Warrior (16 page)

“You are wrong, Princess. I am

your liege. You
are
my servant. In the

future, you will remember that.”

With that, he released her and

walked back to the chair, where he

sat once more, leaning his head

against the back, his eyes never

leaving her face.

Although she seethed at what he’d

just told her, he was correct. He was

her lord, her king, her liege—and she

was no more than his… servant!

Never had she been anyone’s servant.

The St. Ives were not servants. They

were royalty: kings and queens, the

rightful rulers of Lytheria.

Jaisyn turned on her heel and left.

She had to find a way to drive the

Mor’an out of Lytheria. For now, she

would play the part of the subdued

princess, but soon, somehow, she

would be free of Vulcan of Morden

and she could go back to ruling her

people in peace.

***

Jaisyn was in the Temple, offering

her blessing to the goddess while

praying that her plan worked out,

when the feeling of being watched

crept up on her. She turned, fearing

that it was Vulcan, who’d been

searching and analyzing every square

inch of the castle since he’d been

allowed in two weeks ago. He’d

demanded the loyalty of her people,

and had promised swift retribution if

any betrayed him. Then, he’d

checked the supplies in the buttery.

After that, the stables. Later, the

kingdom’s

accounts.

He

was

everywhere, reminding the people of

Lytheria that he was their king, their

liege.

Her frown fell immediately when

she recognized who it was.

With her mane of golden hair

flowing about her shoulders and down

the back of her customary pristine

white gown, Ishat stood before her,

looking every bit the High Priestess.

She was one of the seven High

Priestesses of Lytheria, the mortal

daughters of Lyria, and the most

sacred of religious people in their

kingdom. Ishat served in the Temple

at St. Ives Castle, but a number of

times every year, she travelled to the

mountains to meet with her sister High

Priestesses. Sometimes she stayed a

few days; sometimes the gathering

kept her for a month. She had been at

one of those gatherings when Morden

had come to Lytheria and had only

returned today.

Jaisyn immediately rushed to Ishat,

kneeling before the woman who had

taught her most of what she knew

about religion, and with it, life. As a

High Priestess, Ishat would serve the

Goddess until her fiftieth year, or until

her death. If she were still alive come

time to end her service, she would be

afforded the opportunity to choose

whether to stay or to find another life.

All of the High Priestesses were

selected at birth. Although Ishat did

not look a day over thirty, one could

not be sure of her age. They all aged

gracefully.

Ishat knelt and pulled Jaisyn gently

to her feet.

“What has happened, my child?”

Ishat inquired in her soft, calming

voice. Her eyes, a gold some shades

darker than Jaisyn’s, invited Jaisyn to

tell her everything.

She started at the beginning. From

the death of her father to the Morden

armies invading, to the death of some

of her most trusted soldiers as the

Lytherians

resisted,

to

Vulcan

capturing her sisters to their surrender

to Morden and she finished off with

the most recent event—something

she’d done by herself. When she was

finished, Ishat’s eyes were gentle and

sad. With a sigh, She walked with

Jaisyn to the front of the Temple, near

the altar, and sat. She patted the seat

next to her and Jaisyn lowered herself

down.

It was then that Ishat began to

speak.

“Five years ago, when Vulcan

challenged your father for the right to

rule Lytheria, Wilhelm lost—”

Jaisyn shook her head, remembering

her father telling her that their armies

had driven the soldiers of Morden

away. He’d been proud when he

related that tale to her. She’d been in

bed nursing a broken arm and even

though she was in the utmost pain,

she’d managed her first smile since

her brother’s death. No, Wilhelm had

won.

Ishat held up her delicate hand and

continued. “He lost the battle. It lasted

almost a week before Wilhelm

recognized that Vulcan’s army was

larger, stronger and deadlier. He was

losing men rapidly. That night, after

consulting with me, Wilhelm, along

with myself, and two of his generals,

rode into Vulcan’s camp. We came to

an agreement: Vulcan would claim

Lytheria when Wilhelm died. I have a

sealed copy of that document in my

chambers as well. Three years later,

King Wilhelm became ill. As the

illness showed no signs of leaving,

your father knew it was only a matter

of time before he died and Vulcan

took Lytheria. He worried for you and

your sisters. Though he wished it,

none of you could truly inherit alone.

Although Lytheria is ahead of the

other kingdoms in its philosophies,

powerful Lytherian men would not

stand for serving a queen with no

king. You and your sisters would

become targets for any nobleman with

a tie to the crown, or any foreign

prince craving power. Your father and

I decided that the only way to secure

your future and that of your sisters

was to betroth one of you to Vulcan

of Morden. So we went to Morden

and persuaded the king to agree to the

betrothal.”

Jaisyn let out a horrified gasp and

her eyes widened. Dear Goddess, her

father had lost to Morden all along.

He’d lied to her—he’d lied to them

all. When he’d told her that she was

safe, that Vulcan of Morden would

never return, he’d been lying. Anger

engulfed her at that thought before she

pushed it away. Her father was dead.

There was no use being angry at a

dead man. She blinked rapidly and

turned to Ishat.

“Why—
why
Matty? Why not myself

or Isolde?” she managed to choke out

as the dawning horror of what her

father had done set in. Not only had

he lied, he’d betrothed the baby of the

family to his enemy.

Ishat

shrugged

her

shoulders

delicately as her lids swept down. She

took Jaisyn’s hand in hers and turned

to the altar. Gradually, her eyes

opened. “I do not know that, Jaisyn. I

prayed to Lyria about it and then I

chose one of you. I chose Mathilda

because she is young, and not set in

her ways like you or Isolde. She will

be able to adapt more easily than you

or Isolde.”

“Most able to adapt?” Jaisyn burst

out angrily, tugging her hand away

from the High Priestess. That was not

a valid reason to promise a hysterical

child to a ravaging madman! “That

man is a savage. He will break her,

Ishat! He will take everything that is

good about Matty and crush it!”

Ishat didn’t so much as blink or

flinch as Jaisyn began to scream at

her. Instead, she replied in her

calming voice, “Your sister is much

stronger than you give her credit for.”

When Jaisyn said nothing, Ishat

continued. “You should not have

blocked his entrance to Lytheria. You

should have heeded your father’s

advice. Vulcan is the rightful king and

if he still wishes it after the reception

that he received, Mathilda will be his

queen, and you and Isolde will

become wards of a High King. You

will make exceptional matches under

his guardianship.”

Jaisyn stood abruptly and began to

pace before the altar. Her father had

lost to Morden all those years ago?

And he’d never told them of it? And

Ishat had picked Mathilda for Vulcan?

Anyone with half of a working brain

could see that Mathilda was no match

for the Northern Wolf. She wanted to

tug at her hair but she settled for

pacing.

Ishat began to speak once more.

“When did you send the messenger to

Mitherie?”

Jaisyn came to a halt and looked

down

at

the

High

Priestess.

“Yesterday—around noon.”

Ishat nodded. There was no

reproach in her eyes. She faced

Jaisyn.

“You must send another message

contradicting your first quickly, else

you will give Mitherie false hope and

the Northern Wolf will annihilate

them. That will be the beginning of a

long and brutal war between the

remaining

kingdoms,

and

will

eventually lead to the destruction of

all.” Ishat’s voice had started out

normal and had grown lower and

slower, almost lyrical, as it normally

did

when

she

was

having

a

premonition.

Having no choice, Jaisyn nodded. It

seemed like there was no escaping

Vulcan of Morden. She would send

another message to Mitherie, telling

them that all was fine at Lytheria and

that they need not come, but there

was no way—no way—that she was

feeding her baby sister to the Wolf.

Ishat was wrong. Mathilda would not

be able to adapt to Vulcan of Morden;

her sister would die. Perhaps not

physically,

but

Mathilda

would

crumble. Jaisyn could not, would not

let that happen.

Chapter 5

Three weeks had passed since

Vulcan’s entrance into St. Ives Castle.

He’d done much to secure his place

as ruler in that time and his mind was

now straying back to Morden. He had

left one of his most trusted generals in

charge of his kingdom, but with nearly

half of his warriors in Lytheria, he felt

uneasy. Lytheria had its own soldiers,

who’d all sworn fealty to him. It was

time to intermix the soldiers, and take

an equal amount of Lytherian and

Morden

soldiers

back

to

his

homeland.

A shout went up from one of the

soldiers around the table, pulling

Vulcan from his thoughts. He looked

toward the sound. One of the Morden

soldiers and one of the Lytherian

soldiers were about to come to

fisticuffs.

“Ye blond, golden bastard! Ye stole

me meat right off me plate!” a man

that Vulcan recognized as a soldier of

Morden roared. The man was burly,

and from the looks of it, he’d had a bit

much to drink: he was unsteady on his

feet.

“I did not!” the Lytherian soldier

retorted angrily, and the other soldiers

quieted down, some eager to see a

fight, others wondering which side

they should choose.

“Ye calling me a liar?” the burly

soldier slurred out, pushing back his

stool.

The

Lytherian

soldier

pushed

himself up as well. “Yea, I’m calling

ye a liar! A big drunken liar!”

Vulcan shook his head. Let them

fight it out. He wouldn’t put a stop to

it. Varian, seated to his right, leaned

back, a large smile on his face, ready

to be entertained.

Before they could start battering one

another to the amusement of all

gathered, the doors to the Great Hall

were pulled open and one of the

soldiers announced that a messenger

had arrived from Mitherie.

Mitherie? The largest kingdom in the

West? What message did the Mitherie

wish to convey to Lytheria?

Curiosity piqued and the fighting

soldiers forgotten, Vulcan told the