No pain was too sharp to keep her from reaching Arthes as quickly as possible. When her mother had suggested sending an elderly nurse along as chaperone, Danya had first balked and then refused. Instead of the nurse, her only chaperone was a young lady’s maid, Fai, who rode at least as well as Danya. It was a further blessing that the maid was quiet and shy, so Danya did not feel compelled to carry on endless conversation during the travels. That maid, three sentinels, the deputy minister, and Danya herself made up their traveling party.
Taking care with the skirt of her riding outfit, Danya knelt by the stream and carried a handful of water to her overheated face. The splash felt wonderful, it invigorated her and steeled her resolve. So what if her rear end and her thighs hurt? Soon enough she would be living in luxury, and she would never know pain again.
If he chose her. If she was the one.
A rough voice whispered, “Do not look at me.”
Instinctively, Danya’s head snapped about, and she saw a hooded figure hiding at the edge of the trees behind her.
“I said, do not look!” The whisper was harsher this time, almost menacing.
Danya returned her gaze to the water. “There are four strong, armed men a short distance away, and if I scream . . .”
“I suggest you do not scream,” the hooded man said softly. He did not move toward her, but remained in the shadows of the forest. “Just listen. If you wish to be empress, simply listen.”
Danya’s spine straightened. He had her attention. “I’m listening.”
“Good.” The single word washed over her like a breath of cold wind, and then the interloper continued. “What would you do to be empress, Lady Danya?”
She hesitated only a heartbeat. “Anything.”
“I thought so. In my divinations I saw that to be true. You are desperate. You’re hungry for power.”
Divinations! If he spoke the truth, this was a powerful wizard who stood behind her, a seer . . . someone who could help her have all that she wanted. “Yes,” Danya whispered.
“Would you truly do anything which was asked of you?”
“I would.”
“Would you take a life?”
Again, Danya hesitated. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. Anything else. I would do almost anything.”
“Almost is not enough,” the hooded man whispered. “True power comes at a high price. Are you willing to pay that price?”
“Who are . . .” Danya began, but a hissing noise and another command not to look made her turn once more to the water, where her broken image reflected the sunlight.
“I know your secrets, Lady Danya. I have seen them in my dreams and divinations.”
“I have no secrets,” she said, foolishly hoping this man who obviously saw so much did not see too well into her.
“I see a lover who was not yours to claim,” he said harshly, killing her hopes, “and as a result of your illicit affair, a child, a son you wrongly believe to be dead and buried.”
A chill ran up Danya’s spine. Wrongly believe . . . “My son came too soon, and he died.”
“He did not. The witch who delivered him lied to you. She sold your baby to a childless couple who paid a high price for the son they could not produce. She did not wish to share her good fortune with you, and perhaps she actually thought it a kindness to make you believe the child was forever gone.”
She had dreamed that it was true. The midwife had allowed Danya only a brief glimpse of her dead son, and then she’d administered a strong potion to take away a mother’s pain of birth and loss. The potion had done more than ease Danya’s heartache; it had made her sleep for two days. “I saw his grave.”
“You saw a mound of dirt with nothing beneath but more dirt.”
Danya wanted to believe this was true, that her child lived, that he had found a loving and safe home. He would be almost two years old, now . . .
“The emperor will never knowingly choose a wife who has such a sordid past, Lady Danya,” the whisper continued. “But there are those of us who are pleased that you have the ability to produce a son. We would like you to do so again. We would like you to produce the future emperor.”
“I would like that, too,” she confessed.
“Would you?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Again, the single word sounded inhuman. “We are also pleased that you have the strength and cunning to hide such a momentous event from all those around you. It is no small feat for a woman to take charge as you did. In the same circumstances many women would’ve panicked and done something stupid. Most women would have been lost, they would’ve cried and dragged a dozen innocent people into the circle of their drama, but not you. You handled the situation quite well and very discreetly.”
“I had no choice.”
“I suppose you didn’t,” he said with a hint of what sounded oddly like humor. “It is done, then. From now on, you are ours, Lady Danya. You will do what is asked of you, or you’ll suffer the consequences.”
“What consequences?” she asked. “What will you do to me if I don’t cooperate?”
“We will not hurt you, that I swear.”
Danya breathed a sigh of relief, but her relief did not last long. “But, we will tell the emperor about your liaison with your sister’s husband and the resulting child, and then we will tell your family. Your mother will be heartbroken, I imagine, and your sister will likely not forgive you.”
“It was not my fault! I did not know that Ennis was . . .” Danya argued in a heated voice.
The hooded man ignored her. “And while we will not hurt you, the same cannot be said for your son.”
Danya’s heart tried to burst through her chest, and she spun around to confront the monster who would threaten a child . . . but the hooded man was gone. From a short distance, from somewhere in the shadows, she heard a whispered, “They call him Ethyn.”
Danya could not stop the tears that ran down her face as she dropped to her knees and absorbed all the information she had been given. Her child was alive. Alive and well, as long as she did what was asked of her. A part of her was filled with terror, but she did her best to push the terror away. These people, whoever they were, wanted the same things she did. They wanted her to be empress. They wanted her to have another son.
All that she desired would come at a high price, perhaps even requiring her to take a life. She didn’t think she could do that; didn’t think she could kill anyone.
But they would hurt Ethyn if she didn’t do as they asked. Who would hurt a child? Danya remembered the hooded man’s horrible whisper, and she didn’t doubt that he was capable of anything. More tears ran down her face, and she hugged herself to try to rein in the sharp feelings that were tearing her apart. She had denied these emotions for so long that they felt fresh and raw. They tore at her insides.
A familiar voice interrupted her whirling thoughts. “Are you all right?” Rainer managed to sound genuinely concerned.
Danya lifted her head and looked at him as he neared. This was it. The choice had to be made now, at this moment. She could tell Deputy Minister Rainer about the hooded visitor and his threats, or she could prove that she had not been lying to herself when she’d said she’d do anything to become empress. She could ask this kind man for his help, or she could claim the position of empress—and save the life of the son she did not know, yet still loved.
“Of course I am not fine,” she said sharply. “I’m sore from riding in the saddle for so long, and look at my hair!” She tossed back a tangled strand. “Is this any way for a potential empress to look? It is the first day of a long journey, and already I suffer.”
Rainer’s concerned expression turned cold. “I did offer to escort you by coach,” he said.
Danya struggled to her feet. The deputy minister could’ve offered a hand of assistance, but he did not. “And double or triple the time of this journey?” she said. “No, thank you. I will deal with the pain and the assault on my appearance, b
ut that does not mean I have to like it!”
“There is no need to rush,” Rainer said coldly. “There are six weeks until the First Night of the Summer Festival, when the emperor will make his choice. You could choose comfort.”
“I choose speed.” She walked past him, head held high. When he was behind her, she allowed a few more tears to fall. If Rainer saw them, he would think the tears were brought about by her sore backside or her tangled hair or her bruised dignity. He would not know, could never know, that she had just taken a step which would further darken her already bruised soul.
MORGANA’S steps quickened as she found herself upon a stone pathway which ran between two tall buildings. The buildings blocked the sun, casting her in shadow and increasing the chill in her heart, a heart which beat much too fast. Someone was following her. At least two men, she was certain. They were roughly dressed and very large, and she was almost certain she’d seen them in the tavern as she’d made her escape.
Some escape. She had no coins and no skills with which to earn them. As she’d walked through the city, Morgana had had that truth hammered into her very soul. She did not know what she’d been thinking when it had occurred to her that she might actually remain married to a sentinel and live in such a common, coarse place. She did not belong here. She could not survive here, not alone. She had no place to go, no home but the one Jahn provided for her, no friends, no family, no one to turn to but the husband she did not want. She had nothing.
Many of these thoughts had come to her as she looked at the canted bed which dominated the room Jahn Devlyn called home. The choice to share that bed with a man who’d claimed her as his wife should not be made on a whim! She should not give in to her need for sanctuary so easily! Should she?
She walked through the marketplace where men and women sold food, fabrics, weapons, and anything else a city dweller might need. If she’d had a skill beyond turning those who threatened her into glass, she might’ve set up a booth of her own. Instead she wandered alone, feeling foolish for leaving the tavern and for thinking she could have any sort of marriage with a man simply because he was patient and a more than decent kisser. She was confused, she was scared . . . she was lost.
There was no choice but to return to the tavern. It was while she scurried in that direction that she’d seen the two men following her.
They could not hurt her, she knew that. If they tried, her uncontrollable power would rise up and stop them. She did not want to kill again. What if they just happened to be on the same path she walked? What if it was coincidence that she’d seen them several times since leaving the tavern?
What if it was not?
In trying to lose the men who followed her, Morgana got turned around so she no longer knew where she was. The path from the tavern to the market had been an easy one, and she should’ve been able to find her way back without any trouble. But she’d made a couple of turns just to see if the men continued to follow. They had. And now she did not know which way to go.
Morgana heard footsteps far behind her, and she felt the ice at her center grow colder and stronger. In the weeks since Tomas’s death her curse had slept, but now it had been awakened and she did not know how to stop what had begun. She ran, and behind her the footsteps grew faster. If she turned and lashed out, she would once again take a life. She could feel it. The fear that had once before awakened her curse was fed by the unfamiliarity of this place and the helplessness of her situation.
At the corner she bravely looked back—and saw that it was an unfamiliar man who was walking behind her, not the heathens she had been so sure she’d spotted at the tavern. He did not look at all menacing.
Morgana leaned against the wall and relaxed, but for some reason the chill at her heart did not abate. She was lost, she was afraid . . . she was very possibly on the verge of losing control and killing everything and everyone in her path. If someone startled her, if she became more afraid than she already was, would the burst of cold blue death come again? Where was Jahn when she needed him so desperately?
Reaching for a calmness she very much needed, Morgana looked up at the palace rising at the western edge of the city. Suddenly she realized where she was. From the tavern she’d had a particular view of the palace, and she remembered well how close the plain building had been to the tallest, most magnificent edifice in the city.
Again she ran, this time with a destination in mind. Two turns, and she found herself on a street she remembered. The tavern was straight ahead. She lifted her skirt and increased her pace, longing for any sort of familiarity—longing, most of all, for Jahn Devlyn.
Morgana ran into the tavern and bolted for the stairs. The iciness in her heart grew. She was so afraid, so alone, so scared that it did not go away even now, when she knew she was not being followed. She was in no danger, and yet the curse continued to grow. What would happen when it burst? What if she did not find control and calm?
She glanced at the people in the tavern, roughly dressed men who watched her run but did not move from their tables. They were merely curious. Did they deserve to die for their curiosity? Of course not.
Morgana threw open the door to Jahn’s room, and found the sentinel lying across the bed in a casual pose. His expression revealed a touch of annoyance and concern, but not much. “Where have you been?” he asked. “I told you to stay here until I returned.”
Just looking at him made the chill start to fade, and she breathed deeply in relief. She remembered the heat of the kiss, the warmth he had sometimes roused just by smiling at her. Her gift of destruction was cold; Jahn was heat. She did not entirely understand, but she could not deny that he had a way of stopping the curse.
“Warm me,” she commanded as she walked to the bed.
His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “What’s this?”
“I’m cold,” she said, not hesitating as she lay beside him on the bed. He had put the clean sheets over the mattress of this bed which had terrified her so. She knew now that there were much worse things in her world to be terrified of. “I’m cold to my very bones. Make me warm, please.”
Almost grudgingly, Jahn wrapped his arms around her. She breathed deeply and rested her head against his shoulder. He ran one strong hand up and down her back in a comforting manner that made the ice in her heart melt away. “It is not a cold day, Ana,” he said softly. “What has you so chilled?”
She could not tell him. She could never tell anyone! “I went for a walk and I got lost, and I was so afraid.”
“You should’ve stayed here,” he said, “as I told you.”
“Yes, yes, I know,” she admitted. “Men were following me.”
Jahn’s body stiffened. “Truly?”
“I think so,” she confessed, no longer certain that her imagination hadn’t been playing tricks on her.
The chill she’d experienced on that horrible night she would never forget had been out of control and powerful and terrifying. The warmth Jahn roused was just the opposite. It calmed her. The heat was a slow and familiar and pleasant sensation. She snuggled close to his warm chest and listened to his steady and strong heartbeat. She clutched at his shirt with chilly hands. Yes, she was getting warmer, but she was not warm enough. She wanted more heat; she wanted the ice at her core gone, once and for all, and only he could chase it away.
“Kiss me,” she said, lifting her head to bring her lips close to Jahn’s.
The surprise in his blue eyes was genuine. “What?”
Morgana smiled. “Kiss me. When you kiss me, I feel warm all over. I like that. I need it. My life is falling apart, and even though you are the cause of the turmoil, you are also the solution to my dilemma.”
“What dilemma?”
She did not want to explain, not now, not ever. “Just kiss me.”
He did, tentatively at first, then with passion. It was the unexpected passion that fed her heat, the fervor that chased away her curse. This warmth was marvelous. She drank it in; she savored it.
&nbs
p; Jahn parted her lips with his and slipped the tip of his tongue into her mouth. It was as if a stream of fire whipped through her body, chasing away the last of the chill, the last of the fear. There was only warmth in this place, warmth and peace. She should tell him to stop now. He had done all that was necessary, after all. There was no longer any danger of her turning everything in her path to fragile crystal with a burst of cold she could not control.
And yet, she was no longer entirely in control, she recognized that very well. She was out of control in an entirely new way, but there was no danger here. There was simply desire and warmth and a longing for something more.
Jahn Devlyn was a husband she did not want. He had claimed her as if she were a horse up for auction, a lucky and convenient find. He did not know her; she did not know him. The life he offered was not what she’d dreamed of—it was more the stuff of nightmares. And yet, he had been the one to end the chill that was her curse. He was the one who had taken her from a home where she’d felt as if she were on the verge of being discovered as a monster. Would she trade the life of a pampered lady which was filled with terror and uncertainty for the simple life of a sentinel’s wife where there was always someone to take away the curse? Would she trade ice and death for heat and life?
She loved Jahn’s kiss. It was heartfelt and filled with promise. There was such heat in his mouth, in his body close to hers, and she felt like she was falling and melting and flying. She squirmed a bit, making herself more comfortable against him, pressing her body closer to his. So close, she could not help but feel his response to the kiss. That response pressed insistently against her.
Without a hint of a chill in her body, Morgana took her mouth from Jahn’s. All her reservations were gone, wiped away by a kiss. “Make me your wife,” she commanded, her voice husky and soft.
Jahn’s eyes widened in surprise, she saw in the fading light. “What was that you said?”
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