"Did you think the Black Heart Clan would forget about you, prized son and our quarry? Lustful fool...you would have enjoyed the death found by plummeting your manhood inside of me. But now you will never know of my special spell: the Seven Steps of Euphoria and Agony."
Shivering glints of light flared along her blades as she struck out at him in a rush.
Chapter Sixteen
IN HER DREAM Sebine was a young and conniving sea turtle paddling weakly on the surface of the ocean. A milky wash of starlight staining the sky, and the smell of a school of fish teased her nostrils. The light above flickered under the ocean's vapors that rose like spiraling offerings to the gods. She knew she was the dreamer, and the dreaming body, stubbornly, acquiesced to the control of Sebine's conscious mind.
I don't want to swim in the ocean, she told the dreamer. I desire to see the one I love—a young man strong and handsome and kind. I desire to see Tael. Won't you take me to him?
The dreamer turned to her, face impassive and stern, eyes black like the bottomless Well of Warning, and the dreamer opened its mouth and swallowed her, until the shock and pain of icy needles sliced her skin into sheets and caused her eyes to flare open, awake and alert. But before she woke, she had glimpsed Tael's body curled up like a baby, lying in an alley near the winemaker's shop, blood oozing from many hideous cuts along his once beautiful arms and chest.
Sebine woke in a rush and through off the sweat-stained silk sheets and rose to the basin to splash water on her face. She studied the lines of worry on her forehead in the mirror, and the truth of the dream filled her in an instant. Tael was in agony and close to death. She had to leave the palace and help him. The illusion of Emitt Weylor she assumed would be worthless now and only would arouse suspicion in the guards. She had to find another way. Though what spells did she know that would aid her? Or could she somehow summon the guards to help her rescue Tael? No...that would only invoke more questions and would put them even more at risk. She had to move and act quickly.
Through her quietly opened door she saw a posted guard standing in sleepy attention, and she praised the gods that he failed to hear her turn the handle. She cast a spell to eliminate light—one of the few spells she knew—and slid outside, avoiding the place where the muttering shouts of surprise came from the Vizathian Knight. She sneaked down the hallway, her hand on the wall, and felt her way to the peasant's stairs which led down to the palace's subterranean entrance.
Past the servant's waiting room at the bottom of the stairs, the narrow, musty tunnel was dark enough for Sebine to cast a spell of faint light that guided her to the end. On the other side of a locked steel door she knew was a guard post that housed perhaps ten to twenty men. Maybe all were at their post or maybe they were taking turns at whores in the storehouse aside the guard post.
Would the spell work? Sebine focused her mind on the steel door and pushed using the same spell she had used to raise books in display of her knowledge to the Hakkadians. But as she pushed she found her slipper sliding on the stone floor. That wouldn't work at all. And the harder she pushed the more likely she was to find herself crushed by the weight of whatever she was pushing. A book was easy; a steel door vastly different. Could she cast the spell she'd used to boil the blood of the soldiers, but this time melt the steel, or melt the hinges or the lock's mechanism? Or would the intense heat burn her up? All this time playing at casting spells she realized she didn't even know the basic rules of magic.
Then, feeling stupid for not thinking of it earlier, she banged her fist against the steel door and waited until she heard footsteps and men's voices on the other side. Was there a changing of the guard, perhaps? Or were they commanded to leave the door sealed until morning? For good measure she banged again on the door—more insistently now—and tried to remember what the Captain of the Guard looked like.
A small, steel sliding panel opened up in the middle of the door and Sebine moved aside in time to avoid the peering eyes of the guard on the other side.
"Who's there knocking at this early hour?" a tired, uncertain voice spoke.
Sebine cast the spell of transformation on herself, holding the image of Phineas Black, Captain of the Guard, in her mind. She glanced down at her now massive, hairy hands clad in chain mail, and smiled to herself in satisfaction. With a side step and a commanding grimace on her face, she stared through the opening at the suspicious face of the soldier on the other side.
"Captain! I didn't realize it was you." The guard furrowed his brow in worry. "Did a dark dream wake you from your rest, sir? You've been working late these many days now...but with the King gone we thought you'd find some much needed sleep."
Through clenched teeth Sebine released a heavy sigh and shook her head. "Tis a foul moon... Only work and a night walk about the city will cure it. Open up, soldier." Sebine almost laughed at how strange and deep her voice sounded.
The man hesitated, eyes confused for a moment; likely her choice of words or an inappropriate mode of addressing the soldier. But it passed and the guard opened the steel door, which groaned tiredly and revealed ten soldiers standing in crisp attention. One man looked nervous at Sebine's inspection, and she found herself barking a deep grunt at the guard's lack of chain mail below the waist. He wore only hemp pants tied haphazardly.
"Go on back to your business, then... Forget I ever passed." She waved a dismissive hand at the men and a puzzled concern crossed their faces, causing their feet to shuffle in discomfort. Even after she marched away from the square she felt their eyes on her departure, and rounding the corner, she broke into a run.
Far past the artisan's shops and over the Prince's Bridge she charged, moving at a speed she doubted she could manage in a race. Soon she reached the docks and beyond found the merchant quarter a chaotic mess of bottles, mugs, clothes, still smoldering fires, and men and women lying here and there—sleeping off their drugged drunkenness.
She found him behind a crate near the winemaker's shop, collapsed before reaching the back door, and now he lay in a pool of blood right where her vision had shown him. Fingers to his neck felt a faint pulse and she almost cried out: he was still alive. But he was too heavy for her to carry him. She inspected his wounds and found mostly slices and some deeper gashes, but the wound that had felled him was a puncture to the lung—just below the heart. Whoever his assailant was must had left him for dead, thinking a killing blow dealt.
Her hand slammed against the back door of the winemaker's shop and she bellowed out for the occupants inside to open up. Footsteps sounded and the door crept open to display tired, wrinkled eyes that cringed in surprise at the face of Phineas Black.
"Why it's Captain Black...how can I aid you, sir?" The nightgown-clad man opened the door completely and pressed soft, white hands against his hips.
"I need your help, vintner. Do you have strong lads to help an injured man outside? He needs a healer..."
Concern flashed on the winemaker's face. "An injured man? Here at my shop?" He peered out into the dark as if his eyes might find purchase on a body. "Lads you say? Of course, my sons are glad to help...just one moment while I rouse them from their sleep."
Sebine tapped her foot impatiently and this sent the man scurrying inside where she heard shouts and moans of refusal, but soon two staggering, portly boys of around twenty followed Sebine back to the place where Tael lay.
"What do you think, a cart, perhaps?" The vintner scratched his grey-and-black goatee. "Boys, go fetch the cart—the one we use for the barrels. Should hold him." Then he turned to Sebine. "Who is this man?"
She scoffed and gave the vintner a knowing look. "Just another fool that got himself pissed and likely started a knife fight with a vastly superior opponent." She aimed a thick finger at the wound to his lung. "Lucky fool as the blade missed his heart. He'll likely live...but we can't have the man dying on your doorstep, now can we?"
The vintner nodded in grave agreement and prodded his two boys to action when they returned with the car
t. They all went together to the healer at the docks who worked her magic and herbs at a small stone shack perched above the water.
Sebine knocked at the healer's dilapidated wooden door and was surprised to see a spry, wiry woman of perhaps ninety wide-awake and motioning them inside her house.
"Give her some coin to take care of the boy," Sebine commanded, and the winemaker obeyed without hesitation and withdrew coins from a purse that hung limply at his side, and dropped them into the healer's hungry hand.
The old woman shooed them away and indignantly shoved the door closed. Sebine thought to wait—anxious for Tael's recovery—but knew the magic of the illusion might not last for much longer, as some inner store of strength inside her felt depleted. She needed to sleep. A vast wave of fatigue fell over her all at once and she knew she had to rush back to the palace. She would pray to the gods for giving her the vision that had saved Tael's life, and collapse on her bed in a dreamless sleep.
Chapter Seventeen
TAEL WOKE TO find his head throbbing and tongue dry and rough as if he'd chewed on sand. Then he felt a distant, deep pain in his ribcage—in the area just below his heart. He glanced around and discovered he was lying on a cot in a healer's room of some kind. Strands of herbs and roots hung from the wooden ceiling. The walls were stone and covered with shelves filled with books and small wood and iron and bone miniatures of the gods.
As his hand went to his breast he found a caked-on plaster over the deep wound, secured with a bandage wrapped around his chest. His arms and ribs and stomach contained many wounds covered with salves and small bandages, and at that moment he remembered everything. The girl he so foolishly played with, the music and the drink, his hands on her lips, the sweet taste of her mouth, and her knives blindingly fast, slicing out at arms and a body slow to respond.
It wasn't even a credible fight. His movements had been sluggish and dense from all the wine he'd drunk. The only thing he'd managed to do was to swat away a few killing blows, dodge others, and knock her in the side of the temple as she'd snuck past his defenses and stabbed him in the chest. After that she'd slithered away into the screaming, panicked crowd and disappeared.
He'd managed to keep himself undiscovered by stumbling wisely over to the place of shadows where he'd kissed the winemaker's daughter, until coughing and wheezing from his punctured lung, he had only managed to drag himself around twenty feet until he collapsed unconscious and bleeding on the stone steps.
What an absolute idiot he'd been. Some sixth sense had warned him of the girl, but he'd been too stupid to stay away. What was wrong with him? Likely it wouldn't have mattered anyway. In his drugged and drunken state she'd have followed and knifed him in the back. But the little bitch found it more fun to play with her prey—to tantalize and seduce him—then try and stab him in the fucking heart. Tael scoffed and said a silent prayer to the gods for his luck in the blow missing its killing mark.
And he'd left his blade back at the Dour Bear Inn... Why would he do such a stupid thing? Did he imagine the foul city safe from assassins? What madness and folly had possessed him into thinking that the Black Heart Clan couldn't recognize him? He remembered now that mother had ordered a portrait done of him by the brilliant painter Galisia—her fame at recreating the human physique was staggering to behold. Now they'd marked him...and the small southern assassin was still alive. Gods he hated her for making him want her so much.
The shuffling of shoes sounded and soon the face of an old, wizened woman hovered over him. "I knew you'd come. Your grandfather tried to convince me how foolish you were and yet still I refused to believe him. But here you are! Dragged to my doorstep by the two fat pigs of the winemaker...gods damn his soul for his miraculous drink. And you intoxicated and almost dead from an assassin's blade."
Surprised, Tael squinted and studied the woman. How did she know his grandfather? He tried to speak but the woman shook her head in a commanding gesture.
"But what shocked me the most was to see Princess Sebine herself...standing on my porch, disguised with an illusionist's spell. Hah. She couldn't fool me for a moment."
"Who are you?" Tael's voice was raspy and he coughed and tried to swallow, but his throat felt raw and parched. He accepted a glass of water from the old woman who urged him to finish it.
"Imagine that...the Princess a witch? Or perhaps even a sorceress. Isn't that a bit of valuable information." The old woman cackled and covered her wrinkled mouth in a sham display of coquettishness. "I wonder why she held such fierce concern for your well-being in her eyes? Have you done something as foolish as make the Princess fall in love with you? Ah...I see it now." She placed bony fingers under his chin and peered into his eyes. "Young love. There it is, as clear and clean as a shaved sheep. Your grandfather will be furious, you know."
When Tael opened his mouth to ask her another question she covered his mouth with a palm and shook her head as if scolding a child. "Sleep now, foolish boy. Rest and find your health." And with a tap of her finger on his forehead, the world went black.
Chapter Eighteen
FAR BEYOND THE world of dreams Sebine found a hole filled with tiny, luminescent worms writhing pitifully along its ridged and spiraling surface. She settled there—in the hole—and felt the heat and light seeping into her. Not her body, for in this dreamless state she knew her body was far, far away locked in a deep slumber on her bed, but something like a kernel of her power was there in the tunnel. Not her soul, for that was too mundane and filled with religious cliches, but something indefinable and unspoken. She saw it as an iridescent kernel lodged deep in her belly.
She was full now, whether full of magic or power or some vital force, she didn't know. She lacked the language of magic (or perhaps true magic was unspoken like the spells cast by her Hakkadian master). Yes, full was the right word, for the feeling churned inside her stomach and somehow craved to release through her hands and mouth; spoken or shot through fingers. Didn't she want to cast and kill and destroy the person who harmed Tael?
Tael! With a start she lurched out of bed, then she relaxed, remembering he was safe in the healer's house. She must clean and dress and see if he had recovered yet. She scanned around the room lit only by flickering candles. Shadows spread lazily across the smooth white walls. How she hated the color white...how she begged mother to hire a painter to change the color, to bring some life to the room. But the King always refused. Every wall in the palace was hatefully painted white. Why, Sebine did not know.
She threw off her sweat-stained nightgown and wondered how long she had slept. A day, two days? Evidence of the maid remained in the room: clean towels, old clothes taken, a fresh glass of water, and fresh flowers (primroses) at her nightstand. She sauntered over to the white marble and tile bath room, the night air soothing on her bare skin, and she dipped her fingers into the hot water of the deep, round pool where the fires below heated water in constant supply.
Her mouth released a soft sigh of pleasure at the sensation of the steamy, rose-scented water on her skin. She lapped the water over her chest, feeling the tingling of heat on her nipples. The memory of Tael's eyes admiring her body entered her mind and the rush of stimulation at his fingers on her neck aroused her. She missed his touch.
Somehow she knew he was better now and trusted the capable hands of the healer. Though she was old and lived humbly, her skills and power were legendary. Tael would live, though his unmarred, beautiful skin would be scarred and marked for life. But she didn't care...she realized she loved him.
Her lady's maid opened the door and with a trained quietness entered the room and greeted her in that soft and lilting eastern accent of hers. Sebine raised an arm—as was her habit—and Eloise began the weekly ritual of scrubbing her skin with sea salt and argan oil. It was painful, yes, but refreshing too. Her skin tingled and breathed and shimmered in the candlelight.
Eloise was not only her maid but also her playmate since childhood. As girls they knew their paths were vastly different, a
nd there existed a kind of unspoken rivalry between them. Eloise had been deflowered early, almost in a shout that she could experience something so vast and pleasurable before Sebine. And in her knowledge of pleasure and pain she teased and taunted Sebine when bathing her: a finger lingering longer on her nipple, a hand cleaning between her thighs with too much vigor, a sigh escaping Eloise's lips at signs of Sebine's stimulation. And always Sebine let her do it.
There was that night, one long and hot night, a sleepless night, when Sebine had been perhaps thirteen, and Eloise had not yet entered her service. They had a habit of sleeping together for many years, and that night the air was still and humid, and to escape the heat the girls fled to the rooftops where the dragons nested in cave-like enclosures. It was forbidden (but was why it made it so fun) and they'd always managed to sneak past the guards and the dragons seemed unbothered by their arrival.
The stars were mottled and weak under the hazy sky, but the city lights shone and the sound of the still-awake citizens murmured like a hushed whisper. There was a vast, reclining chair overlooking the city that the King liked to lounge with the Queen, and face triumphant, lord over his dominion. Sebine and Eloise removed the tarp and lay on the silk chair, and still hot, shed their clothes. They relished in the movement of the night air against their skin.
"Your breasts are bigger than mine," Sebine remembered saying, and with envious hands reached up to feel their firmness. Eloise didn't resist. They felt like nectarines just picked from the stem. At her touch Eloise's flat nipples had grown, and to Sebine's delight, extended out like a mole's pink nose peeking out of its hole.
Eloise folded in and wrapped her prickled arms over her chest. "That feels funny..." But with light and mischievous eyes, she giggled at Sebine.
Theft of Dragons (Princes of Naverstrom) Page 12
