Bride by Command (10 page)

She wrinkled her nose, but seemed to accept the order and the promise.

“Blasted emperor,” she said again. “It’s quite obvious that I need you more than he does. What kind of emperor is he, anyway? A poor one, if you ask me.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Morgana pursed her lips. “Arik fought for his throne. He earned it with blood and chivalry. Emperor Jahn simply walked into the palace and took his seat. He fought for nothing.”

Jahn was taken aback. Was this what people thought of him? Did others think him worthless and undeserving? “He was a soldier in the war against Ciro.”

“As were many others,” Morgana replied. “What did he do that was so special that he was made emperor, except to have the luck to call an old, incompetent emperor father?”

“Many people think he’s a fine man.”

Morgana snorted and wrinkled her nose.

“We will continue this discussion later.” Jahn left the room, closing the door solidly behind him. He waited in the hallway until he heard the latch fall into place. Morgana was locked inside.

He bounded down the stairs, strangely content even though Morgana had just called him a poor emperor. One of the sentinels on guard, the lanky Sorayo, met his emperor at the foot of the stairs. Jahn barely slowed down. “When she leaves, follow her. Do not allow her to see you, but keep her safe.”

“You seem certain that she will leave,” the sentinel said as he trailed Jahn to the door.

Jahn smiled. “Of course she will. I told her not to.”

 

 

DANYA
wondered how much the deputy minister of magic had heard before he’d bloodied Ennis’s nose and issued his ultimatum. If he knew that this potential empress was not an innocent maid, if he knew that she had given birth to a child who had not lived, then he did not reveal his knowledge in his words or his actions.

Of course, he uttered few words, and his actions consisted of staying away from her and riding straight toward Arthes and the palace.

Danya wanted to be situated in that palace as soon as possible. She wanted to make herself at home, study the palace and its residents, and make herself a part of life there so that the emperor would choose her when the time came. She would be pretty and agreeable. She would be the perfect empress.

And she would never go home. She would never again sit across the table from the man who had stolen her innocence and broken her heart.

When they stopped at midday, Danya handed her horse over to a sentinel who would care for it while she rested, and she walked toward a narrow stream which ran nearby. Her steps were slow and easy as she stretched her limbs and reacquainted herself with solid ground. She liked to ride, truly she did, but she had never been in the saddle for such long hours.

No pain was too sharp to keep her from reaching Arthes as quickly as possible. When her mother had suggested sending an elderly nurse along as chaperone, Danya had first balked and then refused. Instead of the nurse, her only chaperone was a young lady’s maid, Fai, who rode at least as well as Danya. It was a further blessing that the maid was quiet and shy, so Danya did not feel compelled to carry on endless conversation during the travels. That maid, three sentinels, the deputy minister, and Danya herself made up their traveling party.

Taking care with the skirt of her riding outfit, Danya knelt by the stream and carried a handful of water to her overheated face. The splash felt wonderful, it invigorated her and steeled her resolve. So what if her rear end and her thighs hurt? Soon enough she would be living in luxury, and she would never know pain again.

If he chose her. If she was the one.

A rough voice whispered, “Do not look at me.”

Instinctively, Danya’s head snapped about, and she saw a hooded figure hiding at the edge of the trees behind her.

“I said, do not look!” The whisper was harsher this time, almost menacing.

Danya returned her gaze to the water. “There are four strong, armed men a short distance away, and if I scream . . .”

“I suggest you do not scream,” the hooded man said softly. He did not move toward her, but remained in the shadows of the forest. “Just listen. If you wish to be empress, simply listen.”

Danya’s spine straightened. He had her attention. “I’m listening.”

“Good.” The single word washed over her like a breath of cold wind, and then the interloper continued. “What would you do to be empress, Lady Danya?”

She hesitated only a heartbeat. “Anything.”

“I thought so. In my divinations I saw that to be true. You are desperate. You’re hungry for power.”

Divinations! If he spoke the truth, this was a powerful wizard who stood behind her, a seer . . . someone who could help her have all that she wanted. “Yes,” Danya whispered.

“Would you truly do anything which was asked of you?”

“I would.”

“Would you take a life?”

Again, Danya hesitated. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. Anything else. I would do
almost
anything.”

“Almost is not enough,” the hooded man whispered. “True power comes at a high price. Are you willing to pay that price?”

“Who are . . .” Danya began, but a hissing noise and another command not to look made her turn once more to the water, where her broken image reflected the sunlight.

“I know your secrets, Lady Danya. I have seen them in my dreams and divinations.”

“I have no secrets,” she said, foolishly hoping this man who obviously saw so much did not see too well into her.

“I see a lover who was not yours to claim,” he said harshly, killing her hopes, “and as a result of your illicit affair, a child, a son you wrongly believe to be dead and buried.”

A chill ran up Danya’s spine.
Wrongly believe . . .
“My son came too soon, and he died.”

“He did not. The witch who delivered him lied to you. She sold your baby to a childless couple who paid a high price for the son they could not produce. She did not wish to share her good fortune with you, and perhaps she actually thought it a kindness to make you believe the child was forever gone.”

She had dreamed that it was true. The midwife had allowed Danya only a brief glimpse of her dead son, and then she’d administered a strong potion to take away a mother’s pain of birth and loss. The potion had done more than ease Danya’s heartache; it had made her sleep for two days. “I saw his grave.”

“You saw a mound of dirt with nothing beneath but more dirt.”

Danya wanted to believe this was true, that her child lived, that he had found a loving and safe home. He would be almost two years old, now . . .

“The emperor will never knowingly choose a wife who has such a sordid past, Lady Danya,” the whisper continued. “But there are those of us who are pleased that you have the ability to produce a son. We would like you to do so again. We would like you to produce the future emperor.”

“I would like that, too,” she confessed.

“Would you?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Again, the single word sounded inhuman. “We are also pleased that you have the strength and cunning to hide such a momentous event from all those around you. It is no small feat for a woman to take charge as you did. In the same circumstances many women would’ve panicked and done something stupid. Most women would have been lost, they would’ve cried and dragged a dozen innocent people into the circle of their drama, but not you. You handled the situation quite well and very discreetly.”

“I had no choice.”

“I suppose you didn’t,” he said with a hint of what sounded oddly like humor. “It is done, then. From now on, you are ours, Lady Danya. You will do what is asked of you, or you’ll suffer the consequences.”

“What consequences?” she asked. “What will you do to me if I don’t cooperate?”

“We will not hurt you, that I swear.”

Danya breathed a sigh of relief, but her relief did not last long. “But, we will tell the emperor about your liaison with your sister’s husband and the resulting child, and then we will tell your family. Your mother will be heartbroken, I imagine, and your sister will likely not forgive you.”

“It was not my fault! I did not know that Ennis was . . .” Danya argued in a heated voice.

The hooded man ignored her. “And while we will not hurt
you,
the same cannot be said for your son.”

Danya’s heart tried to burst through her chest, and she spun around to confront the monster who would threaten a child . . . but the hooded man was gone. From a short distance, from somewhere in the shadows, she heard a whispered, “They call him Ethyn.”

Danya could not stop the tears that ran down her face as she dropped to her knees and absorbed all the information she had been given. Her child was alive. Alive and well, as long as she did what was asked of her. A part of her was filled with terror, but she did her best to push the terror away. These people, whoever they were, wanted the same things she did. They wanted her to be empress. They wanted her to have another son.

All that she desired would come at a high price, perhaps even requiring her to take a life. She didn’t think she could do that; didn’t think she could kill anyone.

But they would hurt Ethyn if she didn’t do as they asked. Who would hurt a child? Danya remembered the hooded man’s horrible whisper, and she didn’t doubt that he was capable of anything. More tears ran down her face, and she hugged herself to try to rein in the sharp feelings that were tearing her apart. She had denied these emotions for so long that they felt fresh and raw. They tore at her insides.

A familiar voice interrupted her whirling thoughts. “Are you all right?” Rainer managed to sound genuinely concerned.

Danya lifted her head and looked at him as he neared. This was it. The choice had to be made now, at this moment. She could tell Deputy Minister Rainer about the hooded visitor and his threats, or she could prove that she had not been lying to herself when she’d said she’d do anything to become empress. She could ask this kind man for his help, or she could claim the position of empress—and save the life of the son she did not know, yet still loved.

“Of course I am not fine,” she said sharply. “I’m sore from riding in the saddle for so long, and look at my hair!” She tossed back a tangled strand. “Is this any way for a potential empress to look? It is the first day of a long journey, and already I suffer.”

Rainer’s concerned expression turned cold. “I did offer to escort you by coach,” he said.

Danya struggled to her feet. The deputy minister could’ve offered a hand of assistance, but he did not. “And double or triple the time of this journey?” she said. “No, thank you. I will deal with the pain and the assault on my appearance, but that does not mean I have to like it!”

“There is no need to rush,” Rainer said coldly. “There are six weeks until the First Night of the Summer Festival, when the emperor will make his choice. You could choose comfort.”

“I choose speed.” She walked past him, head held high. When he was behind her, she allowed a few more tears to fall. If Rainer saw them, he would think the tears were brought about by her sore backside or her tangled hair or her bruised dignity. He would not know, could never know, that she had just taken a step which would further darken her already bruised soul.

 

 

MORGANA’S
steps quickened as she found herself upon a stone pathway which ran between two tall buildings. The buildings blocked the sun, casting her in shadow and increasing the chill in her heart, a heart which beat much too fast. Someone was following her. At least two men, she was certain. They were roughly dressed and very large, and she was almost certain she’d seen them in the tavern as she’d made her escape.

Some escape. She had no coins and no skills with which to earn them. As she’d walked through the city, Morgana had had that truth hammered into her very soul. She did not know what she’d been thinking when it had occurred to her that she might actually remain married to a sentinel and live in such a common, coarse place. She did not belong here. She could not survive here, not alone. She had no place to go, no home but the one Jahn provided for her, no friends, no family, no one to turn to but the husband she did not want. She had nothing.

Many of these thoughts had come to her as she looked at the canted bed which dominated the room Jahn Devlyn called home. The choice to share that bed with a man who’d claimed her as his wife should not be made on a whim! She should not give in to her need for sanctuary so easily! Should she?

She walked through the marketplace where men and women sold food, fabrics, weapons, and anything else a city dweller might need. If she’d had a skill beyond turning those who threatened her into glass, she might’ve set up a booth of her own. Instead she wandered alone, feeling foolish for leaving the tavern and for thinking she could have any sort of marriage with a man simply because he was patient and a more than decent kisser. She was confused, she was scared . . . she was lost.

There was no choice but to return to the tavern. It was while she scurried in that direction that she’d seen the two men following her.

They could not hurt her, she knew that. If they tried, her uncontrollable power would rise up and stop them. She did not want to kill again. What if they just happened to be on the same path she walked? What if it was coincidence that she’d seen them several times since leaving the tavern?

What if it was not?

In trying to lose the men who followed her, Morgana got turned around so she no longer knew where she was. The path from the tavern to the market had been an easy one, and she should’ve been able to find her way back without any trouble. But she’d made a couple of turns just to see if the men continued to follow. They had. And now she did not know which way to go.

Morgana heard footsteps far behind her, and she felt the ice at her center grow colder and stronger. In the weeks since Tomas’s death her curse had slept, but now it had been awakened and she did not know how to stop what had begun. She ran, and behind her the footsteps grew faster. If she turned and lashed out, she would once again take a life. She could feel it. The fear that had once before awakened her curse was fed by the unfamiliarity of this place and the helplessness of her situation.