“Stop calling me that!” Ariana snapped. “It’s ridiculous,” she added in a lowered voice.
Lyr mounted a new, fresher horse than the one he’d been riding since setting out to recover the crystal dagger, and he spared Rayne one last look. As he did, the stone he now wore seemed to come alive as the crystal dagger did, pounding against his chest as if it had a heartbeat all its own.
Chapter Fifteen
If Lyr had had the freedom to plan this mission without interference, there would be two travelers, not six. Interference was apparently his cousin’s new middle name, and General Merin was not much better. As ardently as Ariana refused to remain behind, Merin refused to allow the empress to travel without a proper escort.
When it came time to approach the palace, Lyr would be in charge. There was no room for error in his plan, no room for interference.
If he’d been concerned only with the well-being of the soldiers, they would have ridden through without stopping. The horses, however, deserved better.
At one of their infrequent but necessary stops, his cousin approached. “I should’ve known that when you fell, you would fall hard.”
“I don’t fall,” Lyr responded without emotion. “Ever.”
“Sure you don’t.”
Ariana needed to have her mind taken off what was happening to her husband as they rushed toward his rescue, but Lyr didn’t think anything would accomplish that. If Rayne had been in Ciro’s hands...
“Maybe I’ve fallen a little,” he said. “Maybe not. It is hard to tell with everything else that’s going on. When Ciro is dead and Sian is emperor and you’re in the palace planning parties and I’m back in Tryfyn...”
“I am not going to spend the rest of my life planning parties. Mum and Aunt Isadora and Aunt Juliet will find Liane and Sebestyen’s sons, and when the war is over, Sian and I will go to his home, a very nice, quiet, isolated house where we can have babies and sleep without constant guard and know peace and... and...”
“And what?” Lyr prompted. “This is my point exactly. Since I’ve known Rayne, we’ve been running from one threat to another. If I’m able to kill Ciro...”
“When,” Ariana said sharply. “When you kill Ciro.”
“Fine. When I kill Ciro, then what? Would Rayne and I have anything at all to talk about if we lived in a world where every day was like the next, where there was no danger, no prophesy to fulfill? If I had met her in the king’s court, would I have looked at her twice? Would she have looked at me?”
“You’re such a man,” Ariana said with a sigh. It sounded oddly like an insult. “Why don’t you just say what you mean?”
“I don’t know what I mean.”
“Of course you don’t.” Tonlin was leading the horses this way and Ariana headed toward them, ready to begin the journey again. The young soldier offered Ariana her horse with a softly spoken,
“Your mount, sister.”
And she took it.
“You want to know if Rayne will love you if you’re not the only thing standing between her and a demon. You want to know if you’ll still love her if she’s not your damsel in distress. You want to know if the sex will be as fantastic if you don’t think every day might be your last.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not exactly what I meant,” Lyr grumbled.
Ariana stepped into her saddle with the ease of a woman who was accustomed to spending her days on horseback. “I think it is, and I also think there’s only one way to find out.” She waited while Lyr took his own saddle before finishing. “Kill the son of a bitch who’s got my husband.” With that, she turned her horse about and galloped toward the palace.
***
Ciro stood back and studied his bastard half brother with some amusement. Sian Sayre Chamblyn had not been treated well by the soldiers who had spirited him from his bed in the midst of the army which opposed them. They’d had the help of some magic, of course, the demon’s dark magic. He imagined the armies of his Own were in a tizzy over the bold success. Such success would give them hope, and given their losses of late, they needed that hope.
If he’d had the strength to do so, he would’ve had his Own take them all. The witch, the queen, the soldiers... all who dared to defy him. As the demon was not as strong as it should be, Ciro was forced to simplify his efforts. First he would remove the threat to his newly taken position, then he would worry about the others. Their time would come, and it would come in his way, in his time.
The trip from the enemy camp to this palace had taken two days, and Ciro’s Own had taken some of their anger and frenzy out on the man whom some would call the rightful emperor. Chamblyn’s face was cut on one cheek, and there were numerous bruises beneath the black shirt and trousers he wore. Ciro could not see all the bruises, but he felt them with his own surge of frenzy.
Chamblyn was on his knees, bound hand and foot, in this small room which had once been a chamber for a lowly servant. It had also been the last room the late Emperor Arik called home.
“I understand your mother fucked my father some years ago.”
Chamblyn remained calm. “So it would seem.”
“When I was younger, I often wished for a brother,” Ciro said thoughtfully. “Would you have been a good one?”
The wizard lifted his head and looked up with a touch of defiance. “Likely not,” he responded with an unexpected arrogance.
Ciro stepped forward and let his hand fly. The back of his hand connected soundly with the wizard’s cheek, sending the head snapping to one side and making the wizard gasp. While Chamblyn regained his breath, Ciro dropped to his haunches so they were face to face. In truth, they did not look like brothers. Ciro had his mother’s fair coloring and blue eyes. Chamblyn was dark-haired and possessed unusual purple eyes. Ciro considered himself to be rather pretty. His half brother had a face of sharp lines, and a nose which was anything but pretty.
Since taking a turn a while back, Chamblyn’s soul had become too white to take, too pure for Ciro to steal. He grew stronger every day, and yet he was not yet all he could be. One day, one day soon...
That didn’t mean he couldn’t kill his bastard brother but it seemed a waste—especially since their father’s soul had been lost. It wasn’t as if the wizard would be going anywhere.
It would’ve been easy enough to have Chamblyn killed while he slept among Ariana’s soldiers and thus end the possibility that some would view him as the rightful emperor. Ciro had considered that route at one point, but when he looked at the larger arena in which this war was being played, he saw advantage to holding the man alive—for a while. There were those who would rush foolishly forward in order to save Chamblyn, and that would be their undoing.
He most particularly wanted the blond healer who had cheated death once before, but now was not the time. When he was stronger and she was weakened by the loss of her enchanter. When he had the upper hand and she was not surrounded by men who would die for her. When he was certain he could kill her and she would not come back from the dead to harass him—then he would kill her again.
Ciro placed his hand on Chamblyn’s throat and squeezed. Just because he had decided not to kill his brother just yet, that didn’t mean the fear of death wouldn’t feed him. Chamblyn didn’t have to know that his death was not at hand. Ciro watched the purple eyes grow dark and defiant, and finally frightened. His hand squeezed tighter, and as it did an object smacked into his back. He glanced down to see a broken decorative vase lying on the floor beside him.
“Is that it? Is that how you defend yourself?” A heavy candlestick flew end over end and hit the back of Ciro’s head, drawing a tiny bit of blood in his fair hair. The blow might’ve hurt another man badly, but not Ciro. “Too bad we’re not near the kitchen. You could pelt me with pots and pans and perhaps a plate or two.” He did not ease his grip until it appeared that his brother was about to lose consciousness. There was no amusement in studying an unconscious man while awaiting him to awake, so Ciro dropped his
hand.
Before he could do more, there was a cursory knock at the door. The door opened swiftly. A dark and ambitious priest, Cestmyr he was called, filled the doorway.
“You have a visitor,” Father Cestmyr said petulantly. He was obviously annoyed at the menial task he’d been assigned. He did not consider himself a lowly messenger.
“A visitor?”
“A woman. She says she is to be your bride.” At this, Cestmyr pursed his lips. The fat priest didn’t care much for women.
Ciro rose to his feet, the man kneeling before him forgotten. “Rayne? Rayne is here?”
“You sound like a smitten boy when you say her name,” Cestmyr said boldly. “That sad infatuation is not befitting the powerful man I know you to be.”
Ciro glared at the priest, who with those censuring words put himself in danger of losing his place of importance, and his very life.
Realizing he had gone too far, Cestmyr added. “Yes, she gave her name as Rayne.” The priest pointed toward the window. “She waits below.”
“She came alone?”
“No, she arrived with one escort, a young green-clad soldier of Merin’s army. The solider insisted that if he delivers your bride to you, you must release his sister’s husband, the rightful emperor of Columbyana.”
Ciro had no intention of releasing his half-brother, but he was determined to have Rayne with him, where she belonged. He strode to the window and looked down upon the walkway below. He could not see her well, not from this vantage point, but he recognized the dress Rayne wore as one she’d often chosen for cooler days at her father’s house, though the blue had faded and the fabric was the worse for wear after days of travel. The fall of hair beneath a ridiculous hat was tangled, but unmistakably hers. He had dreamed of that dark silky hair spread across his pillow. Even though she had betrayed him, he continued to dream.
He shouted her name, and Rayne’s head tilted back a little. With the sun positioned as it was, her wide-brimmed hat shadowed the top half of her face. A wrap she’d tossed over her shoulders crept up and covered a portion of her lower face, so that all he could see of her was one perfectly shaped feminine cheek.
All he could see of her soon-to-be-dead escort was a sentinel’s green hat.
“Let them in,” Ciro said. “Bring them to me so we can make the trade they seek.”
“You’re not seriously—” Cestmyr began.
Ciro turned to glare at him. “Do as you’re told, or I’ll suck your pitiful soul out of that pathetic body and then spit it out the window for the wild dogs to claim.”
“Fine,” the priest snapped, turning to leave the room as quickly as possible. He wanted to slam the door behind him, but in the end he did not.
“I have a feeling you’re not going to let me go,” his half-brother said, his voice raspy and accepting.
“A man should always trust his gut instincts, eh?” Ciro responded.
It had to hurt to speak, but the wizard continued. “Tell me, before I die, is there anything of Prince Ciro left inside you or are you entirely Isen Demon now?”
That was a question Ciro had often asked himself, and he assumed that as long as he thought to ask, some of the man he had once been survived. “Why do you care?”
“As long as there is something of the man within you, perhaps there is a chance the world will go on. It doesn’t need me to survive, it doesn’t need any one person, but when the demon who possesses you is all-powerful, what will be left for the humans?”
“He’ll need... we’ll need some of them in order for life to go on.” Slaves for menial tasks, women for breeding, gray souls and blood for sustenance.
“Some,” Chamblyn repeated.
“Yes, some.” No soldiers, no magicians who did not do his bidding, no priests who did not know their rightful places at his feet, no children who were not his own.
“Does the little bit of the man inside you grieve for the world you’re about to destroy?” Chamblyn asked. “Do you know any sorrow for what might’ve been?”
The question caused an unpleasant ripple in Ciro’s stomach. “If your soul was not so annoyingly white, I would take it now.”
“When you are strong enough to take a white soul there will be nothing left of you. There will be only demon. Did he not tell you that yet? Did he not inform you that in a short while you will no longer be necessary? He needs your body, but that is all.”
“I look forward to the day when I am entirely demon.”
Chamblyn smiled, crookedly since his face was swollen. “When you are entirely demon, fuckwit, there will be nothing of you left.”
Don’t listen to him. He’s dead to us.
Ciro stepped toward the oddly defiant man who was bound and bleeding and bruised and who continued to annoy him. He raised his hand to strike, but the sounds of footsteps in the hall stopped him. He hadn’t seen Rayne in months, and he did not wish her to see him with blood on his hands. Not right away. She might not understand. In time she would be made to pay for her unfaithfulness, but not today.
The door opened, and a sentinel dressed in green stepped inside, his sword drawn as if he thought it might do him some good. Behind the soldier, the familiar swish of a skirt made Ciro smile. He’d waited so long for her, his reward, his bride.
“We will not proceed until I have ascertained that the Emperor Sian is well.”
Ciro gave an uninterested wave of his hand, indicating the bound man. “See for yourself.”
The sentinel walked crisply toward Chamblyn. It would be easy to kill the annoyance now, but Ciro had decided not to offer his delicate Rayne an unsavory welcome. There would be plenty of time for taking care of Chamblyn and the sentinel later.
The soldier placed a concerned hand on his emperor’s head, and Rayne took a step into the room. She entered with her head down so that all he saw was that fall of wondrous dark hair.
His heart, what was left of it, was not unaffected by her presence. As long as he felt that swelling in his heart, there was something of him left in this body he shared with the demon. He did not have to sacrifice all to the Isen Demon who had given him so much. They could share this body, this power, and this woman.
“Rayne, my love,” he said wistfully as she entered the room.
***
With his hand on Sian’s shoulder, Lyr waved his sword and time for all others stopped. Because he was touching Ariana’s husband, Sian was not affected.
Sian lifted his face and glared. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Listen carefully, as I do not know how long my gift will affect one like Ciro. Your wife is about to enter the room. He expects Rayne, and we are hoping that you can make him believe he sees his intended bride.”
“You want me to make Ariana appear to be someone else to Ciro’s eyes?”
“No, I want you to make me appear to be Rayne to Ciro’s damned eyes so I can get close enough to kill him with this.” Lyr drew the crystal dagger. It was no longer a murky gray and pink, but was brilliantly clear. It vibrated in his hand.
“Stab him now,” Sian directed. “While he’s frozen in time, stab him.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“This weapon I am meant to wield will not work properly unless Ciro’s heart is beating.”
“How does it work?”
They both knew the blade was too short and insignificant to do harm to what Ciro had become. “I’m not sure. Can you do what I ask of you?” The man was not in the best physical shape, so it was possible his ability to create illusions had been damaged.
Sian nodded. “Yes, I think so.”
“She should appear to be me, I should appear to be Rayne.”
“I have never seen Rayne.”
“Ciro has. You must make him see what he wishes to see.”
“I’ll do what I can, but don’t take too long. You’re asking for a complicated illusion in difficult circumstances, and I’m not sure the demon can be fooled. He does not see only
with eyes, as we do.”
“Maybe when he’s watching through Ciro’s eyes, he sees only what Ciro sees.”
“We can hope.”
When Lyr took his hand from Sian, the emperor was stuck in time as the others were. Lyr collected Ariana, who wore Rayne’s clothes as well as a woman’s bonnet which had long strands of hair cut from Rayne’s head sewn into it. She was heavy, but not so much so that he could not handle her quickly. He carefully placed Ariana where he’d been standing.
Lyr placed himself in Ariana’s position, barely entering the room, and after taking a deep breath and hiding the crystal dagger behind his thigh, he waved his hand and time resumed.
***
His vision seemed to flicker, causing Ciro to blink hard a few times. Was seeing Rayne again so important that the sight of her affected him physically? In any case, the odd glimmer did not last.
Ciro had forgotten how beautiful Rayne was until she lifted her head and looked at him. He smiled at her, but she did not smile back. There was a sternness on her beautiful face. Of course, he had left her chained in the cellar of her home, and she might not have understood why he hadn’t simply brought her with him. She had not yet forgiven him, but she was here now and that’s all that mattered.
She wore a blue gemstone he had never seen her wear before, and it caught his eye as she moved toward him.
Something is wrong.
No, everything is fine. Rayne is angry, but she’ll get over it in time. She’ll forgive me. She’ll forgive us. Perhaps I will forgive her, for a while. We can be married tomorrow. Perhaps tonight.
She is not what she appears to be.
I know that well. There is strength in her that is not noticeable at first glance. She’ll make a good mother to our son.
Rayne approached him quickly, not so much as sparing a glance for the prisoner and the sentinel on the other side of the room. Ciro spared no attention for them, either, but kept his eyes on Rayne’s face.
The demon, who usually rose, up only in times of great stress, attempted to come to the surface and take control, but for the first time in a very long time, Ciro fought. He fought for control, for what little was left of himself.
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