shattered like brittle crystal.
She pulled her arm from Je’al’s hold, straightened her
shoulders and threw back her head. Damp, tangled hair slapped
and stung Kyne’s arm. The blaze burning in her blue eyes
promised she hadn’t finished with him.
Puzzled, Kyne watched her stomp out of the chamber. What
had happened to the gentle, frightened woman Katya had stolen
from DiSanti’s palace? The woman who worked tirelessly
healing the sick and injured and setting the castle to rights? The
virgin temptress who answered his passion kiss for kiss? Who
was this angry impostor?
“Rul Cathor?”
Je’al drew Kyne’s attention. The mystery of Sianna must
wait. There were other more important questions to be
answered.
“Prince Timon will support our move to unseat DiSanti.
For just a lad he has done what he can to undermine DiSanti’s
growing power.”
Kyne hid his smile. Je’al was only a few annum older than
the prince. “You forget he has been raised to some day rule.
Politics and intrigue were spoon-fed to him along with pabulum
in his cradle.”
Je’al coughed and weakly wiped the blood-flecked foam
from his swollen lips. Kyne’s inner amusement died before it
could flower. Pain, treachery and loss quickly killed childhood.
“Were you followed?”
“No. There are still those loyal to the Royal family. They
helped the prince secret me out of the dungeon. DiSanti was
told I died of my injuries. Before I left, Prince Timon learned
that DiSanti will come to the place you named to bargain for
the return of his daughter. He believes what you had me tell
him—that she was abducted by outlaws for ransom. Despite
his torture, I told him nothing else.”
Justifiable pride laced the lad’s words. Not many men
endured DiSanti’s methods of persuasion without breaking.
“He has agreed to the price, but he’ll not come alone,”
Je’al added.
“I never believed he would. DiSanti is no fool. However, it
will not matter. Alone or with a troop of men, he will fall into
our trap.” The anticipation of satisfaction flowed through Kyne.
Soon his blade would taste DiSanti’s blood.
“Does the prince understand what we will do? Does he
accept the risk?”
Je’al nodded. “Those loyal to the prince will do what they
can to protect him, but he knows his life along with that of his
family might be forfeit in the chaos that follows DiSanti’s death.”
“We will do everything to safeguard the prince and the
royal family. The lad is Dramon’s one hope of avoiding civil
war. With DiSanti gone, the populace will rally around Prince
Timon, and the Council will follow. Were you able to determine
who among the Council supports the prince?”
“No. DiSanti either bought them outright, killed them or
forced them into hiding. If any are loyal to the prince they are
not saying. The Prince’s support comes from the servants, the
palace guard, the ranks of the army and a few of the
commanders. With DiSanti dead, his rogue generals will fight
to maintain control, but will be like a sand worm without a head.
They will devour themselves.”
And any who get in their way. “I pray we’re right, or
we’ll be plunging Dramon into a bloody civil war.”
“Better to die fighting for our freedom than to die as
DiSanti’s slaves.”
Je’al’s heated protest did little to ease Kyne’s apprehension.
“DiSanti is a wily bastard. He’ll not be easily defeated. How
many will die to gain freedom for the rest?”
“As many as necessary,” Je’al declared.
***
In Kyne’s chamber, Sianna stripped off the damp and soiled
tunic. Exhaustion tugged at her. Each breath made her chest
ache.
Je’al would live. She’d told Kyne of Je’al’s broken ribs but
neglected to mention his punctured lung. Only her special touch
had saved the young man from drowning in his own blood.
Coughing, she wrapped her arms around her waist, leaned
forward and waited for her body to absorb the damage.
When would she learn to ration her talent? To give only
what was needed rather than trying to heal all?
Never. She couldn’t hold back. Though draining, when she
offered a healing touch she received more in return than she
bestowed—a satisfaction, a benediction. The Eternal One had
blessed her with a gift. One she must share. Despite the risk,
she couldn’t be miserly with it.
The coughing stopped and the ache faded as her body
returned to normal. Warda whined anxiously and nudged her
with his cold, wet nose. She shivered, suddenly aware she
crouched naked in the middle of the room.
“I’m fine,” she reassured the hound. “But,” she huffed
through the fabric of the clean blouse she pulled over her head,
“your master is a complete fool. He cannot see the truth about
me,” she complained as she tugged a fresh skirt over her hips
and slipped her feet into slippers.
She plopped down into a chair by the hearth. Heat from
the cheery fire eased some of the chill from her flesh as she
turned her attention to her tangled hair. The teeth of Kyne’s
comb snagged and yanked at the knotted mass. Tears sprang
into her eyes, but whether from pain or heartache Sianna couldn’t
say.
Warda laid his shaggy head in her lap. She fondled his ears
and asked, “What is the truth? I am my father’s daughter, but I
am not who Kyne believes me to be. By not telling him my
father has two daughters, I lied to Kyne. But I only did so to
protect Laila and myself. I didn’t know Kyne then as I do now.
Because I couldn’t read his emotions, I didn’t know what he
would do if he thought I wasn’t Laila. Now that I know he’s
incapable of hurting an innocent, I could reveal the truth and
know I’ll be safe.” Her hands stilled on Warda’s head.
“But what of Laila? What if he discovers her presence
here in the castle? Will he still think her guilty of Aubin’s murder?
Can I be certain of what Kyne will do? And what of the others?
Even if Kyne offers Laila pardon for her supposed crimes, will
his people allow the pardon to stand, or will they seek their own
justice against her?” The questions haunted Sianna.
As if offering comfort, Warda pressed against her leg.
“No. I cannot risk her nor the child I believe she carries
until I am assured of their safety. I must seek Laila out and
convince her to leave this place. Only then can I reveal myself
to Kyne. But your master will want some explanation for my...”
Heat rushed up her throat and into her face as memories crowded
her mind. “...being a virgin when he thought I...Laila...had lain
with Aubin.” She shoved away thoughts of Kyne’s hands and
lips touching her, stroking her, introducing her to the passion
between a man and a woman. “What do I tel
l him?”
“Yes, what do you tell me?”
Sianna gasped and looked up. How much had Kyne heard
of her conversation with Warda?
Legs spread, he stood in the open doorway, silhouetted in
the light spilling into the chamber from the hall. In her rush to
dress she had neglected to light any lamps, finding her way by
the glow of the fire.
“About what?” she managed to squeak.
“You tell me.” He stalked toward her.
Behind him the door closed with a thump. She winced at
the finality of the sound. Judgement was at hand.
On trembling legs she rose and moved behind the chair,
putting it between him and her, meager protection if he decided
to grab her. His tone told her nothing of his mood, and shadows
shaded his expression. Like his face, his emotions were hidden
from her. A sudden longing for the bond she’d felt with him
settled in her heart. Would she ever again know that sense of
completion?
Warda woofed a greeting and trotted over to Kyne.
“Traitor,” Sianna accused, then smiled as the hound wove
around Kyne’s legs and he stumbled.
He swore softly. “Lie down, Warda.”
With a grumbled growl, the hound found his corner and
settled into a shaggy ball, head buried beneath his tail. Sianna
watched and wished she could curl up away from the questions
she knew Kyne would ask. Questions she still had no idea how
to answer.
“Come here, Sianna.”
Kyne sat in the chair across from the one she sheltered
behind. Flickering flames cast his features into sharp relief, all
hard angles and dark shadows, but she still could gain no clue
as to what he might have heard. Had she revealed all?
“I’ll not hurt you.”
Regret laced Kyne’s voice, and in that instant his emotion
came clear to her. That she might fear him gave him pain.
Though he was a warrior, Kyne, like all people, desired to be
loved not feared.
Though frightened of his judgement, she knew he would
not raise his fists to her. She could not let him believe otherwise.
Kyne watched the flicker of emotions dance across
Sianna’s pale features: fear and misgiving, understanding then
compassion. In a rush she came to kneel at his side and rested
her head in his lap. Like a skein of tangled silk, dark hair spilled
down his legs, leaving her slender throat bare and vulnerable.
The warmth of her cheek against his thigh and her display of
trust sent a jolt of longing through him. He wanted to gather her
into his arms, soothe her fears, ignite her passion and his, but he
no longer had the right—if he ever had.
He wished her anger had remained. Anger he could counter.
Her gentle understanding near defeated him. He pushed her
away and stood.
“In a matter of days, your father will fall from power. He
will be captured, tried and found guilty of his crimes. My sword
will soon separate his head from his body.” He hardened his
heart and stared down at Sianna. “Will you stand at his side and
share his fate? Speak. Convince me of your innocence.”
She lowered her head, refusing to meet his glare. “I am
DiSanti’s daughter, but I am guilty of nothing else.”
Kyne knew he must pass judgement on the slender woman
at his feet. Could he do it? Condemn her to death? Lift his arm
and bring his sword down across her neck? His stomach lurched
at the thought.
What other choice did he have? She claimed to be DiSanti’s
daughter and as such shared at least a portion of his guilt.
“Aubin’s dying words were of the child he and his lover
might have conceived. But you came to me a virgin. Why would
Aubin lie? Did he love you so much he sought to protect you
from my vengeance even in the face of your betrayal?”
Sianna’s head shot up. “I did not betray your brother!”
Kyne grabbed her shoulders and yanked her to her feet.
“Liar! When I found him, Aubin still clutched a note from you
asking him to meet you at the Lyon’s Head tavern.” His fingers
dug into her flesh but, caught up in his memories, he didn’t ease
his grip when she flinched. “Your father’s men waylaid him in
the woods. Do you know what they did to him?” He punctuated
each word by shaking her.
Images flashed through Sianna’s mind. She felt his pain
and anguish. She saw what he saw that terrible day—Aubin
lying broken and bleeding in the mud. Tears streamed down
her cheeks as Kyne held his brother’s mutilated body in his
arms—her arms—and begged him not to die. She heard Aubin’s
pained whisper when he spoke of Laila’s betrayal and the child
she might carry.
She trembled with the intensity of Kyne’s memories—now
hers. But below them all she sensed something more, something
stronger than pain or guilt or fear or hate. Stronger even than
vengeance. An elusive something that drew her like a flower
draws a bee. A force that commanded her.
Staggered by the cruel reality of Aubin’s death, she felt
faint as she realized the depth of the connection Kyne had
forged with her. In this instant she bonded with Kyne beyond
what she had ever imagined possible. She became him.
“Give me a reason not to condemn you. Save yourself.
Save me.” His voice trailed off to a whisper, and he released
his hold on her shoulders.
As suddenly as it had come, the connection between them
ended. Pain left her limp. The bond went only one direction.
None of herself reached into Kyne’s ka. To him she remained
DiSanti’s daughter. He understood nothing. She sagged into
the chair and raised tear-filled eyes to Kyne. “I can’t.” I can’t
save myself at the cost of another.
But in saving Laila would she destroy Kyne? If he executed
her alongside her father, then learned the truth, guilt would shatter
his ka.
“So be it.” He turned away. “You seal your own fate.
Tomorrow we leave to meet your father.” He strode to the
door and left.
Warda’s warmth pressed against her knees. She buried
her face in his fur and sobbed. She cried for Kyne. For Aubin.
For Laila. For the suffering caused by her father’s lust for
power. For lives wasted and lost. For the stillbirth of Kyne’s
love for her. For her hopeless love for Kyne.
When her tears ended she rose on shaking legs and went
looking for her sister.
An hour later, Sianna found Laila in the stable.
Dressed in a clean blouse and trousers, her cropped, dark
hair and skin freshly scrubbed, Laila’s tall thin frame looked
more like a lad’s than a woman’s quick with child. Only the full
jut of her breasts beneath the thin material and the roundness
below her waist hinted at her condition. Brow furrowed in
concentration, she rhythmically stroked a brush over her quinar’s
already sleek coat. Eyes shut, the beast nearly purred with
contentment, his massive head resting co
ntentedly on Laila’s
shoulder.
Sianna stepped forward, intent on talking with her elusive
sister. “Laila.”
Laila whirled around. The brush dropped from her hand,
and a knife flashed in front of Sianna’s eyes. “By the moons,
woman. Don’t you know enough not to sneak up on a person?”
She relaxed her battle stance, and the knife disappeared into
whatever hiding place she’d retrieved it from. “And my name
is Lisha.” She turned back to the quinar and soothed its agitated
prancing.
Sianna swallowed her sudden fear of this near stranger
and approached. “I must speak with you. It is not safe for you
here. Rul Cathor has become suspicious of my identity. If he
discovers our father has two daughters, he will begin to hunt
for you. In his eyes you bear equal guilt with our father for
Aubin’s murder. Think of the child you carry.”
Laila gave a harsh laugh. “Believe me, I think of little else.”
“Then you do carry Aubin’s child?”
“Yes, and as long as our father lives, no one is safe in
Dramon, especially not my child. Given half a chance DiSanti
would rip the babe from my belly. Where better for me to hide
from him than in the lair of his most feared enemy? Tell me,
little sister, what has roused the good Rul’s suspicion?”
Heat rushed into Sianna’s cheeks as Laila stared at her. “I
know not,” she stuttered.
“You are a poor liar. No wonder Rul Cathor doubts your
identity. Or have you given him other proof you were not his
brother’s lover? Hmmm?”
“I...I....” At Sianna’s renewed blush and stammer, Laila
grinned.
“It matters not. On the morrow, Cathor and his men ride
out to meet DiSanti. I ride with them.”
“Are you mad? You cannot! There may be fighting. You
might be injured.”
“Perhaps. It matters not. Cathor intends to take DiSanti
prisoner. The fool believes in justice and would try our father
for his crimes before executing him. I will kill him and save
Cathor the wear on his blade.”
Like hot lava spewing from a long dormant volcano, Laila’s
hatred drenched Sianna in fiery agony. She staggered against
the burst of raw emotion, the blood bond between them
intensifying the connection in a way Sianna would not have
Crystal Moon Page 19
