taken. Incensed, she had many questions that faced her. Where had they taken Twiten? How had he managed to escape? More importantly, had he talked?

  She entered into a large, cavernous hall, not as Belasquita. She was Cyaika, Asmeodai’s mate.

  In the stagnant air, Lunda lit the torches in the dark chamber. Shadows flickered against the stone walls in the cavernous hall. The dim light revealed mysterious runes bore into the rock, secret marks of a secret sanctuary.

  Hidden deep within the thousands of years old catacombs, the Arachnidans had used this long forgotten place to hold their surreptitious meetings.

  For years, patience had been maintained. When she had come through the portal, never had she dreamed she would have been cut off from her mate, Asmeodai.

  It had not been the plan.

  She had come first in preparation for his entrance into the Siochanta Realm. The quest still lay before her.

  Asmeodai had seen to the magic needed for his mate to take over the necessary entity as she had done in Witheleghe, but then the portal was closed. For years, she had been frustrated in her efforts to reopen the portal.

  Frustration had turned to anticipation. Finally, she felt she was on the cusp of victory.

  She hated Sordarins. Her purpose had never wavered—the total annihilation of their species. The plan was set. She would eliminate anyone in her way, including the damn Euchoun, the one who had ruined her other attacks.

  Asmeodai had warned her not to underestimate the Sordarins.

  It had been a hard lesson, one setback after another. Yet, she had finally had an advantage when Twiten had fallen into her hands.

  A twisted smile emerged on the remembrance of Twiten appearing at her feet. The fool thought he had bettered her, discovering her lair.

  True, she had been despondent. Her latest venture to undermine the crown had failed miserably. Her pet completely and utterly destroyed.

  She had let her guard down, going down to the Antimellsis’ nest. Though, Twiten had been duped to appear defenseless before her.

  Her spirit had lifted on the sight of the old man’s stunned look when he realized it was she—she who was Cyaika.

  Cyaika stepped up to the raised pulpit. She had spoken many nights with the whole of the cavern filled with her Arachnidans. Tonight, only her six most trusted commanders attended her.

  “Is it true?” Cyaika’s words echoed within the cavern. “Who is responsible for his escape?”

  The hall became very quiet.

  “My queen.” A giant of a man, with brawny arms, stepped forward and bowed. He wore no shirt. Instead, he had a thick leather belt around his waist and tan pants. He was bald, but had a full beard. His sullen black eyes looked back over his shoulder. “Reynard was on guard.”

  The man’s eyes twitched. His mouth opened, but words must have choked in his throat.

  “Samulic, bring Reynard to me.” Cyaika moved over to the high altar. With her back to Reynard, she demanded, “Reynard, tell me what happened?”

  “It was not my fault. I swear, Queen Cyaika. I stood by his bed. I did not take my eyes from him. He started convulsing, muttering incoherently. I called for Tomard. As I did so, wind swirled…I knew he had called a portal. I lunged at him…stabbing him, but…he disappeared.”

  Cyaika turned and glowered at her commander. She saw the fear in his eyes.

  Reynard recoiled.

  She tightened her grip on the ceremonial sacrificial knife she picked up from the altar. With a single sharp thrust, she drove the knife into Reynard’s chest. Blood burst out through his ribs. He was dead before he hit the floor.

  In one swift movement, she wiped the bloody knife off with the hem of her gown. “Samulic, take me to the cell where Twiten was kept.”

  Samulic stepped over Reynard’s body and swung his arm back toward the entrance to a dark tunnel. “This way, my queen.”

  Chamber of the Lost Soul

  Dawn was several hours away when Cyaika entered the dark chamber. Samulic went before her with a torch.

  The cell was small, holding only a raised rock bed.

  Cyaika stared at the empty slab. Taking the torch, she walked around the stone block. Noticing drops of a liquid, she swiped the ground.

  She brought her hand up and rubbed it between her fingers. Blood! Reynard had spoken the truth. He had managed to stab Twiten.

  “What are we to do, my queen?”

  “First, I must see the damage done.” Under her breath, Cyaika murmured, “Odvedi me do kuda vodi krv.”

  Cyaika used a blood spell, a powerful and dangerous spell few knew or dared. One that would have been useless except Twiten had been her prisoner for a week. She had already cast a tracking spell on him. Slowly, she felt the effects.

  Her body did not move, but her essence floated. It traveled silently through the multitude of walls and floors. Floating through the halls and gardens, she halted in Twiten’s chamber within the Gold Tower.

  A fire burned in the hearth at the end of the bedchamber, filling the room with an ominous glow. Cyaika had o
nly to look at the man lying motionless on the bed to know that he hadn’t long in this world.

  Twiten’s face was bruised and swollen, along with being a ghastly white color. Dried blood lay on the cusp of his lower lip. His chest barely breathed. Maester Baird rushed from one side to the other. Agony was written plainly across Twiten’s face as a spasm of pain hit him.

  Blood had seeped through the covers. The wound had not been closed.

  “I tell you, this is the heart of your issues,” a voice echoed within the chamber. “It is dark magic.”

  “You allowed him entrance, Silas,” Falco stated fiercely. “Keep him quiet.”

  “Great prince, I beg you listen,” Pieter continued, forcing his way forward to confront Falco. “Your great wizard has been held prisoner. It should be telling. Dark magic is within Yucca…”

  “Shut up!” Falco cried. “This is not your concern.”

  “It is all our concern,” Pieter countered.

  Falco gestured to a guard at the door. “See Prince Pieter back to his chamber. Stay to ensure he does not leave.”

  Prince Pieter gave Falco a stern look and shook his head. He declared, “Do not dismiss my words! You can feel the evil!”

  Silas watched the prince forcibly removed from the chamber before he edged up to Falco. “Do not take your anger out on the Brixtonen, cousin. He speaks all our concerns.”

  “How do you know it is not he who has caused such?” Falco questioned. “We cannot trust him.”

  “There are many we cannot trust.” Silas heaved a sigh. “But there was truth in what he said. That you know.”

  “Great One have mercy!” Falco frowned and rubbed his tired eyes. “Everyone be gone. Leave except for you, Silas…and Johannes.”

  “Your Highness.” Maester Baird bowed his head low. “Lord Twiten has need of me…”

  “He is beyond your help,” Falco said. “Leave.”

  Maester Baird kept his gaze low. The old man limped out the door.

  Johannes followed and shut the door soundly. He stood guard.