by John Marco
The herald Count Onikil had sent ahead had shocked Jazana with his news. Never a woman prone to fainting, she had hurried to find a seat upon hearing of Thorin’s arrival. That he was alive was stunning enough, but to have him coming to talk peace with her . . .
It had sent her into a spinning rage.
And then, the deepest regret had settled over her. She longed for Thorin. Still, after conquering all of Norvor and sending King Lorn the Wicked running like a deer, she missed Thorin’s touch and gentle ways. And she hated herself for that. Determined not to show him the slightest tenderness, she had arranged this showy welcome. She was powerful and he would know it. Finally, he would admit to her that she had won.
Beside her, Rodrik Varl shifted as he eyed the open doors to the throne room. They were giant doors, gilded with gold and ornately carved with vines and beautiful figures. No doubt they had cost the vain Ravel a fortune. But all the velvet and pomp seemed to disturb Rodrik, and Jazana knew why. Though he had always gotten along with Thorin, they had always vied for her attention. Clearly her beloved bodyguard didn’t care to have his competitor around again. Jazana slipped a multiringed hand over the throne toward him. He hesitated before taking it. His eyes were full of concern. She smiled slyly.
“He comes to talk peace because we have beaten him,” she reminded Rodrik. Her voice boomed unintentionally through the chamber. “All of you remember that,” she said. “We are conquerors now. Baron Glass is the vanquished.”
Those lining the runner nodded, including Kaj. The mercenary who had helped Jazana take Andola had also known Thorin well during his long tenure in Norvor. They had even been friends. Kaj’s dark eyes blinked questioningly, but he said nothing. When he had heard of Thorin’s return, he had simply grunted.
A nervous dither worked Jazana’s stomach. She let go of Rodrik and clasped her hands onto her lap. It would not be long now; her men had already spotted Thorin and were escorting him and Count Onikil to the throne room. Almost unconsciously, Jazana checked herself, imagining her hair and priceless gown and the way her rouge made her look younger. She was not young anymore, but she wanted to look perfect.
At last she heard footfalls coming down the hall. Shadows began darkening the chamber’s threshold. The heavy, familiar steps of her former lover heightened Jazana’s anxiety. She sat up straight in the magnificent throne, arching her back like the queen she’d become.
She saw Count Onikil first. His half-mad smile gleamed at her from across the chamber. He took two lanky steps into the throne room, then bowed.
“Dear queen.” His voice echoed musically in the marvelous chamber. “As promised, I have brought a visitor for you. Baron Glass of Koth, my lady.”
Thorin stepped into the throne room to the gaze of fifty spectators. The Devil’s Armor shining in the lamplight, he glided in without a sound, his frightening helmet tucked neatly in his elbow, his magical arm hidden beneath his brocaded cape, dangling in feigned uselessness. His Akari sword hung ready at his belt. His eyes caught fire when they glimpsed Jazana Carr. Beside her stood Rodrik Varl, the red-haired mercenary who’d once been his friend. Along the scarlet runner were other familiar faces, too. Thorin glimpsed them all peripherally, his true interest fixed on the throne and its occupant. He stepped up to Count Onikil, who had risen from his bow, and barely inclined his head.
“Jazana,” he said in greeting, refusing to give her title. His every nerve taut, he prepared himself to spring, unsure if this was all some elaborate trap. Locking eyes with Jazana Carr, he saw the fury his manner stoked in her.
“This is the Queen of Norvor,” hissed Rodrik Varl. He stepped off the dais to confront Thorin. “Bow.”
A strangling tension charged the air. Thorin glared at Varl, feeling Kahldris’ hatred for the man immediately. But he complied, dipping only slightly, the way he’d seen Onikil do, then rose quickly again to face the queen.
“Welcome back, Thorin,” she said in her graceful voice.
It was a voice he’d not heard in too many long nights. Like a harp it was, as beautiful as the throat it came from, smooth and cunning and irresistible. To Thorin’s dismay and thrill alike, Jazana had hardly changed at all. She was stunning on Ravel’s glistening throne, her gown and hair cut to perfection, her smooth skin radiant. Her lithe body twinkled with gemstones. Her haunting eyes bewitched him. Suddenly he felt Kahldris swimming through him, as though jockeying for a better look. A low, carnal rumble roiled from the demon.
Very beautiful . . .
Thorin did not argue with the spirit, for there was no countering the fact—Jazana Carr was splendid. The lingering manly part of Kahldris hungered for her.
And he was impressed by her, not just by her ageless beauty but by all she had amassed. Even in death, Kahldris had a keen eye for wealth and power. He clearly saw both in Jazana Carr.
“I will not address you as queen, Jazana,” said Thorin. “Not while you are an invader in my country. You may rule Norvor, but in Liiria you are nothing but a spoiled girl.”
Jazana bristled. The audience gaped. Rodrik Varl turned red-faced and made to face Thorin, but the queen jerked him back with her invisible leash.
“Keep your place, Rodrik,” she ordered. To Thorin, she seemed to shake with effort. “Baron Glass is obviously toying with us. But even a man as stupid as he must see what he’s up against.” She smiled at Thorin. “Men must play their games, I suppose. If it makes you feel better to insult me before you grovel, then by all means do so, Thorin.”
“I never grovel, Jazana. After all our years together you should know that. I have come to talk peace with you,” Thorin lied. “Not to cajole or perform for you. You have your jesters for that; I’m not one of them.”
“Yet here you are, Thorin, because you are threatened by me,” Jazana pointed out. The irony of it was delicious to her. “See how Andola bends to me? The people love me, Thorin, because I care for them. Just as I promised I would.”
“Oh, you are a woman that keeps your promises, no doubt about it,” quipped Thorin. He was uncomfortable standing in the center of so many eyes, and knew she had planned things to humiliate him. “Who else would go to such lengths for a promised vengeance? Only you, dear Jazana. I can think of no other so relentless.”
Never one to give in to insults, Jazana countered, “I had not expected to see you so soon, though, Thorin. To be truthful I was not sure you’d show at all. It is safe in the desert, no? It’s so much easier for a man to hide than to face battle.” She looked at him and grinned. “And you are half a man, after all.”
Her loyal men lining the chamber snickered nervously, the first sound any of them had made. Thorin noted with some surprise that Kaj, his old mercenary companion, did not laugh. Rather he kept his eyes on the polished floor. It reminded Thorin of what Onikil had told him—not everyone was pleased with Jazana Carr’s war.
“The desert was a refuge from you, Jazana,” he said. “After sixteen years with you, even the desert seemed a blessed relief.”
For the first time he’d said something that cut her. Her lower lip jutted out in the slightest pout.
Strike now, he told himself. She was only yards from him, and there was no way Varl could stop him. His arm twitched, craving his sword. The armor’s power flowed through him.
“What is that you wear?” asked Jazana suddenly. Her eyes squinted on his armor. “Not Liirian armor, I see.” She puzzled over it, clearly sensing something amiss. “I have never seen the like of it before.”
“It is Jadori armor, my queen,” answered Count Onikil. He smiled, pleased with himself. “It is of a very fine make. I have looked at it closely.”
“Indeed?” Jazana Carr got up from her throne and descended the dais. Rodrik Varl shadowed her as she neared Thorin. She reached out a hand to touch the armor, a gesture that shocked Thorin. He stepped back quickly. Amused by his fear, Jazana grinned. “Now come along, Thorin,” she said. “You never feared my touch before.”
He held up his ha
nd—his genuine, right hand—and said, “That time has passed, Jazana.”
His rebuke stopped her cold. In plain sight of everyone, they simply stared at each other. Her breath fell warm on his face. Varl was looking at them, his face furious. The abject jealousy made Kahldris laugh; Thorin’s brain rang with the evil sound.
Look at her! the demon sang. Look how she craves you!
Cravings swamped Thorin suddenly—for blood, for power, for the conquest of a woman . . .
Enough, Kahldris! he silently screamed. Do not force these feelings on me!
Jazana pursed her pretty lips. “You are much changed, Thorin,” she said, studying his face. “The Jadori . . . this armor . . . It has all made you bold.”
Was she glad he had come? Her tone hinted at pleasure.
“I have come for the good of Liiria, Jazana.” Thorin stood his ground as best he could, though his hand ached to loose his sword. “Let us talk. Please . . .”
He couldn’t kill her and didn’t know why. Jazana nodded, their game over.
“We will talk,” she agreed. The audience finally began breathing again. “Rest, Thorin. Tomorrow we will have much to discuss.” There was no triumph in her eyes, only a soft relief. “You are brave to have come here alone.”
The compliment surprised Thorin—but he knew it wouldn’t save her. At last he gave her the bow she so much desired.
“Thank you, Jazana,” he said, never taking his eyes off her.
Jazana gestured toward his arm. “What of that? You wear a wooden arm now?”
It was small talk—something to diffuse the tension. Grateful for it, Thorin nodded.
“A fake, yes,” he said. “The armor fits better with it.”
A flash of understanding passed between them. Even with one arm, she had called him her tiger in bed.
“It suits you,” said Jazana. “You seem . . . more whole.” She turned and went back to her throne. Sitting down on it again, she looked uncomfortable this time. “Rodrik will take you to your chambers,” she told Thorin. “I’ll send for you tomorrow. Count Onikil, remain with me, please. We have much to talk about.”
Varl stepped forward unhappily, gesturing toward the exit. “Come on, Thorin,” he said thickly.
Thorin gave Jazana a last glance before heading for the doors. He had been so close; he could have killed her in an instant. But he was glad he hadn’t done so yet. There was one thing he wanted before taking her life.
He would have it tonight.
40
THE LOVERS
That night, Jazana Carr found sleeping impossible. She had left the throne room shortly after meeting Thorin, leaving her underlings to deal with Count Onikil and his tedious reports. Instead of eating her midday meal with Rodrik, as was their custom, she had declined company entirely for the seclusion of her own chambers, where her body servant, Habran, massaged her skin and rubbed her feet with oil while she reclined in the enormous bathtub. Her chambers had once belonged to Ravel himself, and the bathtub was the same one the baron had killed himself in. At first Jazana had been repulsed by the place but soon Ravel’s lavish good taste had won her over, and she had learned to adore the opulent rooms. Tonight, she needed the comforting confines. There was much on her mind, much she had never expected to feel again. As Habran worked the aches out of her muscles, Jazana tried to quiet her troubles.
After her long bath Rodrik had come to see her, to tell her that he had found rooms for Thorin on the ground floor and had seen to all his needs. Her loyal bodyguard curbed his jealousy as best he could, but the taint of it burned in his expression. Refusing to speak further about Thorin, Jazana dismissed Rodrik for the night. Wearing only her sleep gown and robe, she went out onto the fabulous balcony with a cup of tea, dismissing the rest of her servants with orders not to disturb her. She remained on the balcony until very late, watching Andola drift off to sleep but unable to feel tired herself. An hour after she had finished her tea, she was still on the balcony, afraid to go to bed.
Thorin had surprised her. She had hoped he was alive, but had never guessed he would come to her again. He wanted peace; that much was clear. But did he want something else? She feared to hope it. Rodrik had been so good to her, so kind. He had struggled mightily to take Thorin’s place, but the task had been impossible and she had never deigned to take him to her bed.
Her bed had seemed so empty lately.
Jazana pulled the robe closer around her shoulders, staving off the chill. Spring had come with boldness, but the nights were still long and always bore a cool breeze. But Ravel had built a lovely hearth of polished stone in his bedchamber and her servants had already lit a fire there for her. She had seen them sneaking in and out to tend to it, sure that she would want it when ready.
Good pay makes good servants, thought Jazana as she left the balcony. It was almost midnight and tomorrow would be an important day. Wanting to be fresh for her talk with Thorin, she went into her bedchamber, disrobed, and slid into the fabulously soft sheets.
Jazana slept.
As the hours ticked towards dawn, the fire in her hearth died to a warm glow. Comfortable in Ravel’s enormous bed, Jazana dreamed of Norvor and her younger days. She did not sleep soundly, but rather danced on the edges of sleep, her mind actively mulling mental pictures. She had lost all sense of time but was dimly aware of the fire’s crackle. Sounds reached her ears as if from a great distance, familiar and of no concern.
Until she heard a sound she did not recognize.
Her eyelids fluttered heavily. Her mind worked on the noise. A scraping sound, like boots on stone. Footfalls . . .
Jazana awakened and sat up in her bed. Shadows painted the enormous room. Moonbeams through her window made yawning images on the walls. Jazana looked around, her eyes darting toward the doorway. She saw a shadow there and stared at it, her heart racing. Vaguely like a man, she could not quite tell in the darkness if it moved or stayed still. Then, the sound of nervous breathing reached her.
Amazingly, she grew less alarmed. The man in the doorway stared. A fabulous darkness sparkled off his left arm, encased in a metal that swallowed all light. In her half-awake state Jazana thought she might yet be dreaming.
“Thorin . . .”
Like a wraith he floated closer, stepping into the moonlight. He had doffed his armor but for the arm that flashed in brilliant black. She caught his expression in the light, an anguished mix of pain and lust. His eyes flared with hunger, revealing a soul that wasn’t his. Jazana gasped. She should scream, she knew, but did not. Too enthralled with the impossible sight, she let Thorin drift ever closer.
“Jazana.”
The voice was his, and yet was not. Like his face, it seemed possessed. He came to her bedside and hovered there, dropping a knee onto the sheets and leaning toward her.
“I’ve come for you,” he whispered. “I cannot be without you tonight.”
Jazana barely breathed. “Thorin, you should not have come.” It made no sense to her suddenly. How could he have made it to her bedroom? “Have you come just for this? Just for me?”
“I came to . . .” His face twisted in a grimace of pain. “No,” he struggled. He reached out for her. “I need to touch you.”
It was his armored arm that reached for her. His missing arm. Jazana gasped.
“Your arm! Thorin, what has happened to you?”
“Shh,” he urged gently. “Don’t speak.” The black gauntlet reached out to brush her cheek. “Let me touch you.”
Never had Jazana felt anything so cold. Or was it burning hot? Her skin trembled at the touch of the odd metal. It melted her.
“Thorin,” she whispered, “what has happened to you?”
Thorin stalked onto her bed. “I need to be a man again. I have not been a man in so long.”
The metal arm pulled her closer. Jazana succumbed to it, bending her head for him as his hungry mouth found her neck. His lips suckled her, tasting her skin and moaning with its sweetness. Jazana’s head swam w
ith a strange intoxication. This was not the spell of sleep, she knew, but a wondrous thing that sang in her mind and bent her to his will. As his desperate hands found her breasts Jazana could no longer speak. Her mouth moved wordlessly as he tore her nightgown open and fell upon her.
Somehow, throughout the thrusting and glorious release, Jazana knew it was more than lovemaking. In the black fog that wrapped her, she saw visions.
It was not until dawn that the fever lifted.
Thorin’s groggy mind came awake to the sense of sunlight through the window. His skull throbbed. Sheets tangled his naked body. Sprawled across his right arm was Jazana, just as nude, her ruined nightgown clinging to her in shreds. He felt her breathing and knew she was dully awake, struggling through the same magic mist that clogged his own brain. Her face glanced up at the ceiling, barely visible in the dim light of morning. She did not speak, but seemed to sense his wakefulness. Her head rested in exhaustion on a pillow, its silk casing torn by the spikes of his armored arm. Duck feathers spilled across the bed.
They lay there, naked with each other, and were silent.
The possession that had taken Thorin had faded. The sated Kahldris now rested easily in his mind. Thorin could sense the demon’s satisfaction. For a night, he had been a man again, and in his lust had shown Thorin a truer meaning of life and power. It was as if Thorin had drank from the cleanest water or had breathed the freshest air. He was changed now and he knew it, and was not at all sorry that Kahldris had swallowed him.
