The Dead God's Due (The Eye of the Lion Saga Book 1) (27 page)

Kariana bit at Lara’s
hand, and somehow managed to wriggle out from beneath her. It was
both hands for both women now as they fought over the weapon,
screaming, rolling about the floor, hissing, spitting. Sometimes,
Lara had control of the knife, at other times, Kariana. Blood flew
each time the weapon changed hands. The floor grew slick with it,
and the air reeked of copper and sweat.

Aiul screamed at them to stop,
over and over, his voice growing ever more ragged, but it was
useless. He had no part in this play. He was simply a captive
audience. His words, like theirs, lost all sense of meaning, became
nothing but sounds expressing fear, rage, and denial, a song of
conflict, struggle, and loss.

They all sang, all danced to
the savage tune. Aiul hammered himself against the door over and
over, his shoulders, his feet, his fists, his head. There was blood
here now, too, inside, as he grew more frantic. He felt his own
bones crack under the impact. Flame filled his throat, his heart,
his mind, but he had no power to change this.

So much pain, and yet he was
numb when the moment came. Their struggles, their flailing and
rolling on the floor, was like casting a die. It tumbled. They
tumbled. Over and over. Six. Two. Five. One.

Kariana. Lara. Kariana. Lara.
Lara.

Kariana was on top when the die
came to rest. Aiul could no longer move or scream. He simply watched
as she raised the wicked blade high over head and plunged it into
Lara’s chest.

He could have understood this.
He truly could have. Kariana was in stark, raving terror, mortal
fear. Lara had tried to murder her. It was only natural that she
defend herself. He could have forgiven the first stab. Even the
second. They were terrible wounds, and to his eye, likely mortal,
but there was a chance. If nothing else, perhaps he could save their
child.

But he could not forgive the
third, or the fourth. Or the twentieth. Lara was long dead, and his
child as well, both punctured over and over, and still Kariana
stabbed at them.

Numb. He knew the pain was
there. He could find it, if he focused, agony of body and of soul,
yet he was distracted. There was a noise in his mind, in his ears,
an odd sound that he couldn’t place. It grew louder and more
insistent, drawing his attention away from his misery.

For all the world, it sounded
like crows.

Caelwen ground his teeth in
impotent fury as the slave from House Noril fumbled with the prison
door key. Kariana was still screaming, struggling with someone. He
could wait no longer. He snatched the key from the slave and shoved
him aside. “Give me that, idiot!”

The slave staggered backward
and tripped over the corpse of the prison guard. He raised a hand
from the floor to find it covered in sticky, congealed blood, and
began to wail in horror.

“Shut up with that
mewling!” Caelwen shouted as he turned the key in the lock and
swung the door open. “Go and tell my men I’ve found her
and to come at once!”

The slave was only too happy to
beat a hasty retreat. Caelwen looked about for a doorstop, found
none, and settled for dragging the dead guard into position. He had
no intention of being locked in, and this fellow could hardly
complain. Caelwen drew his sword and charged into the hallway.

He didn’t get far before
he realized that, whatever had passed here, it was over. Tasinalta
was the victor, but she was severely wounded herself. There was
blood everywhere, and Tasinalta was still stabbing at her victim. He
felt his gut twist in horror as he recognized Lara.

He slowed to a walk as he
approached her, and put his sword back in its scabbard. Tasinalta
looked up at him with mad eyes, barely recognizing him, but she
slowed and then stopped her arm. Her hair and face were crusted with
drying blood. Pink foam bubbled from her lips and ran down her chin.

Caelwen reach out a hand.
“Empress, let me help you.”

Tasinalta’s eyes narrowed
in fear and hatred. “Assassins!” she shrieked.
“Assassins everywhere!”

She sprung toward him without
warning, stabbing at him with the dagger, but his mail turned her
blows well enough. He grabbed her flailing arms and pinned them to
her sides. “Enough! You are safe now!”

She seemed not to hear him. She
was struggling so violently, she was certain injure herself. Caelwen
felt he had little choice. He brought his fist up in a swift strike
to her jaw, and she immediately collapsed. Choice or no, he had to
admit, it was hardly unpleasant.

“Mei. What have you done
now?”

Sadrik struck a sinister pose
in the full length mirror, considering the visual effects. He was
pleased with the robe, a red and black silk affair.
Power colors,
surely.
He brushed at a stray hair on his brow, careful to
maintain his expression. Yes, it was just the right look, a mix of
contempt and detachment. It came naturally to him, but given that he
was performing, he wanted to be certain.

It had been a very eventful
season, one full of heart stopping moments. His idiot cousin seemed
determined to get herself killed, and then who would they tap for
the job? He had barely managed to escape that fate the last time a
cousin had kicked off. He had no intention of being placed in that
situation again, not if he could help it.

It had taken some outright
groveling to convince Ariano to spare Kariana. Fortunately, she had
shown some mettle, even if she was an idiot. The elder Meites had
bought his pleadings that she could be trained into something more,
and had relented. Sadrik was considerably less convinced of his
position than he had let on, but what other choice did he have?
Kariana had to survive, and he would have to help her out of self
interest.

He chuckled to himself,
remembering their earlier conversation.

“You mentioned friends
who fix problems,” she had said. He had smiled and agreed to
serve as her go-between. No need for her to know the truth. She
couldn’t be trusted with it.

Satisfied that he did indeed
cut quite a sinister figure, his need and belief in the mirror
faded, and the mirror followed, dulling, becoming wooden,
imperfections rising out of the flat surface until it was once again
a heavy door. Sadrik smiled and slammed his palm against the wood.
It burst from its hinges and imploded inward in a rain of shards.

Sadrik raised an eyebrow in
admiration of the room beyond. The taste, the cost, the sheer
arrogance on display was remarkable. The entire outer wall was a
single piece of curved glass, the curtains drawn back to reveal all
of Nihlos dreaming under orange clouds, silent, majestic, impossible
to ignore. Numerous white throw rugs were placed as walkways over
the marble tiled floor. A score or more candles reflected from
mirrors and the wall glass, filling the room with a warm glow. Lilac
scented smoke wafted gently into the air from censors along the
counters. In the center, sunken into the floor, was a huge bath more
along the lines of a swimming pool. Steam rose from its surface,
only to be whisked away by some unseen wind, leaving thevista of
Nihlos unmarred.

Maralena Prosin, naked in her
bath, gasped in shock, scrambling to cover herself out of reflex.

Sadrik took his time with his
entrance. Swagger was important, after all. It was warm in here.
Scorching. Something is on fire.
Wisps of flame rose from the
throw rugs where his boots touched, leaving a trail of charred
footprints. Smoke curled from the debris of the door as he passed,
and the towels hung from numerous rods began to smolder. “Good
evening, Maralena. Are you surprised to see me?”

Maralena recovered quickly from
her shock. She lowered her arms, giving him a full view of her
age-worn body. “I hadn’t thought it would be so soon.”

Sadrik raised an eyebrow and
made a tisk-tisk sound. “Should I have made an appointment?”

Maralena hauled herself to her
feet and stood naked, defiant. “Have your kind ever concerned
yourselves with the desires of we lesser beings?”

Sadrik gestured, and a towel
rose from its rack and floated across the room to her. “No
need to rob you of your dignity.”

Maralena took the towel and
wrapped it around herself. “I thank you for that. So tell me,
is this negotiable? I have a lot to offer.”

“I’m afraid not.”

Maralena clenched her jaw and
nodded. “Not fire, please. Have some mercy.”

Sadrik swept his arm at her in
fury, and the curtains burst into flame. “
Mercy
?”
he shouted. “You don’t even know the meaning of the
word!”

Maralena squeezed water from
her hair with a sour expression. “You people toss it about
often enough. I don’t have the luxury.”

Sadrik steepled his fingers and
touched his nose for a moment, giving her what he hoped was a stern,
merciless scowl while he considered. “What will you offer me,
then? In exchange?”

“Truth.”

“Ah, now that
is
something of value.” He held a moment, letting her stew a
second longer. “Give me the truth, and I’ll not use
fire.” He stroked at his beard as he waited for whatever lie
she chose to tell him. “But have a care. I know more than you
think.”

Maralena stared at the floor,
seemingly resigned to her fate. Grim faced, she said in a dull
voice, “It was Narelki who started it all. She sent the men to
kill Lara. Will you be visiting her as well?”

Sadrik shook his head,
unamused. “You know full well she is a special case. You’re
not helping yourself here, meddling in things that don’t
concern you.”

“I’ve concerns
aplenty. I just have no power to address them.”

Sadrid ground his teeth.
Pathetic mewling bitch!
“That is what makes you a
lesser creature.”

Maralena stiffened as if she
had it in her mind to strike at Sadrik, then seemed to think the
better of it.
That, too. If you had the stomach to fight me, this
would go easier on you, coward.

“It was her fault
Marissa died,” she said in acid tones. “I struck back at
her child.” She cast Sadrik a hateful glare, pride clear on
her face. “There was a time when you people would have called
revenge fair play.”

Sadrik chuckled at this. “Oh,
you misunderstand why I am here. It was fair enough.” He shook
his head, pasting on a look of mock-sadness. “No, it’s
all of the rest that brought you to this place. It was very sloppy,
that business with the letters. I would have expected better of
you.”

Maralena took a deep breath,
then let it out with a slight shudder. “Yes. I did too.”

“Is there anything else?
Any last words, perhaps, you would have me deliver?”

“I regret nothing.”

She still counts it as a
victory. Perhaps it was worth it to her.
“Very well.
Prepare yourself.” Sadrik raised his arms dramatically and
waved them about in slow, meaningless gestures.

Maralena’s eyes widened,
but she maintained her composure. “Not fire.”

Sadrik flashed her the wicked
smile again and shivered.
Cold.
I’ve never been so cold!

The
dozen or so smoldering spots in the room snuffed out like pinched
wicks, and the candle flames wavered in their sconces as the chill
gripped the room and seeped in like water filling a sinking boat.
The temperature dropped fifty degrees in seconds as Maralena gaped,
uncomprehending, and the clear vista window grew opaque with frost.

Sadrik waved a hand at her, a
casual gesture, and Maralena staggered, then fell back into the
bath. Another fifty degrees fell away in an instant, and another. As
Maralena’s body dipped beneath the surface, the water grew
thick, less translucent. Maralena’s eyes sprung wide in horror
as she realized Sadrik’s intent, but it was too late.

Sadrik’s teeth began to
chatter, and his breath jetted from his nostrils in visible clouds
as he stepped onto the sheet of ice that now covered the bath.
Ridiculous! I am immune to the cold!
It
was a sudden realization, one he had really always known, but had
never actually considered until now. Of
course
the
cold could not touch him. How could it be otherwise? That wouldn’t
make any sense at all.

Warmth
swept through him, and his teeth calmed. Sadrik looked
looked
down at Maralena with a cruel smile as she pushed at the wall of ice
to no avail. He watched with detached amusement as she struggled
against the inevitable, her lips moving silently
,
her eyes
wide with terror.
Begging for mercy, likely.
Sadrik cupped a
hand to his ear, then shrugged and smiled back.
What’s
what? Sorry! Can’t hear what you’re saying, you rotten
old cunt!

He pointed his finger at the
ice and gestured. Trenches formed on the surface as if they were
chiseled there. He did it slowly, not wanting to make a mistake.
Writing ‘Tasinalta sends her regards’ backwards took
some concentration, and it would hardly do to get some of the
letters wrong. That would make him look quite foolish, which could
have severe consequences.

At last, her breath burst from
her lips in a great bubble, and her body convulsed in death throes.
Sadrik gave it a few more minutes, just to be certain, then stepped
down to the floor again. He took a deep breath, realizing that it
was, in fact, a lovely temperature here. The great window slowly
began to clear, and the sheet of ice in the bath began to melt,
slowly at first, then accelerating. Within a few moments, Maralena’s
corpse bobbed to the surface, her eyes still bulging.

Sadrik spat into the water.
“Not fire,” he said with a nod.

END BOOK 1