The Crown of Stones: Magic-Scars

by C. L. Schneider

  Delight glimmered in her eyes. “I have waited many years to meet the man who shattered my kingdom.”

  “Is it the moment you hoped for?”

  “I haven’t yet decided.” Openly, and with clear fascination, Jillyan studied me. “The older generation of Langor paints you a violent, prideful man who has no respect for life. But I find those views hard to reconcile with what my own eyes have shown me.” She paused. Her hungry gaze continued to devour me. “Several years have passed since you were last here in Kael. Injured by the eldring, you were no more than any other weak, vulnerable man hovering near death. Now, after your time in prison and the mines, I see the usual lingering anguish and stress. But…it doesn’t rule you.”

  “Then what does?”

  “Strength. Courage. And far more brash defiance than is healthy for a man in my bedchamber.”

  “It would only be unhealthy, Your Grace, if my presence in your chamber offended you.”

  Her mouth opened slightly. Her generous lips curled higher. “How very true.”

  “Which makes me curious. Does your leniency extend to words?”

  “You may speak without worry of punishment. To a point.”

  “Which is?”

  “When I say you may no longer.”

  “Then I’ll be as quick and as plain as I can.” She tilted her head in approval and I kept to my word. “I’m not overly fond of making nice with the enemy. It tends to leave a bad taste in my mouth and blood on my clothes.”

  “I promise, Shinree. Making nice with me will not offend your sensitive palate in any way. And as far as your garments go, feel free to take them off at any time.”

  I resisted grinning. “I prefer candor to guile and I generally try to avoid things that waste my time.”

  “Meaning?”

  “If this is going to end badly, I prefer you tell me now.”

  She took a long, relaxed breath. “I realize your kind believe the gods control their lives. That Fate determines the ultimate outcome of things. But does that mean you’re forbidden to enjoy the moment?”

  “I enjoy plenty of moments—just not the ones where I’m being set up.”

  “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

  “If you are, can we get on with it?”

  “My, but you are impatient to surrender.”

  “Surrender?” I laughed. “Don’t mistake me, Your Grace. I’m not going to fall to my knees and let you kill me. I will gladly put down as many of your men as I can before they do the same to me. But, as you no doubt know, I have no magic. If this is a trap, the chances of me walking out of here are slim. So putting it off is pointless.”

  Her head tilted. “I can’t decide if that is pessimism or practicality.”

  It was experience. But I said nothing, letting her think what she wanted.

  Thoughtful eyes still on me, Jillyan snapped her fingers. From the other side of the room, a Shinree man dressed in a swatch of pale blue and gold chains came out of the shadows. A tray in his hands, he presented Jillyan with a large, wide-mouthed cup filled to the rim with wine. She took it, passed the cup to me, and he gave her another.

  “The wine is safe,” she said. “Poisoning you would not benefit me at this time.”

  “And when it does?”

  “You will know it.”

  I smiled. I was starting to like her. “Guidon has his hands full with you.”

  Jillyan savored a long, slow drink of her wine. “You do not approve of my husband’s decision to marry a daughter of Langor?”

  “It depends. If by marrying you, Guidon was hoping for an ally, or to be passed over in Draken’s quest for war, he’s an even bigger fool than I thought. However, if taking you for a wife was a means to relinquish his country into Langorian hands without turning his realm red with blood, then he has a measure of forethought in that empty head of his; cowardly and selfish as it may be.”

  “Perhaps he married for love.”

  My laugh was abrupt and loud. “And Draken? Was it brotherly love that prompted him to kick you off your throne?”

  “My elder brother has no affection for me.”

  “Yet, you toiled for years to find a way to break him of my spell. Even going so far as having my father join souls with Draken, hoping it might cure his madness. If you despise your brother so much, Your Grace, why go to all that trouble?”

  She regarded me a moment. “May I call you Ian?”

  “Of course.”

  “Your insolence is refreshing, Ian…in its own way.”

  “If that’s a compliment, I’m flattered.”

  Her smile was reserved. “To achieve the results you desire, however, I recommend a degree of patience. You can’t expect a woman to reveal herself to you completely on your first encounter.”

  “I didn’t think there was much left for you to reveal.”

  “Physically, perhaps—which is why the material is stretched so tight across the sizeable bulge in your trousers, is it not? And that most definitely is a compliment.”

  “To you as well.”

  Jillyan dipped her head in acknowledgement. “While I do appreciate your obvious readiness, I have come to believe there are some mysteries worth waiting for.”

  “I don’t like waiting. And mysteries give me a headache.”

  “I find over-eagerness risky. It often brings a premature end to the exchange. Leaving one or both parties unfulfilled.”

  “That isn’t a problem I’m given to, Your Grace.”

  “Nevertheless,” she said, concealing a grin. “It can be far more satisfying to coax a woman’s secrets out leisurely and steadily, with a firm tongue and a gentle hand. Or…is that the other way around?” Swinging her legs to the floor, Jillyan sat her cup down. She slid to the edge of her seat and leaned forward. Only the back of my chair was between us. Her face, her mouth, was inches from mine. “Make her trust you, Shinree.” She ran her fingers up my leg. Her breasts pressed against the wood of the chair. “Cause her to become feverishly reliant on your attentions. So much that she quivers when they are withdrawn. Then, when you have readied her to such a glorious height,” one hand ventured up my chest, neck, and into my hair, “she will beg for the chance to open up.” Jillyan clenched the strands in her grip. “Respond to her gift well and she will give you all that she has…as many times, and in as many ways as you ask.” Jillyan pulled my head closer. Her mouth drifted over mine. “Mastering such skill takes a level of persistence and stamina most men lack. But you, Ian Troy, are not like most men. I believe I would not find you lacking at all.” Abruptly, Jillyan let me go and sat back. She sighed, stretching, and letting out a long, slow, exaggerated breath of contentment.

  My breath was considerably faster. Sweating, and more than a little uncomfortable, I felt like we’d engaged in something other than conversation, something that left her ready to roll over and go to sleep—and me far from it.

  Then, with no transition whatsoever (and no care for the severe ache in my groin), Jillyan changed topics. “My intention was always to relinquish Langor’s throne to Draken should he recover. But I never expected him to lead us into another bloody war. Not after the time and resources I spent recovering from the last one. Many were unhappy with the change in regime. There was open support for me to continue my reign, until several of Draken’s dissenters were found dead. To be blunt, Ian, my brother saw me as a threat. If I hadn’t left Langor, it’s doubtful I would still be alive. So, you see, I didn’t come to Kael to take over their kingdom. I married Guidon Roarke because the offer was made and I had nowhere else to go.”

  Strangely, I found myself believing her. “So why am I here?”

  “I cannot answer that.”

  “You sent for me.”

  “You didn’t have to come.” Leaning down, one voluptuous breast grazed my leg as Jillyan retrieved her cup from the floor. She settled back and consumed her entire drink while looking at me over the rim; waiting for my reply.

  “Malaq,” I said
. “I came here because he asked me to. But it’s starting to feel like even less of a good idea now than it did then.”

  She handed off her empty cup to the hovering slave. “Why?”

  “I have my doubts you know anything about the Crown of Stones. I think you called me here for no other reason than to satisfy your curiosity.”

  Jillyan stood. She crossed the large room, the edges of her delicate gown floating out behind her bare legs. Her silken hair, swinging from side to side across her hips, calmed as she stopped at a padded table running perpendicular to the hearth. Beside the table, a small stand held an abundance of slender colored bottles. Looking through them, Jillyan said, “A stream of suspicion runs through you, Shinree.”

  “I’d say it’s more like an ocean.”

  Facing me, she slid the dressing gown off her shoulders. “Still suspicious?”

  “Extremely. But I’m fairly certain you aren’t hiding a weapon.”

  Jillyan climbed onto the table and lay down on her stomach. As she stretched out, she swept the miles of hair off her back and over the other side of the table. I grimaced as the slave moved in to block my view. He selected one of the bottles on the table and poured a measure of the contents into his palm. He rubbed his hands together a moment. As he rubbed them on her, Jillyan let out a moan that made me down my wine in one, desperate gulp.

  “Come closer, Shinree,” she beckoned.

  I left my chair and went to the hearth. Resting an arm on the mantle, I took advantage of my close proximity to the table, and enjoyed the sight of her. Jillyan’s shoulders were strong. The curve of her backside was beautiful. Equally exquisite was the swell of compressed flesh as her breasts pushed down against the table. Eyes closed, her chin was resting on her folded arms. There was a slight indentation on her brow as the man kneaded her shoulders.

  “What my brother is doing is not kingship,” she said, her voice taking on a sluggish, sleepy tone. “He claims a realm simply to show that he can.”

  “If you don’t like his tactics you should do something about it.”

  “I am.” Jillyan turned her head. She looked at me through a cascade of hair so thick I could barely see her eyes. “I’m going to help you kill him.” The slave moved farther down her back. Jillyan made that moaning sound again and I glanced around the room, looking for more wine. “Tell me about the crown,” she said. “The last time you used the artifact was over two years ago when you fought Jem Reth. Have you regained that memory yet?”

  “I have.”

  “What was in your head that day? What were your exact thoughts as you sent the power back into the stones?”

  “I’m not sure. I just wanted it gone.”

  “That’s not good enough. Describe the moment. How it felt.”

  “I’d just stabbed my father, Your Grace. Take a guess.”

  “I considered stabbing my own father many times. You’ll have to be more specific.”

  I took a breath. “I was angry. Sad. Disappointed.”

  “In what?”

  “Him. Me. I was tired as hell. And terrified of what I’d done—to myself and to Neela. In fighting Reth, my spells had drained her life. She told me to do it. She said her life didn’t matter, yet…”

  “Go on.”

  “I couldn’t let her go.”

  “You healed Neela with the crown?”

  “I had to. She was too far gone. I needed the power it held to bring her back.”

  “And then?”

  “I threw it out. I hated having it in me. I wanted the crown’s magic to go back where it came from. So no one would use it ever again.”

  “All right,” she said, seeming satisfied. “Answer me this. When you think of the crown’s origins, of ‘where it came from’, what do you picture? What do you see?”

  I shrugged. “I guess my ancestor, Tam Reth. I heard the stories when I was a boy. About the terror he caused. The way he used the crown to make himself Emperor.”

  “That was hundreds of years ago. Is there not another image you associate with the crown’s beginning, a more personal notion that comes to mind?”

  Without thinking, I said, “A crack.”

  She opened her eyes. Propping up on her elbows, Jillyan moved the hair aside so she could see me better. “Explain.”

  “When I found the crown, it was stuck in a crevice in the ground.”

  “What else? Tell me everything you remember.”

  “The air was full of dust. The ground was broken. People were hurt and bleeding. The fighting had stopped. The quake was too strong. No one could stand up. I was lying there, where I fell, in front of that crack, and…there it was. The stones were pulsing, radiating an incredible level of power. I was the only one that sensed it. I was the only one on the entire battlefield that knew what it was. I thought that meant I was supposed to see it. Like the gods wanted me to have it.” My insides starting to shake at the memory, I glanced in my cup; wishing again that it was full. “I knew better. The power coming off it was incredible. I should have walked away.”

  “So, to you, the Crown of Stones originated on that battlefield a little over twelve years ago. All that’s happened with it since, all that you’ve done goes back to that first moment you saw it. To that one instant where you had a split second to decide whether to leave the crown where it was, or to pick it up and use it.”

  “Okay. But why does that matter?”

  “Because that’s where you’ll find the crown’s aura.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You’re one of the Erudite, Ian. Your powers work differently than other Shinree. Magic is more sensitive to your intentions. That’s why, when you tried to stop the war, it complied with your wishes as swiftly and completely as it could, by killing all those involved. And why, when you expelled the magic back to where it came from, you sent it to that pivotal moment— where it began for you.”

  “So, you’re saying…”

  “You sent the power of the present back into an older version of the crown. In fact, it’s possible the resulting collision of power is what caused the quake in the first place.”

  “What?” I laughed, but her expression remained irritatingly neutral.

  “I know a great deal about the Shinree mind, Ian. I’ve studied every scrap of paper, every scroll I found. For years, I looked for a way around the spell you put on my brother. I dare say I know more about being a magic user than you do.”

  “I sent the power back in time?”

  “All you have to do is go and get it.”

  I was still laughing. “That’s all?”

  “Use an oracle spell, find the power, pull it in, and then come back. But be sure you have the artifact in the present. There is too much we don’t yet know about it. If you hold the power inside you too long, it may damage you as it did your father.”

  “You’re serious about this.”

  “I am.” Jillyan sat up. She dismissed her slave. Sliding down off the table to stand naked in front of me, her eyes went to the dressing gown on the floor. “Do you mind?”

  I put my cup on the mantle and retrieved her gown. It was soft and sheer, like holding a cloud.

  “Arullan Wedding Silk,” she said, detecting my interest.

  “I’ve never heard of it.”

  Jillyan took hold of one end of the fabric. “It symbolizes the transparency that should exist between a man and a woman. The exposing of all that they are, and all that they give each other. It means there are no secrets.” Slowly, she wound the silk around my hand and over my wrist. “No pretense. No uncertainty.” Her dark eyes lifted to mine as she wrapped the other end of the gown around her own wrist. “Both know exactly what the other offers. And what they desire.”

  I yanked on the fabric trussing us together and pulled her into my arms. “I was warned about you.”

  “Then I suggest you run while you still can.” Jillyan moved in to kiss me. Our lips met, intertwined, and there was a loud banging on the door. Befo
re either of us had finished groaning at the interruption, a young Kaelish girl tore into the room.

  Out of breath and pale, the girl’s red-blonde hair was all over the place. She shoved it back, and I recognized her. She’d been there when Lirih’s door had opened in the hall outside Jillyan’s chamber. The girl had introduced herself as the only servant the Queen trusted. Still, I’d been wary to let her take Lirih off my hands, but the weak-kneed door-maker had mulishly shrugged off my offer to help. And with the Queen insisting on seeing me alone, there hadn’t been a lot of options.

  “Forgive me, My Lady.” Dipping into a quick bow, the servant girl ran closer. “The King,” she said, eyes big. “He’s here.”

  I looked at Jillyan. “I thought he was in Langor until next week.”

  Jillyan hissed. “So did I.”

  “I’m sorry,” the girl cringed. “I said you were indisposed, but—”

  “Hush, Patrice,” Jillyan scolded. “Whimpering won’t solve anything.”

  “Lirih,” I said. “Is she well enough to cast?”

  “Not quite, My Lord.” Patrice glanced frantically between us. “What do I do?”

  “Take me to her.” I let go of Jillyan and unwound the silk from my hand. “We’ll have to stay hidden until she’s strong enough to make a door.”

  “There isn’t time,” Patrice fretted. “The King is on his way here now. You’d never make it past him.”

  Jillyan grabbed my hand. “Over here.” She pulled me to the far side of the room where an elaborately carved wooden bed sat elevated on a marble pedestal. Strips of black fabric, thin, but considerably less see-through than her gown, were strung like curtains between all four posts. Jillyan moved one of the curtains aside. The covers on the bed were a rich, dark velvety green that reminded me of a forest. She pulled them back, haphazardly. “Take off your clothes.”

  I stepped back. “Are you trying to get me killed?”

  “Believe me, Shinree, inside me is the one place in this entire castle where you won’t even be looked at twice.” She peered past me to her serving girl. “Watch over his door-maker. Do not let anyone find her. Do not let her out of your sight. And take special care with her, Patrice, she’s blind.”