Stellan fingered the expensive cloth and then glanced shyly back toward Gretchen. “Is this…?”
“For the wedding, yes.” Gretchen chuckled softly as she leaned against the door frame. “Thought you were going to wear that ratty, old thing?” she asked, gesturing to his usual outfit. “Even the rats wouldn’t be caught dead in it.”
Stellan glanced down at his frayed clothing and grinned. “I was so busy with everything else I hadn’t given it much thought.” His cheeks grew warm and his throat tightened. “Mama, it’s… I don’t know what to say.”
Eyes shining, Gretchen walked forward and embraced him. “You said enough just then.”
He was about to propose a fitting, but footsteps thudding down the passageway made him pause. Ghyslain popped into view, flushed and breathless, a daffy grin on his face. “Lady Clarysa is here.”
Stellan frowned. “What? But how could she…?”
“I let her in a few moments ago. She asked to see you.”
A jab of excitement punctured Stellan’s chest. He motioned for Ghyslain to lead the way. Gretchen followed, smoothing her hair. “I’ll make some refreshments!”
Stellan hurried to the front hall. The wedding was only three days away. He hoped nothing was wrong. His stomach jumped with anticipation. It had been a long few weeks since they’d seen each other.
Clarysa was waiting for him in the throne room. She appeared resplendent in a white cloak lined with fur. A flowing pink dress peeked out from underneath. Her smiling face shone brighter than the sun. Stellan swept her up in his arms.
“Why didn’t you send word? I would have met you halfway at least!”
Instead of waiting for her answer, he feasted upon her lips for a few dizzying moments. Odd. Something felt different, something…ineffable. Drawing back, he studied her. “Have you changed your hair?”
Clarysa giggled. “No, nothing like that. I’m just so happy to see you!”
“Me, too.” He embraced her once more, pressing himself hard against her with an almost bestial urgency. Gods of fortune, how much longer until the wedding night?
“Gretchen’s preparing something to eat. Let’s wait in the study so you can warm up.”
Clarysa nodded. She adjusted the strap of the leather satchel hanging from one shoulder as they walked.
“Here, let me.” Stellan reached out a hand and she passed it to him.
Once in the study, he deposited it on a chair, then turned to help her remove her cloak. As he hung it up, Clarysa opened the satchel.
“What’s in it?” he asked.
“Something to help us celebrate!”
She revealed its contents–a jug of wine. “My father sends it with his blessing and congratulations. It’s one of the most valuable vintages in the entire kingdom.”
Stellan dutifully studied the container and then turned to his betrothed. He languidly stroked her cheek. “Interesting. I wouldn’t have thought he’d waste it on a ‘damnable warlock’ such as myself. Maybe it’s his way of accepting me.” Slipping his hands around her waist, he avidly kissed her cheeks and neck. He wondered at the change in her. There was definitely something unusual. She must have sprinkled her skin with a new fragrance. Or maybe it was the glow experienced only by brides-to-be. “You didn’t ride all the way here simply to give me this, did you?”
Clarysa wriggled from his grasp. “Let’s have a toast!”
“All right,” he said, though the scent of her had already made him drunk.
He rummaged about for a pair of goblets. They stood across from each other, the wine resting on a high-legged table between them. Clarysa made a great hoopla about opening the bottle, waxing poetic about its symbolism and such. Stellan listened attentively, basking in her presence with delight.
Clarysa poured the wine. The dark red liquid gurgled into the wide-rimmed glasses, giving off a dense, fruity smell.
She handed one goblet to Stellan, and daintily picked up the other. “To us,” she said simply.
He grinned. “To us!” Though the rich wine beckoned, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Nor, apparently, could she, for her gaze studied him eagerly over the rim as she drank.
The wine tasted delectable and sweet. Still unaccustomed to such rich libation, Stellan inadvertently drained the glass in one swallow.
Wiping his lips, he reached for the bottle. “Excellent,” he murmured. “It’s certainly superior to any I’ve had before.” As he lifted the next round to his mouth, his hand suddenly lost its strength. The room swirled as the floor rippled in waves. The goblet left his grip, exploding into hundreds of crimson fragments on the stone floor below. Stellan looked down in confusion. What’s happening?
He shifted his gaze toward Clarysa. A hard glint flashed from her eye. She retreated to one corner of the room. “What…is this?” he croaked.
She didn’t answer.
Vision blurring, he reached for the table to steady himself. But he missed and went crashing down on his knees. Blood coursed through his veins like a tidal wave. A roaring sound pummeled his eardrums while strange pinching sensations and cramps tore through his abdomen.
Something was in the wine. Poison? “Clarysa?” he ground out. “What have you done to me? Why have you…”
Stellan blinked hard and rapidly. It was difficult to concentrate. He only saw a blur of pink standing some feet away. Then a prickly sensation rippled beneath his skin from head to foot. The cramps in his roiling stomach intensified. His blood felt as if it were on fire. Perspiration ran in torrents from his body.
Nearly prostrate, he grunted at the sensation of his stomach being turned inside out. His clothes constricted, biting into his skin as if they were five or six times too small. But it was nothing compared to the pain of Clarysa’s betrayal. Her actions didn’t make any sense.
The pain became a thousand knives slicing away at his chest. Was he dying? His thoughts suddenly scattered. World enfolding upon itself…gravity overbearing…torn apart… Then, all light faded as a deluge of shadows overcame him.
Minutes–or perhaps hours–later, Stellan regained consciousness.
He looked up, his vision a watery sea of shifting shapes. For a terrifying moment he couldn’t even breathe. When air once again filled his lungs, it felt as though he had to learn how to breathe all over again. He tried to stand but immediately fell forward with a sickening thud. Strangely, he had the strength, but somehow lacked the knowledge to use it.
Derisive laughter rang out in the room, unmistakably female. Stellan lay there, eyes shut against residual aches. Slowly, fire again began to flow in his veins. He mercilessly beat his head against the floor, a feeble attempt to organize the chaos in his throbbing head.
Sada, he thought. Magick!
He opened his eyes. The crowing form of Sada stood before him, adorned by Clarysa’s flowing pink dress. No–not Clarysa. Clarysa had never been there. Sada’s icy green eyes stared back amid a face frozen with hatred. His sister had come seeking vengeance.
Stellan groped for words that would not–could not!–come. Only raspy growls managed to claw their way through his raw throat.
Sada withdrew one lone object and held it aloft before him–a mirror. For the first time, Stellan saw what he had become–a slobbering animal with thick dark fur and the snout of a wolf. A thing. A beast.
What have you done? Fear pumped through his heart, and then a deafening, mournful howl escaped him. Though his limbs still felt tender and unsure, Stellan maneuvered his bulky form into a standing position. Kill you, he thought, and made ready to plunge his newly formed fangs into Sada’s throat.
Seemingly from out of nowhere, a multitude of chains shot forth, effectively ensnaring him. They coiled about his arms and legs and bit into his fur-covered flesh. Several stout men faded in from ethereal mists and held him at bay. Stellan thrashed about, overturning furniture and slashing at them with ungainly paws. He had to escape. Now. Find Clarysa. If Sada had harmed her…
Fear for her sa
fety fed him strength. A rage overtook him. In an instant, Sada’s minions lay crushed on the floor, drowning in pools of blood.
He turned to face his sister, but she was nowhere to be found.
Stellan let loose a howl of fury so loud and fierce it shook the castle’s foundation. He bolted from the room and tore through the corridors. Then he bounded toward the front gate and freedom, hunting for his beloved.
Chapter 27
King Leopold sat upon his golden throne a humbled man. It appeared the warlock his daughter had so ill advisedly brought into their midst was perhaps correct in some of his mad assertions. Strange attacks had been occurring all over his kingdom. Ordinary weapons were minimally effective against these noxious mutants. Only Prince Stellan’s mysterious potions successfully destroyed them. Leopold’s people were growing restless in their fear. His military commanders were advocating a preemptive attack against the sorcerers of the Wastes.
And now they inform me my daughter is missing.
Leopold rubbed his temple in an attempt to stop the aching. Although his crown grew heavier with each passing day, it was the mantle of fatherhood that stole most of his thoughts. Clarysa had been right here in the castle–under her father’s protection–and somehow she’d been abducted. Leopold knew he must find her. While tempted to initiate a search himself, the strategy would be unwise. Therefore, he had ordered Edward to report to him. But over two hours had since passed. Tardiness was atypical for his firstborn and could not bode well.
He waved a messenger over.
“Yes, Your Highness?”
“Ride to the Southern Marshes and look for–never mind.” Leopold discovered Edward striding toward him. The King dismissed the messenger.
Edward bowed. “My liege,” he stated officiously, “I must apologize for my inexcusable tardiness. I fear the mounting attacks have made it most difficult–”
Leopold shook his head. “You have new orders. Find Clarysa. Take as many men as you need.”
Edward nodded. “I’ll recover her. I’ll start with the castle of that warlock fiend.” The prince scowled. “If only I had broken the degenerate’s neck when I had him here before me!”
Leopold stayed him with a large, bejeweled hand. “Caution, Edward. We do not know if he’s involved. His words of warning rang sincere, and he’s been instrumental in stopping the Pestilence attacks. Besides, why kidnap someone who is your betrothed and longs to be with you?”
“I still say it’s a trick.”
“Do not be so rash. You will soon find that once you wear the crown, the world is a much more complicated place than you ever imagined.”
“But why else was she taken, then? Who else could possibly be responsible?”
Leopold shook his head. “The motives are political, that’s all we can be sure of.” He stood and placed his hand upon Edward’s shoulder. “Begin with Vandeborg if you must, but I fear you’re allowing hatred to blind you. You still have much to learn before you assume the crown of our forebears.”
Edward tore away from his father’s touch, a taut grimace besmirching his face. “And I tell you that this devil has bewitched Clarysa! He probably ordered one of his minions to do his dirty kidnapping work for him. In return, I intend to lay siege upon his castle and tear it down stone by stone if need be!”
“Come now, cousin! I should one day introduce you to the mightiest weapon I know–the fine art of confabulation.”
Leopold looked over at the entrance. Duke Lionel stood there, armed with nothing more than an arched brow and wry grin.
“That is, ‘conversation.’” Lionel quickly strode across the chamber and joined them. “If you had spoken more than two sentences to Stellan, you would know–as I am thoroughly convinced–he had nothing to do with Clarysa’s abduction.”
Edward turned his angry countenance onto his cousin. “Am I the only who has not fallen under the spell of his devilry? I shall order our forces to raze the entirety of his ‘magickal kingdom’ to the ground. Then we shall have time for talk!”
Lionel stepped up in defiance, right hand encircling the hilt of his sword. “But only if I allow it, which I will not!”
“Enough!” said the King.
Both men immediately snapped to attention.
“Edward, you and Lionel will lead a garrison to Vandeborg. If Prince Stellan is guilty of any crimes then he shall be punished as is my right as a King and father to mete out. Until then, your mission is to find Clarysa.”
“But, my lord!”
“That is my final word. Now go.”
Leopold watched as Edward and Lionel left the hall. He passed a hand across his face, praying for Clarysa’s safe return.
* * * *
Lionel, Edward and seventy of the finest soldiers in the Aldebaran military marched rapidly to the Snowflake Kingdom. They crouched low together in a deep trench of snow within sight of Vandeborg. The sky was overcast, but only a light snow was falling.
Although Lionel had tried to remind Edward that the land there was eternally held in winter’s grasp, he’d refused to believe it. Thus, to allow for more weapons, the Prince had refused to carry more than a basic cloak for the arctic environs.
Lionel, however, had listened closely to Clarysa’s firsthand accounts of the icy kingdom and took them to heart. He was dressed smartly in a hooded, fur-lined coat, sleek yet oh-so warm. “Don’t blame me for your own arrogance, cousin,” he said to the shivering Edward. “After all, I did warn you!”
“Yes, you did, didn’t you,” Edward said, voice dripping with frozen sarcasm. “And this will also be the last time you remind me of said warning, dear cousin.”
Lionel gave him a jaunty salute. “Message received and understood. Now shall I walk up to the front gate and announce us?”
“No. We’ll wait here until nightfall and then infiltrate the castle under cover of darkness.”
Lionel glanced over the shivering troops. Their military apparel was only suitable for the temperate climes of Aldebaran. “Well, that’s fine with me. But do you really think the men can endure the wait?”
“Sir,” said Edward’s second-in-command, “the gate’s opening!”
Lionel and Edward followed the line of the man’s pointed finger. A large, wolfish brute burst from the castle gate. They watched as it streaked across the snow. Lionel stared at it in shock. He’d never heard of such a creature. Had it attacked Stellan in his own castle? The implications were sobering.
“Where’s it headed?” Edward demanded.
Lionel scanned the landscape. A dark shape was approaching the castle. “Look there,” he said. “That might be its target.”
A wagon emerged from among the snowy hills. Lionel narrowed his eyes. Strangely garbed men and deformed creatures grouped about it in a mad procession. How odd. There was a figure on the wagon. As the wagon’s bulky wheels turned, drawing it closer, a distinctly female shape emerged.
Lionel sucked in a breath. “Clarysa!” He swiveled his head left. The beast was heading straight for her.
Edward gauged the predicament at the same time. He ordered their best bowmen to position themselves for attack. Lionel and Edward led twenty soldiers forward, trudging as quickly as they could through the sea of snow.
But not quickly enough. The beast gained the wagon with preternatural speed. Lionel watched in horror as it leaped onto the wagon.
Edward ordered an immediate halt. He raised his arm. “Aim for the beast!” he ordered. “Loose arrows!”
A swarm of death screamed through the air.
Chapter 28
Clarysa opened her eyes, jarred awake by the quaking underneath her feet. Blinding whiteness stung her pupils. Something cold and soft trickled across her cheeks.
Snow.
As her vision acclimated, she absorbed other sensory details. Stiff limbs. Soreness in her back. Extreme cold. Her hands and feet had gone numb. Damp hair flicked with ice hung about her face.
This was no dream. Where am I?
Clarysa glanced down and noticed she wore her nightgown. But she’d been dreaming! Or had she?
She quailed. This predicament was no dream. Coarse ropes lashed her to a pole atop a rickety wagon. All manner of peculiar creatures surrounded her. Short, squalid men taunted her in some bizarre tongue as they stomped about the wagon. Some reminded her of the goblins she’d encountered in Dungeon Forest. They waved banners with grotesque animal shapes and indecipherable runic scripts scrawled upon them. One of them spit at her.
Clarysa turned away in horror, only to discover that some of the creatures pulled at thick chains attached to the wagon. They were dragging it toward a dark fortress–Stellan’s castle.
She scanned the towers. Backlit by a yellow glow, a figure stood at a second floor window. Patrulha? No, it wasn’t her. Clarysa squinted, and then cried out in recognition. The figure bore a strong resemblance to the woman from her dream.
Where is Stellan? Why doesn’t he come? Clarysa’s insides coiled with fear. Maybe these horrid things captured him–or worse!
She fought to loosen her bonds, but her deadened limbs simply wouldn’t cooperate. Clearing her throat, she tried to scream, but only feeble whimpers escaped. The garish voices of her captors savagely mimicked her.
What’s going to happen to me?
As if to answer her thought, a dark haired beast towering seven feet tall burst through the castle gate. Muscles bunching, it bolted across the snow-packed earth. Once in range of the wagon, it immediately launched itself toward her.
Chapter 29
Stellan burst through the castle gate.
Lord of Snow and Ice Page 20
