“It shall be done.” Jerrus bowed and left.
Sebastian returned to his throne, calling the ice that was so familiar to his touch, and watching a sheen of frost spread from his fingertips across the armrest. He pulled his fingers upward and shaped an icicle from their tips. After a moment, he squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating on the fire he'd felt that morning beneath his flesh. His thoughts rippled with pain as he returned to his memories of his thirteen-year-old self trapped on the bed, his brother's knife carving his skin.
Flames twisted inside him, heating his skin, burning, searing. He opened his eyes, yanking open his robes, unlacing his tunic, pulling it away from his chest as he peered down at the scars that still etched his stomach.
The faded lines glowed orange.
Sebastian gasped against the pain, but a heady sense of power flooded him at the same time. His lips tightened as he considered what it would be to control the fire—to live up to his Andrachen name and heritage, to incinerate with the Ash-Touch those who displeased him. To heal himself or those who were important to his plans. It was almost more than he could imagine.
A grin broke out on his face.
“Your Grace wished to see me?”
Sebastian dropped his tunic back into place as he jerked his gaze to the deep shadows on the left of his throne where Brughale's husky voice emerged.
“Brughale,” Sebastian breathed, desire spiking in him again at the sight of the Siren. He refused to give in. “Come before me.”
She approached, and he ignored, or tried to, the sway of her hips beneath the silken fall of her gown. “The three bateaus you promised me.”
“Aye, Your Grace?” Her black hair glistened in the flickering torchlight, almost as if it had a life of its own. Sebastian disciplined his thoughts.
“You did well, using your Siren tongue to overcome the rebellious crews and bring them under your spell. My dungeons are now full once again. I am concerned, however, about my Dragon.”
“Your Dragon, Your Grace?” She had been careful, he noticed, not to place any emphasis on her first word, but still, it stung.
“Yes, my Dragon. Though we have not yet achieved psuche, it is only a matter of time.”
Brughale's expression did not falter beneath his harsh voice, though her dark gaze had stilled when he'd mentioned psuche. “Your Grace, I did not think you wished to achieve psuche with a creature. Mautach said as much.”
“Mautach was wrong,” Sebastian snapped. “I felt a connection with the Dragon. The rest of my family, including my cursed niece and nephew, have psuche connections with their Dragons. Why shouldn't I, as well?”
She tilted her head, studying him. She was silent for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was husky with feeling. “I did not know Your Grace felt like an outcast. It is no wonder that Mautach—and I, too—are drawn to you.”
“I do not feel like an outcast!” Sebastian shouted, his lie thundering against the walls and shattering into futile echoes in the still air. He calmed himself with a breath. “I simply want to ask you about the Dragon.”
Her wide, dark eyes blinked at him, and she slowly nodded. “What do you wish to know, Your Grace?”
Sebastian paced on the edge of the dais. “He does not respond to any appearances I have made in his den. He cowers in the corner. When I approach him, he turns his back, his head to the ground. He acts nothing like any Dragon I have ever seen. I—I don't know how to reach him,” Sebastian said helplessly, stopping, his hands spread. “You know him better than I. Tell me what to do. Perhaps your Siren tongue would work on him?”
Brughale straightened from where she knelt and stepped gracefully up the stairs toward him. He watched her come, helpless against her beauty. “My Siren tongue has little effect on the Dragons. They are hard to overcome. A Seer Fey's song is much more effective, because of the original treaty, the Bond of Blood and Fire.” She reached him, slowly sliding her hand through the opening where his tunic was still unlaced, her fingers tracing lightly over his skin. He let her, though internally, he called himself all kinds of a fool. The patterns she traced lit a fire inside of him, and his breath came harshly through his nostrils. “But perhaps I can help ease your concern in other ways.” Her invitation was more than apparent.
Sebastian shook his head to clear it. She was not using her Siren tongue to convince him, but he still felt trapped beneath an enchantment. The door to pleasure stood wide open, an enticing scene on the other side, and all he had to do was step through it, take it.
Slowly, he sank down onto his throne, his hands creeping to her waist, gripping where it narrowed above her hips, pulling her closer until she stood between his legs. His lips parted, his breath quickened as he fought his urges.
She was a Siren. A Siren who didn't age. She was defective.
Selena was a Seer Fey. Lianna was a Pixie. His inner voices warred inside of him. T'would be the pleasure of a moment, and then done, with no one hurt and none the wiser.
It's not fair to her. She will die no natural death, and likely long outlive me. Such a charitable thought sat oddly in his mind; it did not fit with the rest of his thoughts, and he quashed it beneath the second, more powerful voice.
I am King, by the Stars I do not believe in. If I so choose, she is mine.
He slipped his fingers to her silken mantle, to the tie that clasped at her throat. He parted the material and pushed it back over her shoulders, his gaze tracing her generous curves, taking in every part of her that tempted him.
Desperately, he sought the reason he was here in the first place, finding his anchor in the swirl of stimulation she had cast around him. Her hands slid up his shoulders into the hair at the back of his neck, and she moved a step closer, less than an orlach from him, her beautiful face tilted down to his, her dark hair falling like a veil on either side of his face. Her scent was heady; he was about to lose himself. His anchor was his throne, his kingdom. His power. His revenge on Liam. It was the only thing that would keep him from losing his moorings.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he gently pushed her away from him. “I must oversee my nephew and niece's execution.” He swallowed and helplessly tacked on, “Perhaps, later, we can continue this.”
Disappointment shadowed her black eyes. Her perfect lips shaped into a crimson bow, a pout that nearly changed his mind.
“As you wish, Your Grace.” She dropped her gaze, slowly returning her hands to her side. “I am yours to command, as always.”
He let her go, though every part of him called her back. Even after she had disappeared through the outer doorway of the throne room, he fought the temptation to send for her, to sweep her off to his chambers, to lay her upon his bed, to satisfy every longing she had awoken in him.
But he couldn't, because power was more important than love, and he couldn't lose sight of that, not even for an instant.
Sebastian approached the courtyard, Jerrus on his right, and Commander Nolt on his left—the one who had led the company that had brought Cedric back in chains.
“Our men have been working to add the ropes as you commanded, Your Grace,” Nolt said. “There are now five: two for your niece and nephew, one for the maid who was captured with Cedric, and two for the Pixies you have in your dungeons. We have brought all the prisoners to the courtyard, and now only await your niece, who should be arriving before long according to Mautach. Your spy network has sent another message that your niece has been spotted in the skies not fifty fieldspans from ClarenVale.”
“I assume she rides her Mirage?”
“There was some confusion in the message. It seems there are two Mirages, as well as two Embers.”
“Two Mirages?” Sebastian stopped walking, swinging his gaze to Commander Nolt. “Where did she dig up a second one?”
“I am unsure, Your Grace. The message did not say.”
Sebastian nodded once, his thoughts stampeding ahead of him. “My nephew's Dragons, then, found their way to her. Jerrus, bring reinfo
rcements from the garrison, and empty my Dragons from the keep. I want at least fifty of the creatures chained to the battlements. Two Mirages and two Embers will take more defense.”
“It shall be done, Your Grace,” Jerrus said, sketching a bow. “She will not get past us today. It is the end for your brother's twins, I can assure you.”
“Aye,” Sebastian said, walking onward. “It had better be.”
He reached the courtyard. Though night had long since fallen, the torches that lined the entire courtyard lit the area as brightly as daylight. In the bustle of preparation, Sebastian spotted the gallows, stretching tall into the night sky, at least thirty spans high. Wooden platforms were fastened just below the dangling nooses, and a portable wooden tower with interior stairs—much like those used to scale a castle's battlements from the outside—was drawn up to one of the gallows. It would be used to march each new prisoner to their place atop the high platform.
“The prisoners?” Sebastian asked, clasping his hands behind his back as he surveyed the scene.
“Against the wall,” Jerrus said, his gloved hand motioning toward them.
Sebastian found them quickly. From his dungeons, the orange-haired Pixie, Lincoln, and his blue-haired daughter slumped against the wall. Their pale, wasted frames looked like skeletons in the glow of the torches. The black-haired maid who had accompanied his nephew had sunk to the stone floor, her back resting against the wall behind her. Sebastian's nephew, however, stood, his auburn hair gleaming in the torchlight. Sebastian's throat tightened. He looked so much like Liam as he stared at Sebastian, hate lighting his hazel eyes, that Sebastian took an involuntary step backward, and then despised himself for the weakness it showed.
Purposefully raising his arm, he gave a mock salute to the lad, who did not move or flinch in response. His gaze burned against Sebastian, and after a long moment, Sebastian dropped his gaze... to something on Cedric's chest.
The outline of an eye shone stark white in the center of a dark wood-grain, a pendant on the end of a long chain hanging around Cedric's neck.
The Amulet.
“Jerrus,” Sebastian croaked, his throat dry. “What do you see hanging around my nephew's neck?”
Jerrus turned his head. “Naught but a trinket, Your Grace. Perhaps a fortune charm?”
“Do—do you see the light that glows from it?”
Jerrus glanced hastily back at Sebastian, his eyebrows raised. “A light? Nay, Your Grace.”
Sebastian's trembling hand found the stone wall of the courtyard. “Bring the boy here. Immediately.”
Concern still etched Jerrus's face, but he bowed and swiftly approached the prisoners, gripping Cedric by the arm and pulling him across the cobblestones toward Sebastian. Sebastian sent a glance around the courtyard for Paik. The Seer Fey Grand-Master had not yet appeared, though Sebastian had no doubt that he would arrive before the hanging.
Jerrus halted Cedric before Sebastian.
“Cedric,” Sebastian greeted. “My Dragon-Master at last returns.”
Cedric said nothing, but his hazel eyes burned with anger.
“I shall be on the balcony overlooking the festivities,” Sebastian informed Jerrus. “And I must say, the excitement is quite heady.” He reached out, curled his fingers around the Amulet, and yanked it over Cedric's head.
The wood seared his palm, and he nearly dropped it, but taibe surged up his arm with a jolt. Cedric's face had whitened even more. His nostrils flared as his gaze riveted to the trinket in Sebastian's palms. “You—will regret that, Sebastian,” he rasped, his lips hardly moving.
Sebastian smiled, his thumb slowly tracing over the glowing eye. “I think not, Cedric. Please, return to your friends and enjoy yourself. You are, after all, the guest of honor.”
He slipped the Amulet's chain over his head, dropping the pendant beneath his tunic and pulling his robes closely over his chest. Paik should not know the treasure he had found.
“Bring Mautach to the courtyard, Jerrus,” Sebastian murmured as he turned away. “My mole is no longer needed. And be ready for Kinna when she comes.”
“Aye, Your Grace.”
Sebastian strode away.
Sebastian shifted in his chair on the balcony, pretending interest in the scene before him, but all he could think about was the Amulet against his chest. A shudder, or a vibration, some element of power shook his frame, and he worked to control himself lest his tremors be noticed. The exhilarating power in the Amulet called to him.
You shall do great things, oh King; by the blood of the nations beneath your heels, you shall rise above them.
Beneath his robes, Sebastian traced his fingers over the outline of the Amulet, his mouth curving into a smile. Here at last, at last, was the symbol of power given to his ancestors, sealing the fate of Dragon, Seer Fey, and Man for hundreds of years. This Amulet concealed the secrets to the Touches, and here against his chest lay his claim not only to the Lismarian throne, but to the thrones of the whole world, should he so choose. Power was his, unlimited power.
Kayeck will continue to teach me to wield the Touches, and then I shall be unstoppable. No one will cross me, he thought, nearly deliriously.
He gathered his wits; he needed to have a clear head for what was coming.
Kinna came at last, but not as Sebastian had expected. He'd doubled the forces along the battlements, demanding that his commanders keep keen eyes turned to the dark hills where some flash of fire would give away the presence of an Ember. Many eyes were turned to the skies, scanning for a deeper shadow to cross the moonlit heavens.
Either way, Sebastian had expected Kinna to send her Dragons with fire and fury against the battlements, and he'd prepared his own Dragons and other creatures to respond.
When he heard a clear, high call from outside his drawbridge, his eyebrows lifted in surprise. The officer who oversaw the portcullis scrambled to the battlements, peering over. He turned and called across the courtyard. “'Tis your niece, Your Grace. She comes without Dragons, accompanied by one man only.”
It must be a trick. “Has Mautach sent word of any movement?” he asked.
“You asked that Mautach return to the courtyard, Your Grace. The mole has only just arrived and entered through the northern gate.”
Sebastian slowly stroked his beard, considering. Would Kinna have left her Dragons in the hills? If she had, she must be hoping she could sway him with parley—or peace from The Rebellion. He nearly laughed aloud. “Lower the drawbridge and raise the portcullis.”
“Aye, Your Grace.”
The winches began to turn, lowering the heavy bridge over the river to land with a solid thud on the other side.
Kinna's flaming red hair could be seen even from this distance in the light of the many torches. The silver-eyed lad who had given Sebastian the Amulet after the Tournament walked slowly over the wood at her side.
Sebastian's eyes widened in shock. He had seen that lad hurtle over the walls of ClarenVale into the lake far below. How under the Stars had he survived?
As the portcullis raised, they passed into the courtyard. Cedric's cry of despair from the wall sent pure delight into Sebastian's heart. “Kinna! Why did you come? Surely you knew it was hopeless.”
Kinna paid no attention to Cedric. She approached the balcony, her gaze never leaving Sebastian. Sebastian rose from his seat, spreading his hands on the railing, smiling down at his guests. “Kinna, how lovely to see you. Ayden, you are resurrected, I see. How did you manage it?”
“Sebastian,” Kinna said, paying no heed to his question. She spread her arms wide. “We meet again.”
“So it seems, dear niece.” A rustle of movement pulled his attention to Mautach parting through the crowd near the northern gates. “Ah, and Mautach, it seems that you've made it back with no injuries, I'm pleased to find. Kinna, you know Mautach, I do believe?”
Kinna's expression changed to one of shock and horror. “Mautach?” she whispered. “Hazel?”
Mautach
, or Hazel, swept a low bow, smirking. “In the flesh,” she said. “It's lovely to see you made it even without my Pixie charm to clear the way for you.”
Kinna's eyes blazed at that. “Traitor!” she hissed, but Mautach held up her hands, stepping back.
“Betrayal implies that my loyalty would once have been with you, but it never was. How could I betray someone to whom I had never declared my loyalty?”
“You did declare loyalty!” Kinna snapped. “The day you walked into The Crossings and offered your Clan as support to The Rebellion, that day you declared your loyalty.”
“Oops.” Mautach shrugged. “I have so many things on my mind these days, it's easy to forget what I've said.”
“Where's Jakkob?” Kinna growled. “Was he a part of your infiltration?”
Mautach shook her head. “No, by the Stars. Jakkob was only ever an annoying pestilence sent by your Helga to keep an eye on me. He never let me walk a step without following after, and when he dogged my footsteps from the Valley of the Dragons, I killed him. His swords were no match for my Pixie charm. He died by his own blades, enchanted by me, of course.”
Kinna lurched for the Pixie, but Ayden grabbed her shoulders and held her back. “Not now, Kinna,” Sebastian heard him say.
Laughter welled up inside Sebastian as he watched the weight of the world crash down on his niece's shoulders. “Your young man is wiser than you are, Kinna. You would wreck your last, desperate attempt to save your twin by throwing yourself into fisticuffs with a Pixie. Aye, her song would have no charm over you, but look about you, dear niece. You are surrounded, and your gallows await.” He narrowed his eyes as he leaned farther over the balcony. “Where are your Dragons, Kinna?”
“For the last time,” she said, her voice clear, as she stepped away from Mautach, “they are not my Dragons. It is a fact you often forget, in your quest for power, and it will be your undoing.”
“Enough talk,” Sebastian said, ice crusting his hands as anger surged through him. His fingers itched to reach for the Amulet, but he restrained himself. His lessons with Kayeck touched his thoughts, but as yet, he hadn't the confidence to apply her words. Soon. For now, he could still command his niece's death. “Guards, attach another rope to the same yardarm as Kinna's, and her lover can hang with her.”
Unleash the Inferno (Heart of a Dragon Book 3) Page 23
