Lyr had walked with her into the room, but his men remained in the hall and at the doorway. “I have no idea what your father was like, nor do I care. He aligned himself with Ciro, that is all I need to know of him.”
Again, Rayne sighed. “Are all men so dreadfully single-minded?”
Lyr did not bother to answer as Rayne’s hand stilled on the wall.
“It’s been a long time since I opened this secret hiding place. There are many like it throughout the house, but this one was my mother’s. My father was a bit distrustful, and he kept many secrets.”
“Even from you?” Lyr asked.
“Always from me,” Rayne said so softly Lyr was certain that only he heard her response. “My mother kept her own secrets, but she shared them with me. I haven’t been in this room for many years, but I remember well the last time we were here together.” Her fingers pressed and then slapped again seemingly ordinary stone. She worked at the stone above and below the one she had chosen, with no results. “I know it’s right here,” she said, frustration creeping into her voice.
Lyr began to suspect that he’d been tricked. There was no secret hiding place, and this woman had no idea where the crystal dagger was hidden. Perhaps she thought he would take her with him in any case. Perhaps she thought him incapable of returning her to her basement prison. If that was her way of thinking, she did not know him at all. He would send someone back to release her when he was a few hours away, but if she did not produce the dagger, he would not take her with him.
Not that he could afford to leave this house without the crystal dagger.
“Rubbish,” Rayne snapped, slapping her hand against the stone wall.
If all else had not been silent, Lyr would not have heard the gentle clicking noise or Rayne’s sharp intake of breath. She worked at the stone again, and this time it swung open. The stone—which was not a proper stone at all—was hollow, and inside there rested a large blue gem on the end of a gold chain. He saw no weapon of any kind.
Rayne reached into the hollow rock. She took the necklace in her hand, and studied the gem as she removed it. “This was my mother’s,” she said softly. “She always said it would be mine one day. I had almost forgotten it.” She dropped the jewel into a deep pocket of her gown, and then she reached again into the hollow in the wall, her hand delving into the shadows.
With reverence, she removed a weighty object wrapped in purple velvet. She held it with both hands, though it was not very large and did not appear to be horribly heavy. Rayne turned, and offered the object to him on outstretched hands. “If my memory has served me well, this is what you seek.”
Lyr stepped forward and took the purple-wrapped object from Rayne’s hand. She seemed oddly glad to be rid of it. With his back to his men, Lyr peeled away the fine fabric. Sunlight streaming through an uncovered window hit the crystal and blinded him for a moment. He closed his eyes and turned about so his body would block the sunlight, and with dots dancing before his eyes, he looked down at the weapon in his hand.
He had never seen anything like it, and for a moment he was awestruck. The hilt and the blade were carved from one piece of crystal. In some places the crystal was murky gray and pink, in others it was completely clear. The blade seemed to be very sharp, and he wondered how such a weapon had been crafted without destroying the stone from which it was made. It appeared to be fragile and mighty at the same time.
And then the colors inside the crystal began to move, drifting like clouds across the sky. A moment later, the weapon spoke to him in a voice only he could hear. In his mind it whispered, I have been waiting for you, Prince of Swords.
Lyr quickly rewrapped the weapon, and once it had been covered, the voice—and the certainty that the weapon was alive—was stilled.
“My mother made that dagger,” Rayne said in a lowered voice.
“How?”
“I remember watching her work,” Rayne said. “She began with a large crystal and gently worked away those pieces which were not necessary to the finished weapon, or so she said. Late at night in my room, by early morning’s light in the garden…she worked.”
“For what purpose?” Lyr asked.
For a moment, he thought Rayne would not answer, and then she said, “My mother was very much opposed to violence of any kind, but she said one day this weapon would be needed.” Rayne shrugged her shoulders. “I was young. That is all I remember.” She looked him in the eye. “I have never trusted another with this secret, but I trust you, Lyr Hern. Do not disappoint me.”
Lyr did not want to be made to feel as if he owed this woman anything. “You mentioned that there are other such hiding places in this house,” he said sharply, ignoring her offer of trust.
“A few, if they have not been found and ravaged in my father’s absence.”
“Show Segyn where they are.” He turned to his first in command. “Use your discretion in choosing what to take and what to leave behind.”
“Yes, my lord,” Segyn responded. “M’lady, after you.” He gave Rayne a sweeping bow and stepped aside so she could move into the hallway.
When he was alone, Lyr studied the silent object in his hand. He considered unwrapping the weapon to see if it would speak again when revealed, but in the end he decided not to.
He had always known that the crystal dagger he was meant to collect would possess some magic, but he had never expected that it had a life of its own.
KEELIA WAS ANXIOUS TO LEAVE THE PALACE IN ARTHES, but she had vowed to remain with her cousin Ariana as long as she was needed, and she was still very much needed.
When they’d arrived at the palace weeks earlier, Ariana’s first responsibility had been to dispatch her younger sister Sibyl and their brother Bronsyn. Their brother Duran, who had returned to Ariana’s army in the company of Lyr and a handful of Circle warriors, was to escort his younger siblings to safety before returning to the fight. Duran, a fine sentinel, was still irked that Ariana had sent him away before marching off to fight Ciro, but that didn’t stop him from doing as he had been told. Keelia suspected that he’d expressed his anger to Ariana privately, but would not allow others to witness his demonstration of emotion.
Sibyl had served her purpose, keeping the emperor alive even though her talents as a healer were not enhanced as Ariana’s were. The younger sister did have healing gifts, and she’d used them well.
Emperor Arik was now remarkably restored. It had taken more than one healing session with Ariana, and the sessions always left her horribly drained. But they had worked well, and Arik was fit once again.
And still, Keelia saw death around him. No matter what she or Ariana did, he would not live to see the first snow of winter.
Keelia stood at the window of her fine suite and looked to the east. “He watches,” she said softly. “He watches and waits.”
Joryn came up behind her and wrapped his arms about her waist. “Do we stay here and fight him?”
“No.” Some things were meant to be and there was nothing to be done to change them. Some decisions made for the right reasons would lead to disaster. “Ariana is most desperately needed with the sentinels. Much as she would like to stay here and keep watch over her emperor, it is not meant to be.” She glanced over her shoulder, glad for the strength Joryn gave her. “She cannot save him from what is meant to be, and neither can we.”
All they could do was warn Arik that Ciro was no longer his son, that the thing inhabiting his child’s body was a demon bent on destruction. The emperor’s guards could be warned, the emperor himself could be warned, but in the end it likely wouldn’t matter.
Ciro was coming, and he would take the palace.
3
SINCE LYR AND HIS MEN NEVER BOTHERED TO ASK IF ONE of those oddly disguised hiding places had been located in her bedchamber, Rayne didn’t feel as if she were lying when she neglected to guide them to it. It wasn’t as if what she’d retrieved from that particular space was of any consequence to them. They were personal items,
keepsakes which had belonged to her mother. A few pieces of jewelry. A journal her mother had kept when she’d first married—a journal Rayne had read again and again, each time becoming entranced by the words which were filled with light, filled with the woman she remembered.
Words which abruptly stopped, midway through the journal. Rayne had often wondered why, but in her heart she knew. At this point, her mother realized what kind of man she’d taken as her husband, and she no longer wished to preserve her dreams and thoughts. The journal of those happier days was a wonderful remembrance of her mother. The jewelry she might need to sell in order to survive, at least for a while.
Since Rayne had never been beyond the walls of her father’s house, she wasn’t sure how she would live after Lyr and his men left her in a safe but strange place. Perhaps someone would take her on as a housemaid, or she could find work on a farm of some sort. She’d always loved working outdoors, tending her garden and watching things grow, and she really wasn’t afraid of hard work. Yes, that seemed almost an ideal solution. A farm. A simpler life.
First, she had to make her way down the mountain, and that was not as easy as she had thought it would be. While she had ridden on occasion, her outings had been limited to a small enclosed field beyond her garden. She was not an accomplished or adventurous horsewoman, and the trail which led from the house where she’d lived her entire life to the valley below was steep and treacherous. She held on to the saddlehorn tightly, waiting for the moment when she’d be thrown from the gentle mare.
Neither Lyr nor any of his men seemed to have trouble keeping their balance. They did not slip and slide, they did not even wobble. Annoying as he was, she could not help but think that she’d chosen wisely in picking her rescuer. Lyr Hern was more than capable. The dagger her mother had fashioned was in good hands.
Her entire life was about to change. Rayne was certain, deep in her heart, that she would never make the journey back up this mountain to the only home she had ever known. Her father had left here with Ciro, and she had no doubt that the man who claimed her as his beloved was not only dark, but evil. Wrong to the pit of his soul. Even if her father managed to come to his senses and extricate himself from the prince, a return to their previous lifestyle would not be possible. Unless Lyr and those he fought alongside defeated Ciro completely, she would never be entirely safe.
Jiri had been insistent that Ciro planned not only to wed her, but to give her some sort of special child. Rayne shuddered and almost slipped off the saddle. She could only imagine what sort of child a monster like Ciro would consider “special.”
Lyr remained as silent as she, but his men spoke often. Riding all around her, one directly ahead and one behind, with Segyn and Lyr leading the way, they bantered. They laughed. They spoke nonchalantly of battles to come and relived old ones. Even though she was located in the midst of them, they ignored her completely. Lyr was well ahead at the front of the party, so that all she could study of him was the back of his head and his squared shoulders. Since his hair was cut so short, she could see the strength in his neck and the muscled curves of his shoulders. Studying him, she was certain she had never before known a real soldier. Not Ciro, not any of her father’s men. None were like this one.
Perhaps she thought so highly of him because he was her only chance at survival, and believing him to be extraordinary offered her momentary relief.
As they reached the end of a particularly difficult stretch of the trail, and the path leveled for a distance, Lyr turned to look at her. His stony expression was difficult to read, but she suspected that if she had fallen from the mountain and perished, he would not have shed a single tear for her.
A soldier such as this one, a fighter through and through, would likely not shed a tear for anyone.
THEY MADE CAMP MILES EARLIER THAN WOULD’VE BEEN necessary if they didn’t have a woman in their party. Lyr pushed the annoyance aside. Bringing Rayne along was unavoidable. Without her he would not have the crystal dagger in his possession, and the weapon would be necessary when he faced Ciro.
He should not ponder what might take place when that meeting occurred, but he couldn’t help it. Though he had trained all his life in order to reach this position and this level of skill, he was not a battle-hardened warrior like Segyn, who was older and had fought among the clans before peace had been forged. Even if he had been more experienced in true battle, he had certainly never faced anyone—anything—like Prince Ciro. Keelia said the prince was possessed by a demon who collected souls from his victims, who drank blood, who would turn the world to darkness, given the chance.
Segyn was currently on watch, while Swaine and Til slept. They had spent many nights on the ground, and had no difficulty making themselves comfortable for the few hours of sleep they would be allowed. Even Rayne had settled down very quickly, though he suspected she was not accustomed to such conditions. At least it was not too cold nor too hot. The weather, in fact, was quite nice tonight.
Rayne seemed harmless enough, but he still did not trust her. Ciro claimed her as his betrothed. Why would he claim Rayne as his own if she was not as dark as he? Why would he so fiercely protect her, sparing a dozen men he could’ve used in battle to watch over her? It did appear that she’d been imprisoned, held against her will, but Lyr had been taught not to rely on what things seemed to be.
All he could see of his charge at the moment was her back and a long expanse of silky dark hair. When loose, it would fall past her waist, but she usually had it tied up this way or that. Had Ciro chosen his intended bride simply for her beauty? There were many beautiful women in the world, so that seemed unlikely. Had he chosen Rayne for some magic she’d hidden thus far? That seemed most likely. Ciro probably wanted to merge his own dark power with whatever gifts the wizard’s daughter possessed.
As he watched, Rayne rolled over. By the light of the low fire he could see that her eyes were wide open. She was not having such an easy time sleeping, after all. For a long moment she watched him. He did not look away; he did not pretend that he hadn’t been watching her. After a short while she sat up slowly and studied the rest of the camp. She looked at the two sleeping soldiers and watched Segyn pace near the most vulnerable section of the perimeter.
Instead of assuring herself that all was well and lying down once again, Rayne left her makeshift bed and walked toward Lyr.
He stiffened his spine and steeled his resolve. No matter what she said, he would take her no farther than the closest safe farmhouse or village—whichever came first. He would not, could not, personally deliver her to Prince Ciro. The sooner she was out of his care, the better.
She sat on the ground near him, but not too near. “I cannot sleep,” she confessed, keeping her voice low so as not to disturb the others.
“We will ride again as soon as there’s light in the sky, whether you sleep well or not.”
She sighed. “I was not asking for special treatment, just…just…”
“Just what?” he snapped.
Her eyes caught and held his. “I need someone to talk to, and you claim to be an honorable man. My mind is spinning with questions and possibilities, and that is why I can’t sleep. You’re not sleeping either, and I thought that perhaps if we talked for a while, my mind would settle.”
“Fine,” Lyr said. “Talk.”
He did not expect her to smile so widely, not after all that had happened. And yet she did smile. “You are not much of one for conversation, are you?”
“No.”
“Why not? There’s much to be learned in vibrant conversation with another person.”
“I have two younger sisters, and they talk enough for all of us.”
“Sisters,” she said warmly, the word rolling off her tongue with what seemed to be joy. “Tell me about them.”
He did not trust her enough to share family secrets, and he wasn’t certain it was safe for her to possess too much information about him or his family. “I’d rather not. Instead, why don’t you
tell me what thoughts are keeping you from sleep?”
She seemed disappointed, but not horribly so. “Before you showed yourself to me, while you battled Ciro’s soldiers above my head, Jiri revealed some information that raises more questions for me than it answers.”
“Such as?”
Her brow wrinkled a little. “What does it mean for one’s soul to be pure?”
He was surprised by the nature of the question. “I suppose that depends on your religious beliefs.” There were many different religions practiced in Columbyana and Tryfyn, some worshipping The One God, others worshipping many gods. All of them believed in the existence and the importance of the soul and the afterlife, but the Prince of Swords had not undertaken a study of theology in his years of training. “They all strive for purity of the soul, I suspect, unless the religion is of a dark sort. I have heard of such dark religions.”
She looked into the shadows beyond their camp and nodded, but she did not seem satisfied with his answer. “If one wanted to tarnish a pure soul, how would they go about it?”
“Perhaps you should ask your sweetheart,” Lyr said darkly. “I believe the tarnishing of souls is one of his attributes.”
Again, Rayne looked at him boldly. “I know you don’t trust or believe me, but I will tell you again that Prince Ciro is not my sweetheart.” She pursed her lips tightly. “Jiri said…” She stopped speaking and again pursed her lips. “Never mind. I’m wasting my time speaking to you. You’re not going to believe anything I say, no matter how hard I try to convince you that I did not choose to be affiliated with Prince Ciro.”
“In a few days we will find a safe place for you, and I’m certain you will find many fine conversationalists there.”
She looked disappointed, though there was no reason for her to be disappointed in him. His obligation was to escort her, not to charm her with insightful conversation and ease her bedtime fears. Asking how one might go about tarnishing a pure soul did nothing to convince him that she was not willingly aligned with the enemy.
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