by Inez Kelley
Jana glanced toward the closed bedchamber doors, a prayer hanging on her lips. Her parents were closeted in there with the healer and a barely conscious Feena. Queen Myla had taken her youngest sister, Solian, to her bedchamber, distracting her with the promise of a long, magical story.
Jana felt useless once more. She couldn’t sit and wait. She flitted around the room, dusting the spotless mantle, stoking the roaring fire and fluffing plump cushions. Her father had dropped his gloves on the side bench and she smoothed the wrinkles from each finger.
Argot entered the suite. His hardened stance stood still as mortar until the king turned his head. “The kitchens are clean. No trace of any poison and none but the normal servants about. I took the remaining cake to the dogs. Two pups died.”
Jana stroked the stained fingers of the glove and swallowed the childish wish that her father could make this bad dream go away as he always had the nightmares when she was a child, with soft words and a huge warm hand rubbing her back. But not even the Law and Might of all Eldwyn could stop a poison already eaten. She dropped the gloves as if they were the poison in her sister’s body.
Argot stepped near, his quiet presence offering support. She raised her head and he offered her a slight smile. Something soft swam in his eyes, a tenderness she’d never noticed. When he held out his hand, she gripped it.
Batu nearly crashed to the floor when the bedchamber door opened. Papa and the healer merely stepped over him. Papa nodded and Batu scrambled into the room as the healer slipped from the suite.
“The healer’s done all she can. Feena’s asleep. We won’t know if she’ll wake...unless she does. She threw up a lot, that might help.”
“Is there nothing we can do?” the king asked. Papa shook his head.
“What about charcoal?” Argot asked.
“We tried. She’s too deeply asleep to swallow any more. If she—”
His voice broke and his knees crumpled. Argot and the king grabbed him, held him as his shoulders racked with sobs. Jana’s vision blurred. She’d never seen her father cry.
“I’ll help Salome,” Jana whispered. Taking a strengthening breath, she stepped away from Argot and walked into the bedchamber. The scent of illness slammed into her.
Feena lay like a princess in a tale, awaiting the kiss of her true love to awaken her. The white shift seemed a pale gown and the blankets held not a single wrinkle. Her auburn hair shone fire-bright against the stark pillow. Her chest barely moved.
Batu prayed beside the bed. With his clasped hands pressed to his forehead, his eyes pinched tight and his mouth never slowed. Tears trekked down his cheeks, silent but never ceasing. Salome sat in a chair in the corner singing a lullaby. The music, so calm and soothing, dispelled fear and spoke only of love, of comfort.
“This is my fault.” Batu’s words were thick with misery. “The poison was for me. She shouldn’t be here, not like this. It’s my fault.”
“Hush.” Her stepmother transferred her consoling touch to his shoulder. “This is evil at work. You have no blame.”
“Don’t die, Fee. Please, don’t leave me. I can’t live without you.” His whisper was muffled against her slim hand.
Madness. The Segur heart bonds ensured no greater love but carried the risk of insanity. Jana took the damp cloth from Feena’s brow and dipped it into a basin of cool water. If Feena died, Batu could never give a child to another woman. Magic prevented it. There would be no heir to the crown except for Warric. He’d always openly disdained the inheritance, claiming he’d rather have hives than the crown. Having the weight of the monarchy thrust on him would snuff the light from his soul.
Batu’s weeping filled the still room, an underscoring melody to her stepmother’s song. Jana massaged her aching temples. Funny, men were supposed to be made of stone, to be the rock-steady foundation of a family and yet, they were the ones crying and helpless. The women acted, soothing in nurturing ways, giving quiet strength to survive the threat or at least, to emerge from the tragedy whole.
Hours ticked by. Feena never truly awoke but would suddenly throw up, thin smelly fluid that filled the room with an unnatural odor. Jana tossed sweet-smelling herbs into the hearth, stoked the fire and refilled the tepid basin with cool water. The ceramic bowl flew from her fingers as Feena arched with a gasp then began to choke.
“Feena!”
Batu’s cry was cut short as her stepmother shoved him aside. “Jana, quickly, water!”
Her hand shook so badly the water splashed outside the glass cup. Batu pressed himself against the wall, biting his lips as her stepmother rolled Feena to her side. She beat against Feena’s back until she spit a foul puddle on the sheet.
Feena breathed deeply, then blinked her eyes “Mama? Batu?”
“Drink.” Her stepmother pressed the cup to Feena’s mouth.
Batu’s eyes went heavenward before closing. “Oh, thank you, God.”
A tiny dot of blood welled from his bitten lower lip. A humming vibration racked Jana’s soul. The droplet captivated her, called to her in an almost musical entreaty. Every tiny hair twitched in response.
That minute bead of red held her gaze until her stepmother shooed him out of the room so they could change Feena’s gown and bedding. He closed the door behind him but still her father’s joyous cheer penetrated the wood. While stripping the mattress and helping a kitten-weak Feena to bathe and change, Jana pondered the blood.
Her parents allowed Batu back in the bedchamber to press a soft kiss to Feena’s brow, then essentially threw the royal family out, claiming Feena needed her rest. The king and queen retreated quietly to their rooms. The wide grin on Batu’s face didn’t even falter as Feena’s door shut in his face.
He grabbed Jana and whooped, twirling her around. “She’s alive. Praise the heavens, she’s alive.”
Jana laughed with him, then reached up to wipe the drying smear of blood away. Magic slammed into her with a force that nearly knocked her to her knees.
In his enthusiasm, Batu barely noticed. “Shit, I need a drink. Come on, Jana. Let’s sneak out to the White Stag.”
“Batu!” With a solid punch to his arm, she scolded, “You’re supposed to be fearing for your life, you dimwit. How can you think of leaving the castle?”
“Jana’s right,” Argot agreed. “Stay here.”
Batu’s jaw tightened but he wasn’t stupid. He knew they were right. One hand shot through his hair, then he wrinkled his nose, suddenly smelling the vomit splattered on his tunic. “Fine. I need to change clothes anyway. Argot, go raid Papa’s study and bring up some whiskey, the good stuff.”
Argot wavered a brief second, his eyes landing on Jana. It was clear he’d prefer to stay here but his duty overrode his personal wants. He gave her a short half bow before spinning on his heel. Batu followed him into the hall. She closed the suite door behind them. Darting into her own room, she shut and latched the door.
“Darach?” Her first taste of his spoken name was rich and robust. She licked out to capture the last trace of the sound.
“Here, my charge.”
She whirled. He was so silent when he wanted to be. He no longer wore the garb of his home realm. Although the color had remained, his tunic and breeches matched those styles worn by Argot and Batu, quietly speaking of wealth. A wide expanse of grass-green silk stretched across his chest, the keyhole at his collar exposing a thickly corded neck. His long sleeves and collar were trimmed in gold braid but did not strain at his shoulders or biceps.
A gold clasp now bound his dark hair away from his face, much the way her father used a leather tie to pull his hair back while in uniform. High leather boots, polished to a gleam, fit tight around his calves and drew attention to his powerful thighs. Those strange gloves hung at his hips, claw-like blades glinting wickedly in the light. The fine weave of silk, the luster of the trim, the hint of deadly power, all blended into a savory image.
Darach was a spell but he was a very male spell. He made her feel very fem
ale with simply a glance.
Mentally, she slapped herself. “Turn around, please.”
Confusion creased his forehead. “Excuse me?”
“I need to change my clothes. Turn around.”
“But you called for me.”
“Yes, so we can talk. But turn around while I change.”
He faced the door, giving her his back. “Like this?”
“Yes, and don’t turn back until I say to.” When he nodded, she shed the soiled robe and shift, reaching for an unadorned day gown and yanking it over her head. “My sister was poisoned. It was meant for Batu but—”
“Jana, I am aware of your every movement, emotion and surrounding. I learn of this world while at rest.”
“Then what happened? Why did Batu’s blood sing to me?”
“You found the thread.”
“The thread?” She tugged the front laces tight, closing the dress across her chest. “You can turn back now.”
He swiveled slowly then cast his eyes across her gown from hem to lacings. His gaze lingered on the barely visible cleavage above the bodice edge. Her skin tightened with womanly awareness. She cleared her throat. “What thread?”
“To unravel this mystery.” Hitching his hip, he leaned against her desk, a pose that immediately reminded her of her father. “Unravel is a good word. If we view this quest as a knot in a thread, then the beginning is easy. We must discover why the snag occurred and set about loosening the knot before the thread breaks. The thread is the royal bloodline.”
“I don’t understand. What would the royal line have to do with someone trying to assassinate Batu now?”
“Something in the monarchy’s past holds the key to solving the riddle of who wishes the prince dead. It called to you, knows you can discover the secrets through your reminiscent sight. Tell me what you know of the family.”
Jana’s mouth dropped open. “Everything?”
“Everything, my charge. The smallest snags are often the hardest to find and the sharpest. They cut very deeply.”
Jana blew out a resigned breath. “All right. Let’s start in the Great Hall.”
The castle lay hushed in slumber, all but the night guards tucked away. Using an oil lamp from the entryway table, Jana lit the way through the Great Hall and to the dozens of portraits lining the walls.
“These are most of the Segur monarchs. King Taric’s is nearest the throne since he’s still reigning.”
They strolled by each painting, Darach’s dark scrutiny drinking in every detail. Digging tales from her old history classes, Jana told what stories she could but most faces were unknown to her. Large gaps of time passed between some portraits, as if the crown hadn’t time for a painting or hadn’t reigned long enough. The fashions changed, the backgrounds, the artist’s style but none stood out as holding a secret.
He paused before a portrait of Batu’s great-grandmother. “Women are permitted to rule?”
“Why shouldn’t they?”
“Females are weaker than men.”
Indignation furrowed her brow. “So all the rulers in your world are men?”
“There is no gender in my world. We merely are. If we choose to answer a call, our form is dictated by the spell wording. Your queen called for brawn, thus I am male.”
“And yet when Queen Tarsha called for a protector for King Taric, the spell that came was female. She was stronger than any man.”
“Of course. She was from my realm.” He flicked another look at the portrait. “I just do not understand why she would forsake her birthright to become human.”
Jana scowled. “You make being human sound like a punishment.”
“It would be to me. I have no desire to become human.” He shook his head. “And for her, it was worse. She became not only mortal but a frail female.”
“Maybe men are stronger, but brawnier doesn’t always mean better.” Jana hid a smile and walked to another portrait. “I put you on your knees, didn’t I?”
A snort echoed behind her. “I was taken by surprise. And this human male body seems to be flawed. The area you struck serves no purpose. It simply hangs limp and in the way.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks. There was no way she was addressing that comment. She turned to the last portrait on the west wall. It was an old one, one that did not feature a king but a queen.
Magic swelled. Something sang through her, an answer straining at her breast, fighting for release. Black rimmed her sight, twisting and warping the painted face. Her fingers and toes went numb. Her lips quivered. “Darach?”
He was beside her in an instant, catching her as her knees gave out. A soft protective grumble vibrated from his chest. His eyes went golden and scoured the shadows. Bodiless voices surrounded her but they were weak, muted, hushed beneath an erupting magic that coursed through her.
“I see nothing. What is it?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice was gruff. She forced the nausea away, forced herself to uncurl her fingers from his tunic, forced her eyes to the ancient queen’s face. “Something about this painting... It’s like my dreams exploding in my head.”
Cradling her to his chest with one arm, he took the lamp and held it high. A golden glow danced over a young queen in a rose garden, formal crown on her head and the ruby-tipped scepter in her right hand. Blood dripped from a pricked finger of her left hand, staining one pristine white rose.
Jana trained her eyes on the red pigment but no wash of sickness flooded her mouth. It hadn’t been the sight of portrayed blood that sent the blast of enchantment at her. It was something in the queen’s eyes, a plea for help, a certainty that she would be heard.
“You have seen this before?”
“Of course. I mean, it’s always been here. I guess I just never really looked at it.”
The style was dated and the colors softened with time. The queen sat with yards of embroidered lace around her in a garden. A strange white buck graced the corner of the picture, drinking from a sparkling fountain. Such a fountain no longer existed on Thistlemount’s grounds but the rose garden bloomed every summer. Jana loved to walk there, let the perfume wash over her in high summer.
There was no placard with a name, no title inscribed in the corner. Instead, a ribbon had been painted on the bottom of her gown with a phrase in a language Jana couldn’t read.
“I have no idea who this is. I can read the name Segur but nothing else.”
“She is the beginning,” Darach murmured.
“Papa is the hundredth generation of unbroken Segur royalty.” Batu strolled toward them carrying a jug of ale from the storeroom. Jana braced herself but no magic song drifted toward her. The blood was gone from his lip. She glanced back at the painting and could have sworn a new twinkle existed in the queen’s eye.
“I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met.” Batu’s curious look washed over Darach’s arm around her.
She stepped away, her cheeks warming. Gesturing toward the portrait, Jana ignored the hidden introduction request. “Tu, who is this?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Some great-grandmother or something, I guess. You’d have to ask Papa, although he’s worse in history than I am. I might be able to look it up tomorrow but so many of the old records were lost in a fire that I really doubt we’ll ever know for sure.”
“What does this banner say?”
He leaned forward and squinted. “Oh, that’s part of the coronation ceremony. ‘From bonded blood, strength did rise but only broken blood will ensure it survives.’ It really makes no sense but it’s tradition, I suppose.”
More blood. Jana worried her lip. If that was a clue, it was lost to her.
Batu hefted the jug with a raised eyebrow. “You coming up, Jana? I just need to unwind a bit or I’ll never sleep. Your friend’s welcome to join us.”
“After I see if Papa and Salome need any help, I’ll slip over for a bit. But Darach should go with you now.” Her spell jerked his chin and glared at her, but her voice held firm.
“No one can tell you more about the Segur bloodline than Batu can.”
“I will not leave you.” The conviction in his voice was rock solid.
“I’m fine. Earth beneath my feet, remember?”
“Did I miss a wedding notice?” Batu teased.
Jana jerked as if slapped. The only wedding notice he would hear of was hers to Argot. “You’ve missed something important.”
* * *
The prince’s chamber was spacious and suited him well, Darach thought. The bed swags were deep blue, matching the ornate patterned rug preventing a chill seeping from the floor. A roaring fire in a large fireplace dispelled the darkness. Darach lowered into the chair Batu motioned him to, aware he was being scrutinized. The prince had accepted his presence and Jana’s explanation without question but unease lurked in his eyes.
“I feel like I should thank you.”
Darach shook his head. “There is no need. This duty was a choice, not a burden.”
The door opened and Argot entered carrying a clear bottle. His stride was unhurried and he flopped on a small couch with a deep groan. He set the bottle on the table with several small glasses. Now six drinking containers filled the table. Darach wondered if others were to join this small group.
“If the king asks who raided his prize stash, I know nothing.”
Dark brown liquid chugged from the earthenware pitcher and filled each of the three stout mugs. Batu handed one each to Darach and Argot, then reached for the bottle, splashing a small amount in each glass.
“Who’s this?” Argot asked, bringing the mug to his mouth.
Darach looked to Batu, unsure how much he wished his guard to know. Batu studied his cup as if searching for answers in the liquid. The rich scent of grain teased Darach’s nose. He took a cautious taste. Fermented barley washed over his tongue with the bitterness of hops. It wasn’t an unpleasant blend and he took another sip.
Batu took a small drink and sighed. “You know the stories about my mother and Salome?” Argot nodded. Batu glanced at Darach and raised his brows.
