by Peace, Cas
Lerric doubted that. He had seen the light of fanaticism in the scarecrow’s eyes, the driving desire to control, the fervid lust for revenge at any cost. Reen might be willing to accept the title of consort for now, but Lerric would not bet much on him being happy with a supporting role for long, not once the reins of power were in his hands. Sofira was clearly already under his spell. He had cunningly charmed her from within his prison, writing her words of contrition, loyalty, and love. In her beleaguered state of angry, lonely sorrow, brought on by the conditions Elias had imposed on her, she had been easy prey.
Lerric shivered. Why should that word—prey—cause his heart to constrict? Why did it conjure images of ragged carrion birds feasting on a corpse?
Sofira’s hands tightened on his. “Father, are you unwell?”
He gave himself a mental shake and the specter of doom withdrew. He half-smiled for his daughter and shook his head. If his words of caution could not sway her, he would have to hope the sight of the man himself would give her pause. She expected Reen to appear unchanged. He was still relatively young, after all—not yet forty years of age—although his current shriveled appearance suggested a man in his eighties. Sofira was bound to be horrified by what she saw.
Reen had thus far refused her earnest pleas to be admitted to his convalescent cell. He was not yet ready, but when he was, when he finally emerged, Lerric would be there to support her once she realized the awful truth.
+ + + + +
Midnight came and went. The palace lay wrapped in silence. Sofira stood shivering in the dark hallway. She told herself it was just the anticipation of this long-awaited reunion causing these strange sensations within her. Why he had made her wait so long, she had no idea. The questions she had begged her father to convey elicited no response. He would come when he was ready, that was all she was told.
She felt guilty for her impatience and had to remind herself of the dreadful ordeal he had suffered; the long and lonely months surrounded by disapproving clerics, forced to listen to their monotonous chanting and endure their pious rituals. Small wonder he needed space and time to recover. The world must seem a strange and changed place to him now.
But she would compensate him for what he had borne in her name. Although she had paid the dearer price by her reckoning, she had never faced the death penalty. She had never been confronted with her own terror of death in agony; had never suffered the humiliation of having to grovel for mercy at the feet of her direst enemy. And it had been she who had brought him to that pass, she who had inflicted that deepest shame upon him. It was up to her to show him how grateful she was that he had found it in his heart to forgive her and was willing to use his knowledge and cunning to win back all that been so unfairly ripped from her.
She scrutinized the darkened hallway, assuring herself all was as he had specified. It was the dark of the moon; no stray ray of silver would touch his form. The windows were all covered with heavy black drapes so not even a twinkle of starlight could find its way through. The one small lamp her father had brought rested on the floor, its feeble glow the only relief in the intense, velvety dark. And at the first indication of his presence, even that light must be smothered.
Her heart lurched in sympathy for the torments he must have borne. How could they have been so cruel? Her father had told her something of Reen’s words when first he was rescued from his long incarceration. Lerric’s voice had trembled as he described that first meeting, and his daughter had seen how Reen’s piteous condition had affected him. How Sofira had begged and pleaded to be allowed to tend him, but Reen remained adamant. She must curb her impatience until he was recovered enough to meet with her. It had been hard and, in the end, she had to wait a full month. Now, the waiting was over.
She started. She could hear his footfalls on the stair. He was coming to her! She turned triumphant eyes to her father, who stood in silence beside her. Lerric too had heard the sounds and bent to the feeble lamp, turning down the wick. His hand shook and he glanced nervously up at his daughter. But Sofira had turned back to the yawning maw of the stairwell, quivering with anticipation.
The footfalls drew nearer and Sofira held her breath. She had imagined this moment so many times, had tried out the words she would speak to him, felt and lived the emotions they would both experience. But now the moment was here, she felt empty. What could she say to him, this much-wronged man, this betrayed but loyal confidante? How could he trust her after what she had done?
Shivers wracked her, raising gooseflesh on her arms, making her acutely aware of the soft robe she wore and the way it clung to her body. Her senses seemed heightened; her hearing was sharpened and her eyes cut the gloom like a creature of the night. She almost felt him pushing the darkness aside like a curtain as he slowly ascended the stair. Finally, he emerged from the portal before her.
Sofira gave a great gasp and felt the start her father made. She was dimly aware of the waves of fear radiating from Lerric, but she had scant interest in his strange behavior. The focus of her attention was riveted by the shadowy figure in the portal and the brief, impossible impression of two ruby glints in the darkness, as if demonic eyes were staring.
As if propelled by some outside force, Sofira moved slowly forward. He watched her come, his dark gray eyes fixed on her face. One hand gripped the cane by his side, the other was held out toward her, as if in supplication.
Sofira halted before the scarecrow, one slim hand to her mouth. She stretched forth her other hand and heard Lerric stir behind her.
She brushed Reen’s outstretched fingers and felt an electric thrill run across her skin. Soft, dark eyes smiled gently at her and she gazed trustingly back. She stepped closer and took his hand in both of hers, clasping it to her breast. She could find no words to offer him, had no idea how to express the regret she felt for the torment he had undergone. She could see the effect of it upon him and knew him changed, yet it hardly registered. She watched for some sign of his mood, some indication of his feelings, and was suddenly afraid. What if he railed at her? What if he refused to aid her now he was freed from duress?
Reen stepped closer. His smile widened, and she felt her heartbeat slow. A connection seemed to form between them and her trepidation fell away.
“My gracious Lady,” Reen whispered in the darkness, “the sight of you gladdens my wounded eyes. Sore they have been for lack of beauty to comfort them.”
His gentle words lightened Sofira’s habitually stern expression. Her heart swelled with joy and places within her soul, barren for so long, seemed to fill with forgotten sensations. She could hardly control her breathing and felt lightheaded and giddy. Words she scarcely knew she had formed came from her lips.
“Oh, my lord, I hardly know what to say to you. That you have survived such dreadful torment is no surprise to me; you have inner strength such as I have never known. But to think you can bear to look upon me when I caused you such wrong … that you can forgive me and offer me your aid and support … that I had not looked for. But you are very welcome here. My father and I will do all we can to ease your soul, and I will pledge myself to you as I promised.
“Now that we are reunited, we will put right what is wrong in this realm. We will restore our Matria Church to her glory. Together, we will repay Elias and his minions for their cruelty and overturn their ill-considered policies, and Albia will be better for it. This I vow with all my heart.”
Behind her, she vaguely heard Lerric make an odd noise, as if words were strangling in his throat. But Reen was smiling at her, and she forgot her father. Reen stepped closer, pressed his body to hers and slipped his arm around her back. As he increased the pressure she melted against him, and offered him her lips.
Reen took them hungrily and as his mouth fastened on hers she saw, for the fleetest of moments, a sullen ruby glow in his eyes. Something within her struggled to scream, but then joy washed over her and all was forgotten.
Her champion had returned and the world would be hers.<
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Chapter Two
High King Elias Rovannon of Albia stood behind his four-year-old son, well out of reach of the little wooden sword the boy was brandishing. Eadan was as likely to connect with his father as he was with his opponent’s weapon, and Elias already had bruises to show for it.
A sharp crack of wood echoed as Eadan’s sword was knocked away. “Foul!” roared the King, pointing an accusing finger at Eadan’s young opponent. “That was a foul stroke, and you know it.”
“Was not!” cried Morgan, turning indignant blue eyes on the aging swordmaster who was scoring the bout. “Was it, Master Ardoch?”
Ghyllan Ardoch chuckled and cast a sly eye at Morgan’s parents. “It was a winning stroke, Morgan laddie, and that’s what counts.”
Morgan’s mother, Brynne Sullyan, sat at ease upon the ground, her slender back against a tree, her golden eyes half-closed. Her left hand stroked the dark, curling hair of the young man whose head lay in her lap, an indulgent smile upon his handsome face. Robin Tamsen raised himself on one elbow, the better to watch his young son.
Morgan Sullyan was only three and a half, but already showed signs of the talents he had inherited from his parents. He had Sullyan’s delicate build and amber skin, still bronzed from days under the warm summer sun, and his father’s dark hair and blue eyes. A quiet boy until something caught his attention, his curiosity had led him into trouble ever since he could walk. It was fortunate his innate Artesan talents had manifested early, for his ability to call out to either of his parents from the moment of his birth had already saved him from injury more than once.
Robin was about to reply to the swordmaster’s sly look when a delighted cry rent the air.
“Tad’s coming, Tad’s coming!”
They all looked up at Eadan’s high-pitched shout, and his sister, the Princess Seline, let out an excited squeal at the sight of the two men who approached from the direction of the garrison. Seline hurriedly composed herself, a look of self-disgust on her face. She was seven years old and every inch the haughty royal Princess, especially in the absence of her mother. She considered herself far above the demeaning antics of the younger children and had agreed to join the picnic in the castle park for one reason only.
Seline had fallen hopelessly in love with the dashing seventeen-year-old swordsman, Tad, and took every opportunity to be in his presence. But screaming childishly was not the way a well-bred young girl should behave and she hastily smoothed the rumpled velvet of her warm winter gown to regain her composure. She tried a coy smile as the two men came closer, but the younger of them had no time to notice her, for he was suddenly set upon by three screeching devil children hell-bent on bringing him down.
“Help!” cried Tad from beneath the wriggling bodies, casting an appealing glance at the man who had accompanied him across the park.
“Unhand him, you brigands!” yelled Cal, the dark-skinned captain diving for Eadan’s discarded sword before rushing into the fray. “Come help us, Taran, we are outnumbered and sore beset!”
Almost helpless with laughter, Taran Elijah, Adept-elite and Court Artesan to King Elias, rose from his comfortable place at the side of his partner, Jinny, and dashed to the aid of his friends. More of the little wooden swords were snatched up from where they lay, and Robin turned to grin at Sullyan as their son and Cal’s daughter, Elisse, moved to stand shoulder to shoulder. They fended off Taran’s mock attack with creditable coordination.
“She learns fast,” commented Sullyan, glancing at Elisse’s mother.
Rienne Arlen tore her attention away from the fussing toddler in her lap to watch the antics of the fighters. Her son, Taric, only a year and a half old, was teething and inclined to be fretful. She smiled to see the collaboration between her daughter and Sullyan’s son.
“I wonder if they’ll always be so close,” Rienne said, and then snorted with laughter as the High King of Albia let out a yell, having received yet another bruise from the hand of his son as he got too close in his efforts to advise the boy. Ardoch was urging Morgan on to wilder and wilder swings with his wooden sword, Elisse following his every move.
“Aeyron! Robin! Come on, we need your help if these dastardly invaders are to be repulsed.”
Robin exchanged glances with Elias’s royal guest, Prince Aeyron, co-ruler of Andaryon, and the two surged to their feet, unable to ignore their comrades’ distress. To whoops of joy from the young terrorists, they too caught up weapons and joined in the mêlée.
“C’mon, Sellie, come help us!” Prince Eadan called to his sister, but the young Princess turned a scandalized expression upon him, resolutely staying where she was.
Sullyan could see Seline would dearly love to join in but was reluctant to drop her poise in case Tad should see her make a fool of herself. Seline was at that delicate age when she was still enough of a child to sometimes be tempted by rough games, but was also beginning to realize she would soon become a young woman. The appearance of the dashing, gallant Tad among the King’s Guard had hastened that realization.
Since Elias’s ill-advised invasion into the realm of Andaryon three years ago, major changes had been made to the garrison at Port Loxton. This had imposed similar changes on the routine at the Manor. Mathias Blaine, General-in-Command of the King’s fighting forces, had been deeply disturbed by the ease with which the Baron and Queen Sofira had been able to work their treachery, and although the Baron had been exiled and the Queen divorced and stripped of her power, some unease had remained in his heart. He had grimly vowed that such things would never happen again. Once the traitors had been dealt with and the personal lives of two of his most trusted and powerful officers returned to something approaching normality, the general began his reforms.
The most obvious change he made was to ensure the presence of a senior military officer at the castle garrison at all times. This meant either the general himself or one of his two colonels. Since none of them wished to move to the capital on a permanent basis, he devised a rota system which saw the Manor forces divided up between himself, Colonel Jerrim Vassa, and Brynne Sullyan. At the head of their respective companies, each high-ranking officer spent four months at the capital, thus ensuring a fresh set of eyes, and an exchange of new ideas.
The past year had seen another major change to life at the Manor. Taran Elijah, Adept-elite, had finally accepted the position of Court Artesan. Taran’s decision was partly influenced by the young blonde woman sitting by Sullyan’s side, whose eyes were currently filled with tears.
The Baroness Jinella, niece of the traitor Hezra Reen, had fallen deeply in love with the tall and handsome Adept. Their relationship hadn’t had the best of starts due to Taran’s futile commitment to Sullyan, but as time went by and they saw more of each other, they had grown easier together. Taran also stood as mentor to little Morgan, and now that the boy’s embryo Artesan talents were beginning to bud, he would be more involved with his training than ever. But Sullyan’s regular tour of duty at the castle meant Taran could fulfill both roles at the same time, and so he had allowed Jinny to persuade him to accept Elias’s handsome offer.
Taran was independently wealthy, thanks to Elias’s generosity after the Adept helped rescue his son from the Baron’s clutches, and so he felt no obligation to Jinny whenever he stayed at her mansion. He was there because he wished to be, and he was surprised to discover that he wished to be in her company more often than not. He was genuinely fond of the woman and enjoyed spending time with her. He found release for his passions in her bed and she shared his delight and enthusiasm.
Sullyan was relieved Taran seemed to be settling down to life with Jinella. Brynne Sullyan loved Taran almost as deeply as he loved her, but the trust and loyalty of her heart was given without reservation to Robin, her true life mate, and she had despaired of Taran ever committing to another woman. Knowing the depth of his emotions and the wealth of love he had to offer, she had grieved over the waste. But his developing relationship with Jinny seemed to enric
h and satisfy him, which was why the Baroness’s tears were so puzzling to Sullyan now. She shared a brief glance with Rienne before she spoke, not looking at the sorrowful heiress beside her.
“Why the tears, Jinny?”
Jinella startled, swallowed, and used a delicate lace-edged cloth to dry her eyes. Beside her, Rienne snorted with laughter again as Morgan finally inveigled the old swordmaster into joining the fight on the children’s side, which was the cue for the adults to discard their toy swords, snatch up practice foils, and fence in earnest.
This was a favorite game and the three women knew what would happen next. The children would choose their champions. Morgan always chose Robin and Taran, Elisse picked Cal and Aeyron, and Eadan wisely went for his father and Tad, which was the only way he could guarantee Seline would join the game. Ardoch was pressed into awarding points as they fenced against each other. The old Torlander was in on the game and always made sure Elias and Tad won by one point. Seline never knew how much her brother enjoyed seeing her blush as Tad gallantly bestowed the champion’s kiss on his lady’s hand.
Jinella twisted her fingers in her lap as she watched the skillful swordplay. Sullyan knew that she admired the grace of the fighting men and these shows of steel and strength usually thrilled her to the core. But today she seemed troubled, and the sight of her man pitting his blade against his friends failed to lighten her mood.
Sullyan did not press her. She could see Jinny needed to order her thoughts before speaking. Rienne, tactful as ever, stood and carried little Taric to where he could watch his father more clearly. Jinny watched her go.
