by Terina Adams
This time I did bow. “Your majesty, I ask for nothing.”
“Did you not just say that to enter the arena is to accept death? And did you not realize that to enter the arena is to accept any challenge and to fight to the end, to achieve the highest rank possible?”
“It was not my will to enter the arena.”
“But it was your will to kill my son.”
My harsh in-breath jagged my throat. This was the king’s revenge.
I bowed deep, placing my hands on my thighs to steady the tremor. “Would you destroy the power that will cement your throne?” Power was the only word the king would understand.
Again my words displeased the courtiers, whom had no doubt grown eager for the king’s wrath. They wished to see me hung, flogged, burned or imprisoned in the dungeons for the rest of my life.
“You have a snake tongue and a poisonous mind,” the king said. “Admired traits in my generals and even a wench or two, but not in a servant.”
Now was the time to keep my snake tongue quiet.
“What to do with you?” He toyed with me, tapping his fingers and smirking down at me from the seat of his power. “Some would say I should imprison you for your disobedience. Some wish to see you publicly flogged. I admit both of those suggestions have merit. But I am in a quandary with what I must now decide. You have robed me of my heir. And so the title must be granted to my second son.”
The joy in my heart sung strong and true.
“But that leaves another hole in my ranks. And that title is won not granted.” He sighed. “I do, however, feel in a favorable mood. My son’s elevation has placed him in charge of the marked fort, amongst his other duties, which leaves the arena with no master. And since you have proved your worth against the champion and my eldest son, it falls to you to fill the rank.” The king looked out to the room of courtiers. “The servant girl, Rya, will now be known as the master of the arena.”
A burst of agitated chatter met his decree, but the bubble of noise faded behind a wall in my mind, leaving only the king’s words. They sunk into the darkest places within, those places now inhabited by the wraith, which gave birth to greedy fingers, clawing across my heart. A flair of ravenous desire gobbled up my sanity, driving forth a wicked glee. And just as quick as it bloomed it died, leaving a tremor to rake my body.
“I have grown tired of your presence.” The king waved his hand dismissively and turned away.
At the last, I remembered my bow, then spun and fled with as much poise as I could muster back across the room. I refused to allow my eyes to wander. There was nothing on the faces of the courtiers I would want to see.
On this side of the doors, two more guards, in mirror costume to those outside, grabbed a brass handle each and pulled the heavy doors wide. I kept my dignity for my exit and the first few feet of my return march down the corridor, until my emotions burst free. I needed to run this pit of sickness from my stomach and tremor from my limbs. The rug ate my noisy pounding as I closed the distance of the corridor until I reached the smooth stone, then my noisy boots smacked echoes around the cavernous room like they were spanking me out of the castle. I took the steps two at a time while my heart boiled ready to explode with the torrent of my emotions. I wasn’t sure what I should feel first and so just ran and ran with a will to escape the confines of this palace. And if I ran fast enough maybe I would peel away everything that didn’t matter to find what I wanted to feel.
The sun glared into my eyes as I fled down the steps. I was going so fast I almost left my feet behind and tumbled to the bottom. My name sang out as one foot hit the cobbles and I stumbled to catch myself in time before I ended in an undignified jumble of limbs at the base of the stairs.
“Rya.”
Cerac was running toward me. Lost in the daze of this dream, I saw him as an apparition descending toward me. But his arms were no dream, nor was the hard warmth of his body when he pulled me close to him.
“What has happened? Where are you going?”
I buried my head in his jacket, inhaling the familiar scent that was his.
“I’m fleeing. I thought that would’ve been obvious. Why weren’t you there?” I sounded like a child.
Cerac extracted my arms from his waist and my body groaned the inches of distance he created. “Father had me attend other business.” He leaned down, bringing his eyes close to mine. “You are master now.” Not even the warmth of his palm could assuage my shock.
“You knew? He told you already?”
“Yes. It was my suggestion.”
“Why would you do that?” I snapped.
I tore myself from his grasp and turned from him, but he reached for my arm again and pulled me back toward him with a hand wrapped around my waist and one across the top of my breasts, trapping me against his hard body. Being this close Cerac roused unbidden and primal stirrings. I did not want him to show me how much he meant to me, for I was unworthy of his love. The wraith’s whore was worthy of no love. But I was too weak to pull away.
Cerac nuzzled his face into my neck and spoke so his words trailed soft tickles across my skin. “I thought I was doing this for you, but now I see I did it for myself. I wanted to keep you safe, keep you with me always.” His sigh blew warm a breath that tickled a few stray strands of hair. “I should’ve said something to you first.”
My anger blew out as quick as his breath. I sagged further into his body. “No, I’m sorry. Of course you would do that. I should’ve understood. I’m still overwhelmed by the announcement.” I bit my bottom lip. “I’m afraid.”
Cerac turned me in his arms, then pulled me in close. “There is no need to feel afraid. I won’t let you go, Rya. I won’t let you fall. I will help you, protect you, teach you and train you to become the greatest warrior this kingdom has ever seen.”
I smiled into his jacket. “What if I end up greater than you?”
“I wish it to be so, then I will sleep easy knowing no one can hurt you.”
I swallowed a few times in rapid succession to force the lump in my throat down.
“My beautiful, beautiful, Rya, the only woman I see as queen.”
The lump I’d been desperately trying to swallow thickened and threatened to choke me. My vision blurred with the first spring of tears. I turned my head into his jacket to wipe them away.
“How can I be master of the arena?”
“I am holding a woman both courageous and powerful, a woman that will not be brought to her knees. This woman was destined to rule the arena. I know that in my heart. I saw it the day I first saw you.” He tilted my chin up to meet his face. “And when I first saw you, I knew you were the woman I was destined to love.”
I would’ve said more, cried with the beauty of his words, if not for his soft lips gently caressing and teasing mine. This was the moment I had to choose my path. I was not the woman Cerac thought he loved. I was fractured in two. A part of me was Rya, the peasant girl he pulled aside into his private chamber on the first day I’d arrived. The other part of me was deadly, twisted and evil. That part of me was a messenger for the wraith, relaying my deepest, darkest secrets and desires for the wraith to feel and explore. We were linked in a way I couldn’t fathom, a bind I could not break. And a greedy part of me would not break the bond if I could, for the wraith had given me the power to destroy the prince. But every moment in Cerac’s arms I betrayed him, every kiss I allowed him to take, every caress and word he spoke was given to the wraith.
I was not the courageous, powerful woman he thought I was. I was weak because I could not let him go. The thought of turning my back on him speared a pain through my heart too great for me to bear. Locked together like this, savoring the feel of his hands soothing over my back, his tongue in my mouth, winding a thirst throughout my body, I could not tell him the truth; that I wielded the marked power not because of him but because of the wraith, that I had let the wraith in with a kiss.
A hand found its way up into my hair, messing my knot, as
Cerac wound me tighter and tighter to him, driving his kiss harder. We stood at the front of the palace for everyone to see, but with his body pressed to mine from his toes to his lips, the outside world disappeared. I kissed him back, kissed with a craving I thought would forever be denied me when I lost Morick. I kissed him back with a passion beyond the bounds of my body and all the while inside a darkness stirred, unfurling from slumber.
I kissed him as the wraith’s whore, and I was hungry.
An impossible love
A looming war
and Raclin’s power over Rya becomes absolute…
Rya’s test has only just begun.
* * *
The Wraith Rising
Author’s Note
Rya’s trials have only just begun. Her love for Cerac will be tested or broken in book 2 The Wraith Rising.
The idea for this book came from a tarot card I own. For any of you who know tarot, the card is the empress, and the image is of a woman slouched on a chair of stone, her throne, adorned by white roses and creepers climbing up her legs and over the stone throne. It’s a dark and moody image, and I have stared at it for hours while thoughts have percolated in my head.
Who would be on my stone throne? Rya? No, it had to be the enemy. That’s when the wraith came to mind. And he wasn’t just slouched, he was mortally wounded. As a cast out he did not have a throne, rather a bed, and he had to be lost in a forsaken and desolate place.
I imagined my heroine walking through a forest of blacken trees and coming upon his ugly form. With that one scene in mind, I spiraled outward to fill the rest of the story, asking myself questions like: why was he there, badly wounded? Why was she there? And so on until I had the makings of an epic.
I loved the idea of her discovering him weaken, hideously burned and wounded, with vast lacerations weeping black blood. The idea tickled me because it made his transformation into a powerful wraith the more exciting.
But was he my hero? Straight away I knew he was not. He had to be the other end of the triangle. Not exactly a love triangle, but a deadly influence to my heroine all the same because she had to suffer and struggle if she was to transform.
And her relationship with the wraith will change again in the second book The Wraith Rising.
* * *
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About the Author
When I wasn’t riding a camel through the Rajasthani desert, white water rafting the rapids on the Zambezi, bungee jumping off the Victoria Falls bridge or hiking the peeks in Pakistan, I was piloting a twin prop into remote aboriginal communities in northern Western Australia or staring down a microscope in a laboratory.
Now somewhat tamed, the microscope has morphed into a computer and I spend more time plotting dire situations for my protagonists than being in them myself.
I am the author of books that won’t stay normal.