“Why does Lord Ragget want the gates to Chondalt’s realm opened?”
The wizard chuckled. “You know I can’t tell you that. It wouldn’t be . . . fair.”
Neko Blood snorted. “I never took you to be a stickler for rules.”
“Point taken.”
“Doesn’t that earn me another favor?”
Stephano Di Rygazzo cocked his head to one side. “Perhaps, but don’t press me too hard. My generosity has its limits.”
Neko Blood raised her hands palms extended and patted the air. “Fine, fine. Keep Lord Ragget’s little secret. I’m sure I’ll find it out soon enough.”
“Let me guess. You have a well-placed spy inside his household?”
She only answered him with a smile.
chapter 11
Amarias stood in the shadows near the castle’s front door and waited for Lord Ragget to emerge. Night had fallen while he’d waited, and a cooling breeze now swept across the crescent-shaped bay and blew inland. Normally, such a wind would carry the distinct smell of the sea, but tonight, it smelled of smoke. Little Ryerton was still burning. Bright orange flames danced unchecked in that district. The rioting had not stopped. In fact, since Ian Weatherall’s conviction hours earlier, the violence and destruction had only spread. Many Gyunwarians would die this night. More would die when the sun rose and any who fled toward the border would over the next few days be chased down, rounded up and killed.
Lord Ragget had even sent men down into the catacombs below the city to wipe out the Gyunwarian homeless living in the sewers. The bodies of those killed would likely start showing up along the shores of the Annachie River by week’s end. A clean-up crew would gather the dead and turn them over to the workmen at the Factory.
The cleansing of Belyne had begun. The scouring of Yordic would soon follow.
And then, if Lord Ragget was correct, and he often was, there would be war.
Amarias ground his meaty hands together. He was eager to see some action. Sure, the manufactured warriors would stand in the front lines, but he felt confident he’d finally get his sword bloody.
Lord Ragget stalked out of the castle and across the torch-lit courtyard toward his waiting carriage. Amarias easily fell in beside him.
“M’lord.”
“You have news?”
“Yes, M’lord.”
“Is it urgent?”
“I think it is.”
Ragget climbed into his carriage. “Then by all means, spit it out.”
Amarias settled into the seat opposite Ragget. “I overheard two of Ian’s friends plotting his rescue.”
“Ian’s friends are all locked up in the royal dungeon,” Ragget declared. “They will stand trial after Ian’s midday execution. By this time tomorrow, they will all be dead.”
Amarias shook his head. “No, M’lord. Lady Kindacaid and Lord Roth.”
Ragget frowned. “Go on.”
As the carriage rolled through the high streets of Belyne, Amarias revealed the conversation he had overheard outside the courtroom.
“I was going to tell you immediately,” Amarias continued once he was finished, “but you were occupied first with Lady Cecily and then you disappeared into the dungeons with the robed wizard.”
Ragget smiled. “You have done well, as usual, Amarias. But I wouldn’t worry about Lord Roth.”
“Why not, M’lord?”
“Because he believes Ian is responsible for his wife’s death.”
“How?”
“Gylfalen has been sending him wind messages for months, pretending to be his wife’s ghost. Most recently, those messages have revealed Ian as the culprit. And once Ian is dead, and we have no more use for the fat lord, Gylfalen is going to reveal the truth to him . . .” Ragget chuckled. “. . . I think that will be just the thing to push him completely over the edge, don’t you?”
Amarias nodded. He marveled at Lord Ragget’s attention to detail. He always seemed a step or two ahead of his competition. And his long-ranged plans were equally impressive. Somehow, he had coordinated the take-over of Scylthia, and the procurement of Stephano Di Rygazzo from Bel’yowlye, and the financial destruction of Lord Ian’s friends, and the training of the Loyalists, and the alliance with Euclacia to advance their war across the sea, all with his wooing of Princess Cecily. And now, he was bedding her . . . mating with her often . . . to produce a new Yordician heir.
Lord Ragget wasn’t even leaving the eventual outcome of that to chance. He needed a son. To increase the likelihood of having a boy child, five other Yordician, all women who looked a lot like Princess Cecily, were being held in Lord Ragget’s Central Tower and he was breeding with them too. Frequently.
Only one healthy boy was needed. The rest would be eliminated. Amarias knew that task would fall to him when the time came, and while he did not relish killing newborn babies, he wanted to please his master. Lord Ragget rewarded him for his good work with gemstones.
And Bolodenko rewarded him by making sure his family was financially secure. His elderly parents and his crippled older sister had been living in a small estate along the Yordician coast a day’s ride north of Belyne ever since he’d become a spy for the moneylender and a stable boy for Lord Ragget. People just assumed some long-forgotten relative had left his family a comfortable inheritance.
“Amarias, are you listening to me?”
Amarias blinked away his thoughts and focused on Lord Ragget’s face. “I beg your pardon . . .”
“The door?” Lord Ragget looked at him expectantly. “We’re home.”
Amarias climbed out of the coach and held the door open for Lord Ragget. His master swept down and into his estate where he was met by his manservant.
“Where’s the Princess?”
“In your room, M’lord.”
Lord Ragget turned back to Amarias. “I need to visit the Tower and seed Number Four. Tell the Princess I’ll see her in an hour. She should be awake, on her back, legs spread and ready for my arrival.”
“Yes, M’lord.”
Lord Ragget pulled out a couple of small colored stones. A sapphire and an emerald. “For all your continued hard work.”
“Thank you, M’lord.”
Lord Ragget left. Amarias looked down at the two tiny stones lying in the palm of his overly large hand. A very small voice in the back of his head told him he should throw them away. Look at what they had done already! He was freakishly large and yet, the ever-present question which haunted him now and every day since he’d swallowed his first stone was: how much bigger could he get?
He ignored the voice and popped the stones in his mouth, dry-swallowed them and headed upstairs to find the Princess. The shuddering rush of power surged through him while he was still on the stairs just a few steps away from the top. He gripped the handrail as his muscles strained against his skin. Everything felt so tight! He closed his eyes and waited for the alteration to stop.
For a second, he was soaring high over a jungle. He felt the rush of wind on his face. He inhaled deeply. Lush humid air filled his mighty lungs. He banked and saw a single mountain dead ahead. Its peak jabbed spear like toward the sky. Home.
The peak suddenly swelled as if something much larger than the mountain was inside it and wanted out. And then, the top of the mountain erupted. A great mushroom cloud of ash and fire and smoke belched forth and surged toward the heavens. His home was gone. Lost forever. Blackness engulfed him.
Amarias opened his eyes. Cecily was staring up at him. She was dressed in a simple white gown. Her blonde hair cascaded down across her shoulders. Her petite hand rested on his massive forearm.
“Are you ill?”
He opened his mouth to speak, to give her Lord Ragget’s message, but the words wouldn’t come. He blushed. His heart raced. For so long, he had loved her from afar . . . and then he had seen her with Lord Ragget. He had watched the two of them make love. She had seen him too, standing silently in the shadows behind the half-open door and she hadn’t
said a word. She’d just stared back at him while she’d had an orgasm. Over and over again.
He wrapped an arm around her slender waist and pulled her close. She didn’t fight him. She didn’t push him away. Her head tilted back. Her eyes partially closed. She smelled of something rich and spicy. He bent closer. The vein in her neck pulsed. Still she didn’t say no.
Their lips met. He’d dreamt about this moment for years. Wondered how soft her lips would be, how gentle her kiss, how she’d taste.
Her mouth opened, her tongue shot out and darted into his. Before he could think to kiss it, or suck on it, it slipped out again, and her teeth had captured his bottom lip. Her hands went to his trousers, her fingers dexterously undid his belt and she tugged them down. He sprung free, huge, swollen and hard and she let go of his lip long enough to look down and gasp.
“Good gods!” she breathed.
“Cecily-” he began.
She mashed her lips against his, hiked up her gown and wrapped an arm around his thick neck. With her free hand, she guided him between her legs and once she had nudged him into place, she hauled herself up, pressed herself tight against his chest and with a long groan she lowered herself down onto him slowly.
Amarias almost fainted right there on the stairs. Moments before, she had only been a fantasy, and now, his fantasy was gradually impaling herself on him. His brain functioned for only a few seconds more, a host of loosely constructed unanswered questions mixed briefly with something he thought he should have told her and then an animalistic instinct took over and his hands gripped her bottom and his hips started thrusting.
She came almost at once. Her ragged breath hard and fast against his cheek. Her long fingernails dug into the back of his neck. She tossed her head from side to side and ground against him, hips gyrating.
“Again,” she growled.
Her legs tightened around his waist. She pressed her forehead against his. Her green eyes bore into him as he bore into her. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer. He wanted to, but he was young and eager to let everything loose.
He felt himself swell. Knew it was almost time. Her eyes widened. She knew too. He felt a hard clench followed by a quick release. Clench and release. Gods, what was she doing to him! He grunted. His pace quickened. Grunted again and drove all the way inside her and held her there, held her as she convulsed, and he came, and she milked him dry.
Amarias’s great strength emptied out the tip of his cock. His legs suddenly felt weak. His knees wobbled. He needed to sit down. Shuffling as much as he could with his trousers half down, he spun the two of them around until he could sag backwards onto the stairs. She was still straddling him. Still holding him. Still looking into his eyes.
He blushed.
“I’m surprised you have enough blood to do that,” Cecily teased.
His face burned brighter which only made her giggle.
“What now?” he muttered.
“That depends,” Cecily said.
“On what?”
“When is Devin coming to bed?”
Amarias felt himself soften. “He . . . uh . . . he said he’d . . . uh . . . be along in about an hour and he . . . he wants to find you in bed, naked, and waiting for him.”
“I’m sure he does.” Cecily gave a little wiggle and frowned. “Hmmm. It’s starting to feel like we won’t be able to go again before he gets back.”
Amarias blinked. “I . . . uh . . .”
Cecily stood up and adjusted her gown. “Don’t worry. It’s fine. I was just curious what you had down there.”
“I thought . . .”
“What?” Cecily offered him a simple smile, like the kind she used to reward him with back when he was her fawning stable boy. “You’d split me in half with that log of yours and I’d suddenly fall madly in love with you. Is that what you thought, Amarias?”
His cheeks were on fire. “Never mind,” he grumbled. He yanked up his trousers.
“Oh, don’t be like that,” Cecily said. “This was fun. And if you can keep a secret, I might just let you do it again.”
Amarias fled down the stairs. Behind him, he heard Cecily laugh.
He ran outside and stared up at the stars. The cool breeze brushed against his warm cheeks.
He felt like such a fool . . .
And yet . . . a part of him knew if she asked him to, he’d play the fool again.
Dammit! He should know better.
Juggling two masters was bad enough. Trying to satisfy a third was just plain bad.
If he weren’t careful, he’d wind up dead.
chapter 12
Very quickly, Josephine came to several conclusions. First, the real Edgar was either dead or in desperate need of her help. Second, Lord Ian was probably not being rescued, and if he was, he was being rescued by a man . . . a woman . . . a person who did not have his best interest at heart. And third, staying in this room for much longer was most likely not good for her health.
She climbed nonchalantly out of bed. A couple of the lanterns around the room had flickered to life when the sun had set, just enough to keep the darkest shadows at bay. Trago and Como hadn’t moved from their posts.
She grabbed her backpack and set it on the edge of the bed. She stowed the book and made a show of looking for something else. She shifted a few things around and then looked around the room. Nope, she hadn’t forgotten anything.
“Did you take it?”
She slung the pack over her left shoulder and spun to face Trago. The stone-faced man said nothing.
She swung her gaze over to Como. “Or did you?”
He said nothing.
“One of you must have taken it and I want it back . . .” Her right hand dropped to her side. In one graceful motion, she drew her crossbow and while still looking at Como she fired at Trago. The bolt punched into his broad chest and knocked him backwards into the door. Como started toward her, but Josephine was quicker. She drilled him in the neck before he had taken two steps. “Now.” She finished.
Much to her surprise, the stone-faced men weren’t done. They weren’t even bleeding. She backed up toward the bed as she pulled the trigger again and again as fast as she could. Half a dozen bolts protruded from each of their chests and still they came on. Walking. Calm and easy.
Josephine jumped onto the bed. Trago went one way. Como the other. The buzzing in her head became a high-pitched whine. She feigned toward Trago, spun and kicked Como in the face and immediately regretted it.
The stone mask was an unforgiving target.
Trago reached across the bed and snagged her left arm. She struggled to free herself, but his grip was unbreakable. He dragged her close and threw her on the floor. She rolled over and fired pointblank at his gut. The bolt disappeared inside him and he did little more than flinch.
Josephine rolled away from a kick, leapt to her feet and found herself face-to-face with Como. His smirk seemed fitting now. A big heavy fist flew in toward her face. She dodged it right and caught the blow on her shoulder, was spun around and knocked into a table. Dishes scattered, broke. She found her balance in time to catch Como’s boot in her midsection. Her stomach exploded with pain as she folded in half and flew backwards across the room. Slammed into a wall. A lantern fell beside her. Fire latched onto the carpet. Josephine jerked away from the flames. Como and Trago stood a few feet away. They didn’t come closer. She couldn’t see their eyes, but their stone-faces weren’t turned toward her.
They were watching the fire.
Afraid or in awe?
The ear-splitting whine wound even higher. She leveled the crossbow and focused her attention on the tip of the bolt. It glowed orange like when she’d faced the water mage back at the Factory.
She pulled the trigger. Trago absorbed the bolt with barely a flinch, only this time, after a moment, his stone-face lowered. His hands flew to his gut.
He erupted in flames. Never had his grimace looked so real. As he burned, Como took a step back. Then another. His ha
nds rose in front of him. Palms out. Surrender?
Josephine turned the crossbow on him. The new bolt’s tip glowed orange. “You did show my father a measure of kindness,” she said, her voice a hard growl. “But only after you beat him.”
She pulled the trigger. Como went up like dry kindling too.
Josephine felt a measure of satisfaction as she watched the two stone-faced men burn, but it didn’t last long. The fire was spreading. Quickly. Soon the entire room would be aflame. Perhaps even the entire floor.
“FIRE!” she screamed. “FIRE!”
She sheathed her crossbow and shouldered her pack, but her way out was already blocked. Trago had fallen over and was burning merrily in front of the door. Como was staggering toward the balcony. Even in the throes of dying, they still tried to follow orders!
Josephine raced past Como and slipped outside. Across the street, the courthouse stood bathed in light. “FIRE!” she screamed again.
Como came through the door after her. Josephine climbed onto the railing. Without a running start, there was no way she’d make it across to the courthouse roof!
She ran the length of the railing instead and at the edge, leapt toward the adjacent room’s balcony. She sailed through the air, landed, rolled and came up on her feet. Looked back. Como stood at the railing, burning. An arm fell off. He picked it up and hurled it at her.
She backed away. The burning limb landed at her feet and broke apart. Fire spread. Josephine danced around it and tried the balcony door. It was locked from inside. She beat on it. “FIRE!”
No answer. She ran to the opposite side. There were no more balconies. She was at the corner end of the hotel. The fire hungrily devoured the wooden beams. The boards beneath her began to groan. Smoke billowed out of her room.
She went to the rail and looked down. The balcony beneath her was smaller. If she dropped straight down, she’d never grab it as she fell past.
Josephine glanced up toward the roof. It was a relatively short climb, made of brick and stone. She tore into her pack and pulled on the climbing gloves her father had made for her.
Stolen Crown Page 6
