Prince of Swords (16 page)

Liane shook her head. “No. He asked, many times, but Sebestyen never left me. I dreamed of him every night for years, and there were times when I was certain his spirit was with me. How could I marry another when I was still in love with my husband?”

Love was strange, that was sure, Isadora thought as she watched the angry woman clasp her hands tightly on her lap. There was no man less deserving of love than the former emperor Sebestyen Beckyt, and no woman less likely to remain faithful to a dead man than Liane Varden, former concubine and assassin, a decidedly cold woman.

Sophie nodded, as if she understood. “So you made your own way all these years.”

“I'm not a bad seamstress,” Liane said with a nod of her head. “And I remember how to put together a few useful potions. I looked over the shoulders of many a palace witch in my years as Sebestyen's slave and as his wife. Those talents were enough to provide for me and my children.”

“It can't have been an easy life for you,” Sophie said.

Isadora rolled her eyes and gently but firmly moved her youngest sister away. “Liane has never been a woman in need of coddling. It was one of the traits I most admired in our time together.” She took Sophie's seat and looked Liane in the eye. After so many years those eyes were so achingly familiar. They brought back memories, horrible and wonderful. “You protected your children and I admire you for that. I would've done the same. But your sons are now grown men, and the eldest is emperor. Do you understand that, Liane? Your eldest child belongs in Arthes.”

Liane's chin trembled. “I hate that palace,” she whispered. “I do not want either of my sons to be trapped there.”

The door opened, and the three men walked in bearing what they had planned to be a late supper for six. Liane's head snapped around. Kane instantly recognized his sister, even though it had been years since they'd seen one another. He swore, and then he smiled, and then Liane rose and they hugged one another tightly.

Isadora stepped back and watched, anxious to move on but willing to give the siblings a moment. Juliet sidled up beside her.

“We must get those names,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“No, you don't,” Juliet snapped. “Sebestyen is coming for Liane very soon. If she doesn't tell us before that happens…”

“He's dead, and he's going to kill her?”

“No. Someone else is going to kill her, and Sebestyen will be waiting to greet her spirit.”

“We will protect her,” Isadora said insistently.

Juliet sighed tiredly. “That's a lovely idea, but I don't think we can.”

 

R
AYNE LOOKED VERY DIFFERENT IN HER BRIGHTLY COLORED
striped skirt and the green blouse which showed off more shoulder than her more proper traveling dress. Her hair was simpler, too, pulled simply to the top of her head and falling in tendrils around her face. She wore her mother's blue gem as usual, and it added yet more color.

Was there power in that gem which had once belonged to the woman who'd fashioned the crystal dagger? It was certainly as possible as the supposition that he'd awakened her gifts, or that somehow she'd been suppressing them until her father was no longer a threat to her.

Did he believe Rayne was a Goddess? Yes, he truly did. His life had been too enmeshed in magic to dismiss any possibility.

Last night she had told him more than once that she loved him, but he had not been able to say the words in return, even though he knew that was what she wanted. He would only offer her truth, and at the moment Lyr did not know what the truth was. He wanted her, he was dedicated to protecting her, he would die to keep her away from Ciro. Was that love? No. It was duty wrapped in physical attraction; it was honor mingled with the respite of sex. When this battle was over, would he still feel the same way about her? Would she feel anything at all for him?

Gwyneth had sent them on their way early in the morning, with the sun not yet over the horizon. She'd fed them breakfast and sent them into the swamp with one warning: Beware her sister Beatrisa, a spiteful witch who lived on the opposite edge of the swamp. She would be beautiful and sweet at first glance, but when one looked beyond the facade, she was rotten to the soul and filled with hate.

Rayne glanced down at the shallow water they passed through, suspicious even though Gwyneth had promised them that for at least the first few hours of their journey the creatures of the swamp would leave them be. Once they entered Beatrisa's domain, that would change, but for now they were in Gwyneth's territory, and the reptiles and birds kept their distance.

“Last night I dreamed I could make the water move,” Rayne said, “but that can't be right, can it? No one can control the flow of water.”

“I did not think anyone could make vines grow the way you do, so I cannot say it is impossible. Have you tried?”

“No.”

“Why not? Afraid it won't work?”

Rayne turned her head to look at him, and he saw the truth in her eyes. She was afraid it
would
work. The idea that she possessed such powers terrified her.

She turned her gaze to the front once again. “I wonder if I'm pregnant.”

“If not, it's not for lack of trying,” Lyr said lightly.

“Perhaps we can try again tonight, just in case we weren't successful at Gwyneth's cabin, or before. I'll feel much better when that is done.”

“Even if you are with child, we won't know for a while,” Lyr said.

“And so we must keep trying,” she said, her voice almost calm. He heard the trill of anticipation, actually felt it somehow.

“So we must.”

“If it's months before we see Ciro, perhaps he will be repulsed by my misshapen body and the knowledge that another man's child grows inside me and he'll send me away.” She waved one hand casually.

Surely she knew that imagining was a fantasy. If Ciro was determined to plant his child in Rayne, he would not let another man's child stop him. That babe would not survive long at Ciro's hands, though Lyr would not put that theory to Rayne and spoil her good mood. Deep down, she surely knew she was speaking nonsense.

Ciro was not the kind of man who would send anyone away. Those around him would be servants and slaves, or else they'd be killed.

Lyr knew he had no choice. He had to kill Ciro in order to save not only Rayne but the country itself. The very world, parts known and unknown. And if he failed, he could not allow Rayne to fall into the monster's hands. The child of a demon and a Goddess would be too powerful, too dangerous, to allow to exist.

Lyr had known from the start that it was possible he'd have to take Rayne's life before his duties were done. In his mind he saw her as she had been last night, lit by candlelight, swaying above him with uninhibited passion, writhing beneath him with need, smiling at him with a love she was not afraid to voice. For the first time in his life, Lyr wasn't sure he could do what had to be done, if it came to that.

For the first time in his life, Lyr was not certain he could accomplish the mission that had been entrusted to him.

 

P
HELAN PLODDED TOWARD THE CABIN, EVERY STEP AN EFFORT
. He was on their trail, he knew it. He could smell Lyr and Ciro's bride, the traitorous bastards.

As he stepped onto the porch of the solid cabin, the front door opened and an attractive woman in a vividly colored dress greeted him. “I was told that you were coming,” she said with a smile.

Phelan was instantly suspicious. “Told by whom?”

“The creatures of the swamp,” she replied. “I'm sure that you are hungry. I have stew.”

“I'm ravenous,” he said.

“And you have been bitten many times by insects.” The woman took his hand and led him into the house. Her hand was soft and gentle. He had not known such a gentle touch in many years. “I have a soothing balm which will help, if you'll allow it.”

Phelan gave her his best, most charming, most Segyn-like smile. “I would be a fool not to allow such ministrations.”

The woman introduced herself as Gwyneth and then she fed him well. When that was done and the dishes were cleared away, she insisted that he remove his filthy vest. When that was done, she bathed his chest and arms and neck and applied the balm, which was quite soothing. She even treated a few irritating bites on his bald head.

There was a sexual energy to her touch, an earthy connection neither of them could deny. She liked him. At least, she liked the man he pretended to be. Phelan had become adept at convincing others that he was someone other than himself, and he did so now. He charmed the attractive woman. He smiled at her and looked her squarely in the eye and touched her cheek when he felt it was appropriate to do so. She shuddered at his touch, in that way a needful woman might.

Gwyneth had been without a man for a long time, and Phelan was not one to turn away a pretty woman who wanted use of his body.

Since she'd introduced herself as a seer, he had been very careful. As he had in years past, he became Segyn, he
became
, for a while, a good man with nothing to hide. Phelan was buried deep, so deep she could not see him.

He knew very well how to seduce a woman, how to become someone he was not in order to get what he wanted. Gwyneth didn't need much in the way of seduction, but he smiled at her, he laughed with her, he touched her gently, and then he screwed her on the table where she'd fed him what he suspected was snake stew. Her half-clad body was not what he would call perfect, not like Ciro's bride. Her age showed here and there, but she was far from an old hag. There were nice muscles in her legs and her arms, and though her breasts were not firm with youth, neither did they sag.

It didn't take either of them long to find fulfillment. The woman screamed and wrapped her legs around him with an unexpected strength as her pleasure came. Her fingernails dug into his flesh, drawing blood, and he liked it. He liked it very much.

While Gwyneth was flushed and smiling and he was still inside her, limp and useless, Phelan traced the line of her jaw with one finger. “Have others been this way of late?”

Still breathless, she nodded once, though he could see the confusion in her eyes. Now was not the proper time for such questions, he supposed.

“Two, a man and a woman,” Phelan said as he withdrew.

Suddenly she looked suspicious, rather than confused. “Yes. Do you know them?”

“They are dear friends. We were separated during our travels, and I fear they think me dead.”

“You've only missed them by a few hours,” Gwyneth said, reaching up to touch his face. “Pity,” she whispered. “I suspect you will chase after them, and I was so hoping you would stay for a while. A long while.”

“You would like that, eh?”

“Very much,” she whispered.

The demon whispered to him, and Phelan listened.

“You are lonely here,” he said when the demon had finishing speaking.

“I am.”

“You need a man to see to your keeping.”

“I do,” she whispered. “A man and…a child. I do so want another baby. A child to raise and love and teach. Maybe a girl this time.”

“A girl to replace the son you lost?”

Beneath him, Gwyneth's body jerked slightly.

“You wait for your son to return to you, but he's not coming back, lover. He's dead, long dead, bitten by a poisonous snake and left to die a long, painful death before slipping into the water to be eaten by crocs.”

Her body stiffened, but he remained atop her so she could barely move. “I didn't tell you about my son.”

“No, you did not.”

“I would know if he was dead!”

“Long dead,” Phelan whispered. “The animals who speak to you didn't tell you that, did they?”

“No.”

“It was your sister's creatures who killed and ate him, that's why. Beatrisa knew. She's always known. Your son wandered into her part of the swamp, and she gleefully led the snake and the croc to him.” Phelan leaned down and kissed Gwyneth's cheek and the tears there. “She laughed when she watched him die, she laughed at your foolish hopes that he would return, and right now she laughs at your pain.”

If he had more time, he would stay for a while, but Lyr and Rayne were more important than this insignificant swamp witch. Those he sought were just a few hours ahead, Gwyneth said, and if he hurried, he could catch them.

Beatrisa would slow them down for him.

Phelan squeezed Gwyneth's pretty neck until she stopped breathing, and then he gathered a bit of food and one of her dead son's clean shirts before reentering the swamp.

S
OMETHING HOWLED, SOMETHING
LARGE
, AND EVEN
though the sound came from a distance, Rayne shivered. It was as though she had physically felt the exact moment they'd passed from Gwyneth's swamp into Beatrisa's. The sky had darkened, the creatures which had left them alone all day moved closer, and now there was that awful howl.

After a long day of travel, night approached. When the bank had appeared safe and dry, they'd stopped a few times during the day, but never for more than a few minutes. There was no decent place for them to camp. It seemed that they traveled more slowly than if they'd walked, since they had to plod along with great care when on horseback. Now and then, when the banks were high and fairly dry, they'd walked and led the horses so the animals could have a rest from the laborious plodding through the swamp water. Rayne wished to turn away from the swamp altogether, to turn north toward the forest and some semblance of civilization, but Lyr said that turning away from the swamp and making their way through the forest would cost them days of travel they did not have to spare.

This direct route through the swamp was the shortest course to the armies which fought against Ciro. According to Gwyneth, if they rode straight through without stopping, they'd reach a more hospitable meadowland by morning.

All they had to do was stay awake for the entire night, avoid the creatures which were determined to place themselves between the travelers and safety, and steer clear of Beatrisa.

It seemed that with every minute that passed, the snakes and crocs and unknown creatures beneath the water moved closer to the travelers. As they grew less afraid, as they grew more curious, they moved in. The soft splashes Rayne heard seemed to be nearer each time than they had the last. What was making those splashing sounds? Stars above, she did not want to know.

The faint cry that reached their ears was startling. But for Gwyneth, they had not seen or heard another human being in the swamplands. The call for help was most definitely human and female. Lyr pulled the reins to halt his horse and listened more closely, and Rayne did the same. There was much to be afraid of in this swamp. The witch, the crocs, the snakes, whatever splashed, whatever howled…

The call for help came again, and this time it was easy to note the direction whence it came. Lyr turned in that direction, and Rayne followed.

“Should we follow the cry?” Rayne asked. “Perhaps it's an animal which sounds like a human, or maybe it's Beatrisa herself and we're riding into a trap.”

Lyr turned to look back at her all too briefly. “The cry for help could also come from one of the swamp witch's victims, or an innocent who wandered too far into the swamplands.” He shook his head. “I can't ignore such a plea for help, Rayne.”

Of course he could not. It was in Lyr's nature to run toward such uncertainties, not away from them. It was one of the traits she admired about him, but at the same time…she did so want to get out of this wet, dangerous swamp.

The spine-chilling howl was louder and closer when it came again. So was the call for help.

 

L
IANE STEPPED BACK AND WATCHED HER BROTHER
'
S FAMILY
as they ignored her for a moment and argued among themselves about the best route to take in the morning. Those who had come looking for Liane and her sons had not let her out of their sight since she'd come to this sitting room last night. She'd been unable to rest since then, and while the others had gone to sleeping rooms down the hall for a couple hours of sleep, someone had always remained with her. It wasn't as if she hadn't enjoyed talking with her brother and hearing about his children and his farm, or reliving days long past with Isadora, but she wasn't blind to the fact that they'd been keeping a very close eye on her all the while.

They were all crowded in this rented sitting room at the moment, even though the party had taken the entire floor for their visit. Kane's wife, Sophie, and her sisters, as well as those sisters' husbands, argued without heat or rancor.

Liane felt a trill of envy as she watched them argue as only family can do. They had been blessed with lasting love, peace, and family. Her sons were her only blessings, her only family, and she would not allow them to be sacrificed for the greater good. She had given enough! She'd promised Sebestyen, as he lay dying, that she would take their sons away from the palace in Arthes and hide them forever.

She and Sebestyen had never had the chance for the normal love Kane's family shared. It was true that Sebestyen had not always been a good man, but that was not entirely his fault. He'd been manipulated and twisted from childhood to be who he'd become. He'd been molded into a heartless ruler who would do anything to assert his authority and take what he wanted.

No, he had not been entirely heartless. In the end his heart had won, but it hadn't been enough. He'd died anyway.

While the others discussed which route to take in the morning, Liane, who had moments earlier grudgingly agreed to travel with them, turned quickly and threw open the door to the hallway. This was likely her only chance to escape. If she ran fast enough, if she disappeared quickly, they would not find her. She was very good at hiding, and she knew this town in a way they did not.

She'd been hiding for more than twenty-five years now, and she could make her way out of town and start over somewhere else. When it was safe, she'd find the boys and warn them…and in doing so she'd be forced to tell them the truth of their heritage. How could she do that? Would they ever forgive her for lying to them all these years?

Liane ran for the stairs, with Kane shouting behind her. She didn't look back. If she did, she'd be lost, and she would do anything for her sons.

A short, squat little man stood in the middle of the stairway. She cut to the right and tried to shoo him aside. He would slow her progress if he didn't get out of the way, and if Kane caught her, his vigilance wouldn't fail a second time. No, they would keep a close eye on her from here on out if they caught her. They could not catch her.

“Move!” she shouted as she hurried down the stairs as quickly as her old legs would carry her. Her knees always hurt these days, but still, she moved fairly well when she had to.

The man on the staircase did not get out of her way. He stood there, fat and grinning and sloppy, and when she reached him, intent on pushing her way past, he grabbed her arm. Liane tried to yank her arm away, but he held her fast, and then he whispered hoarsely:

“Emperor Ciro sends his regards.”

She didn't feel the knife, not at first. It was very sharp, and slipped into her chest too easily. Once it was embedded, the pain hit her and began to spread. Her legs gave out, and the man dropped her to face Kane with his little knife. Foolish little man, Liane thought as she stared at the ceiling. Kane would kill Ciro's soldier, if not for murdering his sister then to keep him from reaching Sophie, his beloved wife.

The outraged shout and bloodcurdling scream that filled her ears and her head told her what had happened. The man who had killed her was himself dead.

Her knees didn't hurt anymore, she noticed. Her body felt light, as if she were floating on water. How odd, and how strangely and unexpectedly pleasant. Sebestyen appeared before her, misty and yet almost solid. He looked as if he could be solid if she squinted her eyes just right, and she was not surprised to see him.

“You're still young,” she whispered as he knelt beside her.

“Tell them, love,” he whispered as he took her hand in his. She felt him, more real than the stairs at her back, more real than the life she had built in this small coast town. “Tell them where to find the boys.”

Liane shook her head. “I promised you I would protect them always, and I have, I truly have.”

“I know.” Sebestyen carried her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. It did not feel like a true kiss, but was like a breeze passing over her fingers. “But now it is time to let them go, to send them to their duty.”

Liane narrowed her eyes to see Sebestyen more clearly. “Why are you here?”

“I have been waiting for you.”

“Waiting to take me to hell, I imagine.” Like him, her life had been filled with sin before leaving Arthes behind. Lust, murder, greed…hate. Surely she would be made to pay for all her sins in the afterlife.

Sebestyen smiled. He had not smiled much in life, and never like this. She saw the peace in that smile, and it warmed her. “No, love. We earned our way to the Land of the Dead with our sacrifice for the children.”

“Then why aren't you there? It's been such a long time since you left me.”

“I have been waiting. We'll go there together now, I promise.”

All the dreams, all the times she'd sensed him with her…they had been real somehow. Suddenly she felt as if her body was light as a feather and was beginning to float above the stairs.

“Tell them,” Sebestyen insisted. “Tell your brother where our children can be found.”

It was only then that Liane realized Kane was standing over her, much as Sebestyen was. He tried to stop the bleeding by pressing his hands to the wound, and he shouted for Sophie to help him. Liane could tell by the stricken expression on her brother's face that he realized it was too late for help.

Liane focused on Kane's face and tried to stop the pull that threatened to lift her up and up and up. “Devlyn and Trystan, those are their names now. Devlyn and Trystan Arndell. They don't know the truth, Kane. They think their father was a fisherman who was lost at sea.”

Kane squeezed her hand. He tried to be brave but she saw the tears glistening in his eyes. “Where are they, Liane? Guide us to them.”

“Trystan fights. Devlyn…Devlyn is too much like his father, I'm afraid. I'm not sure where he is.”

“They are together, now,” Sebestyen whispered. “Our sons have reunited, as is proper.” Liane experienced a rush of relief. Her boys had found one another, and that gave her comfort.

Isadora was here, too, Liane realized. Always pragmatic, practical Isadora, who did not hold back her tears but cursed them as they fell. “Which is the eldest? We must know.”

Sebestyen now looked more real than Kane and Isadora and all those who had gathered behind them, and Liane felt better than she had in years. She was young again. Energy rushed through her body, and her heart surged with love and peace. “The eldest keeps the ring,” she said. “You know the ring of which I speak, Isadora. You know.” The others faded and Sebestyen assisted her to her feet. He smiled at her, even as they stared down at the misty people who wept and mourned the old woman she had become, here in this shore town where she'd raised her children.

She looked up at her husband. “You waited for me.”

“Of course I waited,” Sebestyen said, with a touch of the arrogance which was so much a part of who he was, so much a part of the man he had been made by those who'd trained him to be emperor. “The land that awaits is not paradise without you, love, not for me.”

“I love you still,” she said as her husband led her away from the scene of her death.

“I know,” he said as he lifted her hand and kissed it again. “I love you, too. Now, let's go home.”

 

N
IGHT HAD FALLEN, BUT THE CRIES FOR HELP PULLED
L
YR
forward, as did the light from what appeared to be a fire. Fire, here in this wet place. Fire, burning in the darkness and leading him toward a woman's screams.

Rayne was right in suggesting that this could be a trap, and yet he could not ride by without being certain.

When the fire was close and he could see the figure of a woman tied to a barren tree trunk which rose out of the water, Lyr turned to Rayne, who followed closely and silently. “Wait here,” he instructed.

“No,” she said softly. “Whatever awaits ahead cannot be any worse than waiting here in the dark.”

He heard the whisper and splash of a creature in the water not too far away, and nodded. “If it is a trap, I will hold off the enemy while you take your horse to the bank and then into the forest.”

She did not answer, but he didn't have time to argue with her. With a powerful mother and two sisters, he had always known that women could be stubborn beyond belief. There were times when arguing with them was a waste of breath.

Fire burned on the water in a circle around the girl who'd been lashed to the tree. There must be some sort of fuel or magic there, he imagined, since he had never seen such a sight as fire dancing on water. Firelight and moonlight illuminated the girl's golden hair, which was loose and tangled and fell all around her like a curtain made of sunlight.

Again the captive screamed, calling for help. Her voice echoed in the deserted swamplands. Lyr approached cautiously, since it was possible this was a trap and the girl was bait. His sword was held ready, to strike at the enemy or to stop time, whichever might prove to be more prudent.

Apparently the golden-haired girl heard him. Her head snapped around as far as it would go, given her bonds. Her face was beautiful, young and smooth and frightened. “Did she send you?” she asked, her voice hoarse from screaming. “Are you here to finish me since the swamp witch's creature has not?”