Prince of Swords

by Linda Winstead Jones

  Lyr took the plate from her. “I don’t need you to say it again.”

  “Then why did you ask?”

  Guffaws burst from Til and Swaine as they released their contained laughter. Til snorted, and Swaine slapped his knees in childish delight.

  Rayne turned to her new friends. “How did I do?” she asked primly.

  “Well,” Til said between snorts, “it was a fine start, though I think your voice could use a bit of a Tryfyn accent when you say ‘old bastard.’ It should sound more like ol’ bastid,” he said, exaggerating the inflections.

  “Ol’ bastid,” she repeated as she returned to her compatriots. She lifted her skirts in a ladylike manner as she stepped over a fallen tree limb dainty as you please. No matter how she tried, the vile words she spoke still sounded prim and proper.

  Lyr set his plate aside and stood, and in a few long strides he had joined his men and the maddening woman they escorted. “Explain,” he said simply.

  “‘M’lady wishes to know how to curse properly,” Swaine explained. “We’ve been giving her lessons.”

  “Lessons on cursing,” Lyr repeated. “May I ask why?”

  “No you may not,” Rayne said with her nose in the air. “My reasons are none of your concern.”

  Til shook his head. “You missed a perfect opportunity for a natural ‘damned’ in that sentence, and if you’d thrown in a—”

  Lyr lifted his hand, and his man instantly went silent. All was silent, heavily so. The faces of his warriors went still as they realized the depth of his anger. Why was he angry? Passing the time teaching curse words to a lady who apparently wanted such instruction was hardly an offense. What was her reasoning? What did she have planned? He was quite certain she had some nefarious plan at play.

  The first sound to break the silence was Rayne’s heavy sigh. “Well, damn,” she said, and the curse sounded almost natural flowing from her tongue. “I’ll be happy to tell you why I asked for such instruction. It was entirely my proposal. It certainly wasn’t Swaine or Tiller’s idea.”

  “Tiller?”

  “It’s the name me mother gave me, m’lord,” Til said, “silly as it is. M’lady asked for my true name, and I saw no reason not to tell…”

  Lyr took Rayne’s arm and led her to the place where he’d left his supper sitting on the ground. “You two go help Segyn with the horses. You can eat when that’s done.”

  “Yes, m’lord,” they both said, happy to be released.

  Lyr sat on a nearby fallen log and gestured for Rayne to join him. She did so, moving primly and with a propriety he had seen only in the King’s court. He’d never cared for his regularly scheduled and necessary visits to the court. Advising the King in military matters was part of his duty, but as Tryfyn was at a time of peace, he had not been required in the palace often for matters of business. No, his visits there had been of the social sort, and that had left him with a distaste for those who appeared proper to one’s face while plotting behind one’s back. There were many women of that sort, a fact which he had already discovered.

  “Why would a lady need lessons on cursing?” he asked, maintaining what he thought was a magnanimous calm.

  “I told you, I need to know how to tarnish a soul. You were very uninterested and unhelpful, I might add, when I shared that concern with you days ago.”

  He was confused. “You’re going to tarnish someone’s soul by cursing at them?”

  Again there was that disgusted sigh. “I would never try to taint someone else’s soul. That would be horribly wrong.”

  At last, he understood. At least, he thought he did, odd as it seemed. “You’re trying to tarnish your own soul.”

  “Yes.”

  “May I ask why?”

  For a moment her lips were pursed and unfriendly, and then her mouth softened. “I suppose it won’t hurt to tell you. Maybe you’ll have some ideas. I find cursing horribly uncomfortable. There must be a better way.”

  She looked him in the eye. “Before Jiri died, he told me that Prince Ciro wants me for my pure soul. Then he said I must be pure in heart, soul, and…and body.” She blushed, more than a little. “I don’t understand why exactly, but it seemed very important. He said that’s why none of the others were allowed in the basement in the months I was imprisoned there. Once the servants were…gone”—she dropped her eyes in sadness or respect—“I saw only Jiri.”

  “I’m not even sure that Ciro has a soul,” Lyr confessed. “Why would he wish yours to be pure?”

  Rayne lifted her chin, trying for an appearance of dignity and strength. It hurt her efforts that her chin trembled. “Ciro plans to marry me, as you know. Jiri also mentioned something about…about a child. A special baby.” Again, she blushed. “I don’t want to be Ciro’s bride, and I certainly don’t want his child.” She shuddered. “Maybe if I’m tarnished, maybe if I don’t possess the pure soul and heart he seems to be infatuated with, he’ll leave me alone. I’m sure there are other women who will suit his purposes if he isn’t quickly defeated.”

  She did not mention tarnishing her body, which would be easy enough to accomplish, so he suspected that it was the soul Ciro concerned himself with most. That made sense, as the demon was an eater of souls.

  A decided chill walked down Lyr’s spine. If Rayne was telling the truth, and he suspected she was, there was more at work here than Ciro’s lust or obsession with a pretty woman. Keelia had told a tale of a Caradon wizard in the Mountains of the North, a wizard who’d had dark plans to give her a special child. The child of man and demon, a baby who would be more powerful than anyone could imagine. More powerful and more evil, a child who would rule the dark world Ciro and the Isen Demon wished to create.

  Rayne was meant to be the mother of just such a child.

  If he were to do his right and proper duty, he’d kill her now. He could hold her and slit her throat, and she’d die before she knew what had happened. That would be best, for her, for the war, for the fate of the world.

  And yet he couldn’t do it. For the first time, he considered that Rayne might truly be an innocent in all this. Perhaps it was his task to protect her, just as it was his task to wield the crystal dagger. If that was the case, he couldn’t leave her with just anyone.

  Lyr also knew he couldn’t take Rayne directly to Ciro—and he knew he had no choice but to face the prince.

  The crystal dagger, which he’d strapped close to his thigh, hummed. He heard and felt it, but Rayne didn’t seem to hear anything at all. She didn’t look around for the source of the noise. Instead, she looked deeply into his eyes as if judging his reaction to her claims.

  “I would not lie to you,” she said softly. “You saved me from imprisonment, and have kept your word to me. You could’ve taken the crystal dagger and left me in that house alone, and then what would I have done? I can’t fight you, I can’t force you to do anything against your will. I can only trust you, Lyr Hern.”

  Lyr wished for Keelia’s guidance, but Keelia was not near. He briefly placed his hand against the humming dagger, wondering if it would speak to him as it had in the past. If it spoke to him with words he did not wish to hear, would he listen? Should he attempt to ask for guidance? No, he was not a man to be incessantly guided by others. This decision was his to make, it was his alone. The solution to his dilemma was simple, and would not require him to go much out of his way. Having Rayne along would slow the journey, but if she was meant to give birth to Ciro’s child, then he had two choices. He could kill her, or he could take her to Ariana and Keelia and entrust her to their hands.

  And if he did not succeed in his mission to defeat Ciro, then one of them would have to kill Rayne. She and Ciro could not be allowed to come together and make that special child.

  HE WOULD HAVE TO MOVE VERY CAREFULLY WHEN THE time came. Phelan knew what the Prince of Swords could do. He’d seen the displays of magic and swordplay.

  Before the Isen Demon had called, Phelan had more than once seen time stop a
t the hands of the young man who led this party. He never felt as if time had been lost, but one moment the young man was in one position, and a moment later he was not. In the blink of an eye, the Prince of Swords might be at your very back, and you would not know he was there until it was too late.

  A useful gift, one he wished he himself possessed.

  He’d had no doubts about killing those of Ciro’s Own who’d guarded the woman. What choice had he had? None at all. That had not been the time to reveal himself, to rise up to fight alongside those the Circle called enemy. If he’d given himself away too soon, he, too, would be dead, and then who would be left to deliver the woman to Emperor Ciro?

  Yes, emperor. Another step had been taken. Another victory had been won.

  Though Phelan had hidden himself for years among noble warriors, he’d always been rather fond of the killing that came with battle. There was no need to admit such to others, of course, but when in battle, he felt a rush like no other. On some occasions he had not stopped when the battle had ended, but had continued on late at night, in dark alleyways and the homes of welcoming strangers. When there was no enemy to be killed, he imagined his own enemies in the bodies of drunken bums who would not be missed, or in loose women who plied their trade in dim alleyways.

  He’d often silently bemoaned the fact that there was not enough battle in Tryfyn to suit him, and yet he’d somehow known that a proper battle was coming.

  When the demon had come for him, it had been no surprise at all. Phelan had welcomed the joining with the demon, and he’d gladly taken on this assignment to watch and listen and even guide. He’d been concerned when they’d confronted the Queen of the Anwyn, that powerful seer, but the demon had promised to protect him from her sight, and it had. It had protected him very well.

  The demon had considerable powers, and was able to protect some of its secrets with a dark magic the Queen and those like her would never understand. In Phelan’s mind he likened this secrecy to a thick black smoke which concealed many of those secrets the demon did not wish to be known.

  For now, all was favorable. The party traveled in the right direction, and while they remained on constant guard, there had been no skirmishes along the way. Ciro’s Own was keeping their distance until called.

  Ciro’s Own. One day Phelan would have his own army, and they would answer only to him. That would be his reward for delivering the woman, pure and untouched, to the emperor of Columbyana. Phelan’s Own, Phelan’s Legion, Phelan’s Army. There was time still to decide what they might be called.

  No one among them knew him as Phelan. He’d hidden his true name, as well as his true nature, for many years. Soon he would reveal himself and take his reward.

  Ciro’s bride was a fool if she thought a few clumsily uttered curse words would touch the brightness of her soul.

  WHEN SHE SAW THE FARMHOUSE IN THE DISTANCE, Rayne’s heart dropped. It had been several days since they’d headed down the mountain, and she’d known this time would come, but still…she wasn’t ready. Her mouth went dry and her heart began to pound. Thinking of taking on a job for strangers where she might work for her keep had seemed like a fine idea from a distance, but looking at the small dirty farmhouse a touch of reality intruded. It would be hard work, and even if the people there appeared to be kind on meeting the travelers, who knew what they would be like after Lyr and his men rode away?

  She thought of her mother’s jewels, keepsakes which would do her no good in a place like this. She needed to be deposited in a town, preferably a large town where she could sell her valuables and rent or buy a small house or a decent room and think about how she might hide until the fight with Ciro was over.

  Lyr saw the farmhouse and stopped on the narrow roadway to study it more intently. He finally turned to Swaine. “See if they are willing to sell us food. I’m mightily tired of dried meat.”

  Swaine nodded and headed in that direction. At Lyr’s order, Tiller followed.

  Segyn sidled up beside his commander. “M’lord, will we be leaving the girl here?”

  Rayne held her breath, but not for very long, thanks to Lyr’s curt and immediate response. “No. I don’t like the look of this place. It’s too remote. Why would decent folks settle here? We’ll find a more proper situation further down the road.”

  Segyn nodded, seemingly agreeing with Lyr, and Rayne’s heart soon resumed a normal rhythm.

  While waiting for the others to return, Lyr dismounted. He walked directly to her and offered his arms. “You might want to stretch your legs while we wait for the others to return.”

  “Thank you.” She accepted his help, and was glad to feel her boots hit the hard ground. Too many long days of riding were not agreeing with her, but she didn’t dare to complain. She lowered her voice. “I thank you also for not leaving me here.”

  Lyr didn’t look directly at her, which was odd since he usually had no qualms about staring her down. “I can’t be certain it’s a safe place. I did give you my word.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “We should probably move more toward civilization before settling you with a proper keeper. Don’t you agree?”

  “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  While she knew Lyr Hern to be a capable fighter, she hadn’t always felt that he had her best interests at heart. Not at all. For the first time since she’d met him, she sensed a real change in his attitude. He did care for her well-being. He would not abandon her.

  The man who had rescued her truly was a champion.

  Rayne pushed down the little rush of…something…that made her feel almost giddy. It would be foolish to become attached to a man whose only wish was to deposit her in a place where she’d be out of danger. It was noble of him, but he would likely have the same care for any other man or woman in his charge.

  Even though she’d been shielded from much of life’s harsh realities during her lifetime, she was no fool. She knew why Ciro had looked at her the way he sometimes did, and why he grabbed her with clumsy hands that attempted to touch her where no man should. A pawing of her breasts, a hand thrust among her skirts and between her thighs. She always moved quickly when serving his tea, so those unpleasant touches did not last too long. Over the years other of her father’s visitors had often looked at her with leering glances that turned her stomach, most particular since she’d turned fifteen. At first she’d merely thought them odd men, but after speaking with a few of the maids and catching the cook and the gardener in the pantry…she knew exactly what was on their minds.

  She’d complained to her father once when an elder visitor had attempted to grab her, but her father had told her that she should be flattered, that their guest showed her attentions only because she was beautiful. How could a man be so protective in some ways, and so uncaring in others? How could he suggest that she be flattered?

  During that particular man’s visit, Rayne had not passed a single night in her own bed. She’d hidden each night in infrequently used guest rooms or with the servants, and she’d known, by the way the man glared at her over breakfast, that he had discovered she’d not been in her own bed.

  Lyr Hern did not leer, nor did he grab. She almost wished that he would, but then of course, he would not be the man she was coming to admire.

  He was very handsome, not many years older than she, and…oh, he was striking. Not only handsome, but well built and graceful and strong. He was not at all like those men who had stared at her as if they were starving and she was a meat pie, and if he ever thought to grab at her in an inappropriate way, he wouldn’t paw roughly, she imagined, but would be possessed of gentleness and kindness. His touch would be skilled and caring. If Lyr were a gardener and she were a cook…

  Rayne closed her eyes tightly, but that did nothing to chase away the image in her mind or the odd clenching in her lower belly.

  “Are you all right?” Lyr asked, sounding concerned.

  “Yes,” she said primly. “I’m fine.”

  “Why are your eyes c
losed?”

  “I’m…tired.” It was a silly explanation. She was standing on the road, rigid as a board.

  “You need to get to sleep sooner after we stop at night,” he said, sounding relieved that exhaustion was her only complaint.

  “I will try,” she promised.

  Lyr moved away. A moment later she heard him speak to Segyn, and she opened her eyes slowly. She’d been trying so hard to tarnish her soul with cursing when she wasn’t at all good at it, and suddenly lust touched her, unbidden. Was it lust that she felt? Or was it simply gratitude?

  It didn’t really matter. The only man she’d ever been attracted to in that special way had absolutely no interest in her as a woman. To Lyr Hern, she was an obligation, a package to be delivered and deposited and forgotten. A man like him, with his fine looks and his important position, probably had many women at home, women who would know what they were doing if he did grab or leer. No, he had no use for a woman like her.

  Well, damn.

  THEY WERE DAYS AWAY FROM THE PALACE, AND DAYS more still from Merin and his army, when Keelia suffered a startling vision of Ciro in the palace their party had left behind. She was overwhelmed with sadness, and filled with horror. She had not met Prince Ciro before the demon had taken him, so she didn’t know if he had always been bad or if he was as much a victim in this war as any other soldier who fell. It didn’t matter. Whatever the prince had been before, he was now an enemy like no other, and only his destruction could bring peace.

  Joryn and Sian were busy setting up camp, while Ariana tended horses and Keelia got ready to prepare their simple supper. The meat was freshly caught, the vegetables purchased in a small town they’d passed through that afternoon, the fire had been built by Joryn with a flick of his fingers. As Queen, she had not been called upon to cook, but of late she’d been forced to develop many new skills.

  She didn’t want to tell Ariana what she knew, not yet. Her cousin was emotionally attached to the emperor; she had gone to great lengths to save the older man from the sickness the Isen Demon had given him. Even though Keelia had warned Ariana that nothing she did could save Arik in the end, she would be distraught. There would be enough pain in the days to come. This pain could wait.