Crystal Moon

by Elysa Hendricks

  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