“Yet your aunt survived her time in this place?” Sian sounded as if he did not believe her, and in truth she couldn’t blame him. Level Thirteen sounded very much like a tale whispered to children to make them do as they were told. Eat all of your peas, or the ghost of Emperor Sebestyen will snatch you up while you sleep and drop you into Level Thirteen...
“There was a wizard, Thayne,” Ariana explained. “He’s Aunt Isadora’s father, actually, and last I heard he still lives. He was an old man then, so now he must be ancient. He’s a wizard for the Circle of Bacwyr. Long ago there was an unpleasant prophesy, and Sebestyen had Thayne, who delivered that prophesy, tossed into this pit in the ground. Thayne protected some of the innocents who were thrown into Level Thirteen, including Aunt Isadora, and eventually they escaped. After the end of the war, Emperor Arik closed Level Thirteen. My mother says he’s a good man who would not make use of such a terrible place. It’s dormant, I suppose, but if dark energy lives in this palace, surely it lives there.”
“If the tale is true, it makes sense.”
“Of course it’s true. Aunt Isadora wouldn’t lie. As it is, I don’t think she told us everything.” She’d never forget the look that had crossed the usually stoic Isadora’s face when Duran had boldly asked her about Level Thirteen.
Sian sighed. “I suspect you might be right, then. We’ll examine this Level Thirteen, or what remains of it, but not right now. First we need to do something about your wardrobe.”
Ariana felt a woman’s immediate ire at having her attire criticized. “What’s wrong with this gown? The fabric is quite sturdy, and this shade of green doesn’t show dirt, and—”
“Stand up,” Sian ordered as he rose to his feet and moved back to stand in the center of the landing.
Ariana stood and faced the wizard. Now that she was certain Level Thirteen was the root of the rising evil, she was eager to conduct a proper examination. Perhaps there would be clues there as to how to stop the evil. Perhaps there would be a sign to indicate exactly what she’d be fighting.
“Kick me,” Sian ordered.
Ariana glanced up so she could study his face. He didn’t look as if he was joking. “I beg your—”
“Kick me,” he said again. “Surely a woman who has eight siblings and an immense number of cousins has kicked someone in the past.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.”
“I’m stronger than I look,” she argued.
His purple eyes narrowed. “Must I inflame you before you’ll do as I ask? Fine.” His nostrils flared slightly, and the small wrinkle between his nicely shaped eyebrows deepened. “The fate of the world is in your hands, and that bothers me greatly. I fear for our future, now that I know you must play a part in the war which is to come. I have never encountered a less competent warrior, and that is what you must be, little girl, a warrior. A soldier. I do not believe that you have the strength to do what must be done. You don’t have the magical strength or the physical strength. I can only hope your cousins are better equipped...”
“Fine,” Ariana said, her indignation rising as Sian had no doubt intended. She drew back one leg slightly, as if preparing to kick the man who’d ordered her to do so. He was prepared for her toe to meet his shin with as much force as she could muster.
He was not prepared for her fist to come up swiftly and catch him in the jaw.
Sian’s head snapped back, and he stumbled. He muttered a vile word as he regained his balance.
Ariana shook her hand. Connecting solidly with his hard jaw had been painful. “I have three brothers,” she explained.
“They taught you well.” Sian cradled his jaw in one hand for a moment, and then he dropped his hand and managed a brief, crooked smile. “You’ve proven that you are not entirely unprepared, but my point is that you will be better able to fight, and to examine places like Level Thirteen, if you wear trousers and a loose-sleeved shirt which allows more freedom of movement than the fashionable frock which you now wear.”
“Trousers? Women don’t wear—”
“Conventions must be set aside for what’s to come, Ariana. Women don’t do a lot of things. They don’t wield a sword, they don’t wear trousers, they don’t fight battles. You must do all that, and more.”
“You did not tell me that I had to go into combat.” He’d said she’d be called upon to fight, but fighting could take many forms. Combat, on the other hand, was another matter.
“You must be prepared for anything.”
“If it comes to that, I don’t see why I can’t fight in a skirt,” Ariana grumbled. She could only imagine what people would think of her if she took to running about the palace in men’s clothing! Not that they didn’t already think she was odd. Still, she did have her dignity, and she wasn’t anxious to toss it away.
“This is why.” Sian moved quickly. He grabbed her skirt and yanked, and she stumbled. “Escape, Ariana. Get away.”
She slapped ineffectively at his hand for a moment, but he had a large amount of fabric caught in his very large, hard fist. Again she tried to punch him in the jaw, but he was prepared this time, and he avoided the blow. In fact, he yanked her around again, and she landed on the floor. Hard. He crouched, and every time she tried to stand, he yanked her back down again, with very little visible effort. Since his arms were so much longer than hers, she was unable to free herself. He made it all look so easy.
“You’re wrinkling my skirt,” she complained.
“I don’t care.”
“Fine. You’ve proven your point. A traditional skirt offers too much fabric for an enemy to grab and manipulate, if it comes to that. I don’t think it will. If I’m to play a part in this war, then it must be through casting spells and healing and such. That’s what I do.”
“You must be prepared to fight in a more traditional manner, I’m afraid.”
It was impossible to free herself, and she soon became frustrated with the efforts. “Perhaps I should fight naked. Then there would be nothing for the opposing soldiers to grab.”
Sian’s only response was a lift of his eyebrows, and a twinkle of awareness in his purple eyes. The color darkened and shifted, as if she were looking into a fast-moving indigo rain cloud. “My, what a picture that paints in my fertile imagination.”
That was not what she’d intended. She’d only wished to point out that his ideas about her fighting were ridiculous. “I’m not a soldier.”
“That is one of the things you must learn to be, so you’ll be prepared for anything.”
Her brothers were adept at fighting. They had been trained almost from birth to use swords and knives, bows and arrows, and their fists. She had not. If she had to fight in this manner, her part in the battle to come wouldn’t last very long.
For the first time the truth hit Ariana, and it hit hard. If the prophesy Sian had delivered to Emperor Arik was a true one, then she was likely going to die. Nobly, perhaps, but still... she was going to die. She prided herself on being a strong woman, but she was not a soldier. She was not a fighter.
She quit trying to free herself and sat on the landing. Sian continued to clutch at the fabric of her skirt, so that it rode up to her knees. The position was less than ladylike, but she didn’t much care at the moment. Being told that one had a part to play in a war against darkness was shocking enough. The moment when the words finally felt real was enough to take her breath away.
“Will I survive this?” she asked softly.
“I do not have the gift of sight.”
She yanked her skirt from Sian’s hand, and he let her have it. “What kind of teacher are you?” she snapped. “You’re supposed to tell me that if I’m a good student I will survive. You’re supposed to promise me that if I try very hard I will win this fight and the world will not move into darkness. You’re supposed to give me faith that I can do this.”
“Any faith you have must come from your heart, not my words.”
His calm manner annoyed her. “I do
n’t want to die.”
Sian sighed and leaned back against the stone wall, adopting a casual pose that belied the severity of the situation. “No one wants to die, but to be afraid of death is like being afraid of nightfall. It comes, for all of us. Fear does not hold back the night, nor does it hold death at bay. That fear can only make you weak, and you cannot afford weakness, Ariana Kane Fyne Varden.” He looked at her, his purple eyes boring into her, seeing through her. “Would you live a life filled with fire and purpose, or would you hide yourself away in a place that’s safe but uneventful? Would you leave this earth in a battle against all that is wicked, or would you cower behind the safety of solid but isolated doors? Will you die proudly with a warrior’s scream of excitement, or will you live long and afraid with a whimper forever on your lips?”
Ariana took a deep breath and blew it out slowly before answering. “I’m rather fond of whimpering.”
“I am to be your teacher. You must promise not to lie to me.”
“Fine,” Ariana said sharply. “I’ve never been at all fond of whimpering.”
“I thought as much.”
She was in no hurry to rise and continue down the stairway. Beyond this landing there waited trousers and swordplay and a wizard’s lessons and Level Thirteen. She remained in a seated position and looked at Sian, studying the sharp planes of his face and the strength of his neck and the ruggedness of his hands. He was a powerful wizard—a powerful man. She could do worse, where teachers were concerned. He had the power to manipulate some physical objects, like the doors to the emperor’s suite. Could he teach her to do the same? She had a feeling she’d need every advantage she could muster.
Sian had once offered to take her place in battle, fearing for the world if the fight was left to her. He was likely a good swordsman, and though many enchanter’s tricks were little more than illusion, he had some substantial talents. He had taken her voice, that one time, and had threatened to freeze her. The ability to freeze opponents would be a useful trick to have when battle came upon her. She suspected that was the sort of magic which was either inborn or took a lifetime to perfect.
“When the time comes, will you fight with me?”
“No,” he answered without a moment’s hesitation. “This is your battle, not mine. You will have need to raise an army, but I am no soldier. When you are properly trained, I will return to my home.”
And she would continue on without him. She barely knew the man, and still that thought made her heart leap.
“I did not ask for this responsibility,” Ariana said sharply as she rose to her feet. “I did not ask to be burdened with the fate of the world!”
Sian stood much more smoothly and gracefully than she did.
“Heroes rarely do.”
***
When Ariana had been dismissed for the day—Level Thirteen as yet unexplored—Sian went to his assigned room and bolted the door behind him. He lit a single candle, and sat before the weathered desk near the head of his bed.
Sighing, he withdrew the prophesy from a deep pocket of his coat. He didn’t dare leave it lying around for just anyone to find. There were promises here he was not yet ready to share. Not with Arik, not with anyone.
He gently unfolded the document which was already showing signs of wear, it had been folded and unfolded so often. His long fingers raked down the left edge of the paper, stopping to rest over the passage that haunted him. His grandfather had been wrong about the fine women. Perhaps he was wrong about this as well.
Probably not.
Of the three fine warriors who are called to this battle, one will find and wield the crystal dagger. One will betray love in the name of victory. And one, the eldest, will die at the hands of a monster who will hurtle a weary soul into the Land of the Dead.
Ariana Varden was the eldest, and by sending her into battle, he was sending her to her death.
Chapter Four
Since they were little more than a year apart in age, it was only natural that Ariana and her brother Duran had always been close. Still, they were different as night and day. She had been born to magic, like their mother; he had no supernatural talents, like their father.
But it was more than magic—or lack thereof—that made them so dissimilar. Duran was carefree, taking each day as it came without worry. Ariana was a planner, and a worrier. She could not face each day without careful planning of her schedule and her wardrobe. Until Sian had shown up to throw all her plans into disarray, she’d already planned what each day in the following week would bring. Duran simply followed his feet, and went wherever they led him.
There was another way in which they were very much not alike, but Ariana suspected this difference had more to do with gender than anything else. In other words, it wasn’t always Duran’s feet which guided him.
Duran loved women, and they loved him. He had been sent here to keep his sister safe—against her wishes but at the insistence of their parents. His two years here had been spent as more than a brother and a bodyguard. He was a fine sentinel. One of the best. His skills with a sword had improved greatly in his time in the palace. He was also very popular with the maids and laundresses, as well as one particular minister’s daughter who was not the perfect angel her father thought her to be.
Sian had insisted that the fewer who knew of the prophesy, the safer she’d be. Word could not reach those she’d be fighting against until she was ready. They could not be forewarned. Anyone who knew of the danger would be in great peril, as those dark forces that threatened Columbyana would not hesitate to do away with anyone who might rouse troops before they were ready to fight.
Ariana wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready, but the other argument, the one that put her carefree, life-loving brother in mortal danger, kept her silent. When the time came, he’d learn of the prophesy. Until then, he was better off not knowing anything at all.
She was surprised that he paid her a visit in her quarters, late in the evening. He often worked the evening shift, and if not, then he was always busy with one woman or another, or failing that, a game of cards.
No, she wouldn’t put an end to his carefree lifestyle until it was absolutely necessary.
He paced before her fireplace, obviously anxious. Duran did not wear his hair as long as many of the other sentinels, but preferred a shorter style. His dark curls didn’t even reach his shoulders. She’d always thought it terribly unfair that his hair was so much prettier and more manageable than her own.
Ariana sat in a comfortable chair near the fire and continued to sew while her brother paced and asked cordial questions. Had her day been a pleasant one? Had she been able to walk outdoors to enjoy the nice weather? What had she eaten for supper?
Duran never asked such questions.
Ariana stilled her hands and looked up, to find Duran glaring at her. It was also not fair that he was more beautiful than she was. Right now he looked fierce, but he was still beautiful. Was it possible that somehow he knew all her secrets?
“What do you really want?” she asked.
“I have heard rumors,” he said, his voice not as genial as it had been moments earlier.
Ariana’s heart hitched. “What sort of rumors?” Had someone overheard them speaking of the Prophesy of the Firstborn? Only she, the emperor, and Sian knew. At Sian’s insistence, it was a secret. For now.
“Today you spent a significant amount of time in the company of a stranger. A wizard, if what I heard was correct.”
“Oh.” Ariana returned to her sewing, relieved. The rumors that had her brother fuming were of the ordinary sort. “His name is Sian Chamblyn, so he’s not a stranger.”
Duran’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly were you doing in his company?”
The overprotective nature of the question was amusing and annoying at the same time. Ariana didn’t look up as she answered, “He’s tutoring me.”
“In what subject are you being tutored?” Duran asked, his teeth clenched.
Ariana put
her hands down once again and looked up. At this moment, Duran looked so very much like their father. She had seen this expression of ire and impatience—and yes, love—from Kane Varden more than once.
But Duran was not her father. “Sex, of course. Today’s lessons were quite ordinary, but I understand tomorrow we’re going to study the more deviant aspects of sexual relations. We have been told that in some segments of Level Three there remain a number of potentially pleasurable devices and instruction manuals that describe in great detail...”
Duran turned away from her and stalked toward the door. He mumbled under his breath, and she only made out one word clearly. “Kill.”
Ariana dropped her mending to the floor and leapt up, giving chase. She caught Duran by the shirt sleeve as he opened the door. Laughing, she said, “He’s teaching me magic, and nothing else.”
Duran turned his head and glared down at her. “Why?”
“Because he knows much of magic that I don’t, that’s why.” She reached past her brother, and pushed the door shut. “I promise you, I’m as pure and untouched as I was when Sian Chamblyn arrived here this morning.”
Duran leaned against the door and crossed his arms defiantly. His expression and the set of his tense neck spoke of withheld suspicions.
“I was only teasing you because I’m twenty-six years old and you have no business quizzing me as if I were still twelve and you were Poppy.”
“I am here to protect you,” he said in a low, serious voice.
“I do not need your protection,” she insisted. Not yet, in any case.
“Poppy will kill me if anything happens to you.”
“Unlikely. And if he were to try, Mama would stop him. Probably.”
Duran didn’t look as if he were inclined to engage in sibling banter at the moment.
“I’m fine, truly,” she said seriously. “You know how desperately I want to hone my skills. The enchanter who tutored me today will help me to reach my goals in that area of my life.”
“If he tries anything untoward—”
“I will alert you immediately so that you may administer proper punishment.”
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