Prince of Swords

by Linda Winstead Jones

  “You told me he was dead,” Rayne said, her voice broken and sad, “but to know that he died like this, to be burned and left behind without a proper burial, to lie in the open this way and…and…”

  “Forget what you’ve seen.” Comforting finished, Lyr tried to remove Rayne from him and turn her toward her mare. “What remains of your father is not your father, do you understand that?”

  Rayne refused to release him, and he could not bring himself to forcibly push her away. “He was not a good man.” Her sobs lessened in intensity. “But there were times when he was a decent father. I think he loved me.” She sounded less than certain.

  “I’m sure he did,” Lyr said, though he could not at all be sure that a man who would leave his daughter chained in the cellar and promised to a demon had any love in his heart.

  Her grip lessened, and Lyr felt a rush of relief. She was going to release him. She had come to her senses and would back away.

  “We will bury him, won’t we?” Her head, which had been pressed against his chest, tipped back so she could look him in the eye. “I can’t leave my father this way.”

  “We don’t have time…”

  She moved well away from him, finally. “You go on, then,” she said, anger taking the place of her sorrow. “I’ll bury him myself.”

  “You know very well I can’t leave you here,” he said in a lowered voice.

  “Then help me bury my father.” Her eyes, still wet with tears, pleaded with him. They were the sort of eyes that might break a man’s heart if he allowed.

  Lyr looked up and down the street. Fynnian’s body was not the only one that had been left to rot. Would burying the victims of the slaughter make it a better place? Would anything or anyone heal if they made that effort?

  He finally set Rayne aside as he turned to the men, who watched too closely. They had never seen the Prince of Swords offer solace to anyone, and he could not help but notice the curiosity in their eyes. He ignored those glances. “Find some proper tools. Shovels, picks, anything that will move dirt. We’ll dig one grave.”

  Segyn’s mouth was set in a grimace that spoke of disapproval as he repeated Lyr’s original protest. “M’lord, we haven’t the time for—”

  “We’ll make the time, and we’ll all do our part. Cover your hands and faces as you work. These bodies have been here a long while and those which were not burned might be diseased.”

  “I’ll dig,” Rayne said, most of the teary sadness gone from her voice. “I know I can’t do as much as the four of you, but—”

  “You will not dig.” As the men moved away to find the tools they’d need, Lyr turned to face Rayne. “You may say words over the grave if you’d like, but you’ll have to make them quick.”

  “I don’t mind helping,” she said. “In fact, I insist. I’m the one who made the request, so I’ll—”

  Lyr was unaccustomed to having his commands questioned, and Rayne questioned him constantly. He was mightily tired of it. “You will not dig your father’s grave. Mention it again and we’ll leave him where he lays.”

  Rayne pursed her lips to keep from saying more and then dropped her head as if to stare at her feet.

  “Help me lead the horses to the other end of town,” Lyr said in a kinder voice. He tried to imagine finding his own father in such a state and could not. No matter what sort of man he’d been, Fynnian had been dear to his daughter. “We will dig the grave there, away from the scene of their deaths. You have spoken often of your garden. Perhaps you would like to gather a few plants with which to mark the grave.”

  Her head popped up quickly, and he saw the light of pleasure in her eyes. That light should not bring him even a tidbit of joy, but it did.

  “Yes,” she said. “I would like that very much.”

  They gathered the horses, and as they walked the animals down the street of the dead village, Lyr felt compelled to add, “Don’t move too far away from us as you work. What happened here took place long ago, but I don’t like the feel of this village.” He did not add that he didn’t want her out of his sight.

  Rayne nodded and then she said in a lowered voice, “You’re a good man, Lyr Hern.”

  “No, you are a good daughter. I would not stop to take on this chore if you had not insisted.”

  She didn’t look at him as she answered, “A good daughter would’ve stood up to her father when she realized he had chosen the wrong path. A truly good daughter would have tried to save her father before a day like this one arrived. I was too meek, too…too afraid to do what I knew to be right. I won’t be afraid again.” A touch of steel entered her soft voice.

  Lyr didn’t tell her that every warrior knew fear. The trick was in not allowing that fear to rule all else.

  At the moment his own fear was a new one. He didn’t know that he could save Rayne from Ciro. He didn’t know if he would be called upon to take the life of this woman who had the power to make him do things he knew he should not do.

  His fear for her was much greater than any he had ever known for himself.

  8

  LYR AND HIS MEN WORKED HARD, AND THEY FINISHED their unpleasant chore much sooner than Rayne had expected they would. She took Lyr’s advice to heart and remained nearby as she did her own digging. Even if he hadn’t told her to stay close, she would’ve done so. She felt safer in their presence…in Lyr’s presence, more rightly.

  She chose two small bushes she knew would flower in the spring, and also unearthed two evergreen plants. It was possible that no one else would ever know these bushes marked such horror, but she would know. Maybe her father would know, if his spirit survived and watched over her.

  Somehow she thought his spirit would have better things to do. Though she tried to convince herself that he’d loved her, in truth she had never been very high on his list of priorities. In death would he be sorry for the choices he had made in life?

  When the remains had been covered and nothing more than a mound of recently turned dirt marked the spot, Rayne set the chosen plants on the sites where she wished them to be. One each of the evergreens at the foot and the head of the grave, the two plants which would flower in the center. Each of the men made a move to assist her, but she shooed them away. They had done their part and needed to rest. This was her contribution to the chore, and she wanted to accomplish it alone.

  As she dug holes for the plants with the simple tools Swaine had given her, she hummed a spiritual tune her mother had taught her years ago. Odd, but she’d forgotten the song until now, though her mother had sung it often. It seemed fitting, as if the serene words might lift away some of the pain of this place. She dug, and hummed, and when the song was done, she spoke to the plants. They were living things, after all, different in many ways from animals and humans but still very much alive. Her escorts, all four of them, sat, rested, and watched. They did not speak. Perhaps they were too drained from their unpleasant chore.

  At the center of the large grave she dug a suitable hole and placed the roots of the first of the flowering plants there. She used her hands to cover the roots, and then she moved a short distance away to do the same for the other plant. She could not tell if the blooms on this wild flowering plant would be white or lavender, but she hoped for the latter. This dull place needed some color, even if it lasted only for a week or so once a year.

  It would be best if someone were here to water the transplants and tend to them until they were well situated in their new sites, but that was not possible. She would have to trust that rain would fall and the roots would remain healthy and reach deeper into the earth.

  “Grow for me,” she whispered. “Take root, be strong. Flower.” She dug her hands into the dirt, wishing she could share her will for life, that she could send that will into the soil itself. She wished that she could somehow assure, even though she would never pass this way again, that the plants which marked this grave would thrive.

  Just a few inches from her nose a leaf twitched. The wind, she thought i
mmediately before several more leaves began to twist and dance. She felt no wind in her hair or on her face, though she would have welcomed a breeze since her physical efforts had caused her to perspire.

  She did not remove her hands from the dirt, but remained very still as the plant began to grow before her eyes. It was as if a season passed in the blinking of an eye. The thin limbs grew longer, and buds appeared, growing as she took one long, deep breath.

  The buds opened, revealing large, healthy lavender blooms. It was as if time rushed forward.

  Time. Was this Lyr’s doing somehow? Her head snapped up and she found that all four men had risen and moved closer to her, and they stared at the plants, which were growing at a rapid rate. Judging by the expression on Lyr’s face, this was not his doing. He was stunned.

  Somehow she had done this herself.

  Rayne removed her hands from the dirt, and the growth stopped. The blooms looked healthy, and they were decidedly fragrant. She stood and brushed the loose dirt from her hands, and absently brushed away some of the soil that had stuck to her skirt. There was no quick fix for the dirt which was lodged beneath her fingernails.

  It was Segyn who spoke first. “I did not know you possessed such magic,” he said, his tone reverent.

  “Neither did I,” she said.

  Her gaze was drawn to Lyr, who stared at her with those narrowed eyes which always seemed so calculating. She knew him well enough to realize that he did not entirely believe her.

  PHELAN WASN’T SURE HOW TO PROCEED. SOMETHING HAD happened between Rayne and Lyr, or else it was about to happen. He was not blind to the silent exchanges where eyes met eyes, and who wouldn’t question the way the slut had so easily thrown herself into m’lord’s arms when she’d found her father’s body?

  The Isen Demon wished the woman to be pure in all ways, but was it already too late for that?

  No, the demon whispered. Emperor Ciro is concerned with purity of the body. I care most ardently for the brightness of her soul. That is what matters to the babe she will carry.

  Phelan cared nothing for Ciro and what he wanted, but he did want to please the Isen Demon. How else could he get all that he wanted when the world turned to darkness?

  “Now?” Phelan whispered. “Do I take her now?”

  Soon. When the opportunity arises, take it. Kill the warriors, take the woman, bury the crystal dagger deep.

  Soon. Phelan was anxious to make his move, but considering what Lyr was capable of meant he had to plan carefully. While the other slept, perhaps. Then again, if he could catch the Prince of Swords unaware, that would do just as well. His limbs tingled with excitement as they rode away from the mass grave where the woman had demonstrated her magical ability, an ability she claimed she’d known nothing about until this very day.

  He was not concerned by the demonstration of magic. Forcing a plant to bloom out of season couldn’t exactly be used as a weapon, not against him and certainly not against the Isen Demon.

  Soon.

  He could hardly wait, and in truth—why should he? The sooner he had the others out of the way and Rayne in his grasp, the sooner his charade could end. Yes, it was time.

  IT HAD BEEN DIFFICULT FOR LYR TO KEEP HIS QUESTIONS to himself as they traveled well past dark. It would not do for his men to realize how curious he was about Rayne’s supposedly newly discovered powers. How could she have possessed such a gift and not known about it until now? She’d mentioned often that she kept a garden. Did she not find it unusual that she could ask her plants to grow and they obeyed?

  He needed to know the details of her gift. Was she a fertility witch like Aunt Sophie? Would she get pregnant if he sneezed in her direction, or were her gifts exclusively directed to plant life? He had given little thought to babies when he’d lain with her. It wasn’t as if women regularly found themselves with child after one night. Yes, that was possible, but he considered it unlikely.

  Unless she was like Aunt Sophie.

  Segyn and Swaine slept, and Til kept watch. Even though their journey had been uneventful, they were all unsettled by the day’s findings. The destroyed village, the sense of dread that still lived there, they reminded them all of what they were fighting against, and how difficult that fight would be.

  Rayne tried to go to sleep, but it was obvious by the way she tossed and turned on the ground that she was not sleeping—and sleep was not coming anytime soon. The discovery of her father’s body and the revelation—or unintentional display—of her magical talents left her unsettled.

  Lyr was a bit unsettled himself, truth be told.

  He made his way to her by moonlight alone. His night vision was quite sharp, and on a night like this one there was no need for a fire. So far their journey had been blessed with good weather and a lack of obstacles, but he didn’t think that was likely to last.

  Lyr leaned down, knowing Rayne was awake. “I would have a word with you,” he whispered.

  She rolled over to look up and directly at him. Yes, she looked innocent enough. “A word?”

  “A word.” He offered his hand to assist her, and she took it. That simple touch, her hand in his, was like taking lightning into his palm. On his palm and in his blood and into every nerve of his body. He tried very hard not to let his reaction show. His response was entirely physical in any case, and in the end unimportant.

  He drew Rayne to her feet and led her away from the camp. They would not go far, but he didn’t wish to wake those who slept. Til watched as Lyr and Rayne walked away from the small camp. He nodded in acknowledgment, and then glanced at the sleeping soldiers. Tonight his job was an easy one, and he was likely grateful for it after a day which had not been at all easy.

  Lyr and Rayne walked into the deeper shadows of a forest, where the leaves were turning red and gold and blue. Soon those leaves would fall and cover the ground and the trees would be bare, but on this night the trees were lushly alive.

  “You said you had no magic,” Lyr said, his voice soft and accusing.

  “I didn’t. At least, not that I knew of.”

  “You made those plants grow and bloom. Is that not magic?”

  “Of course it is, but it’s not something I’ve ever been able to do in the past.” She bit her lower lip. “Not that I was aware of, in any case. Maybe it’s my father’s bracelet or his ring.”

  “You have them on you?”

  “Yes. Tiller said it was all right. He helped me—”

  “I told you to take nothing,” Lyr interrupted. He’d told Til, too. Everything about that ruined village reeked of darkness, and it should’ve all been buried with the remains.

  “I have nothing of my father but for those two things,” Rayne argued. “Surely it can’t matter—”

  “They come from a dark place, Rayne. Surely you realize that as well as I do.”

  She dropped her head. “The truth is I might need them to live on, once you leave me elsewhere. I have some of my mother’s jewels, but I don’t know how long the proceeds from their sale might last.”

  Lyr took her chin in his hand and forced her to look him in the eye. “I will not let you starve or live beneath yourself,” he promised. “I will not simply drop you in a strange place and leave you to your own devices.”

  “I thought that was the plan,” she said. “How else am I to hide myself?”

  “I don’t have all the answers,” Lyr said, “but I do know that I won’t leave you.” He felt his brow knit. “Was that the reason you asked me to have sex with you? Did you know that once that was done, I would feel responsible for you to the pit of my soul?”

  “No,” she whispered. She lifted her skirt. Even in the dark, Lyr could see the fabric bag that was strapped to her thigh. She carried her valuables much as he carried the crystal dagger, close against the skin.

  She opened the bag and drew out the two gold pieces. “Do you really think there’s darkness in these?”

  “Yes, I do. I learned at an early age that good and evil both remain in
the things they touch.”

  Rayne did not ask again. She drew back her hand and threw the jewelry she’d taken from her father deep into the forest. The gold pieces made soft sounds as they broke through limbs and leaves and finally landed on the ground a good distance away.

  “If they are the reason for my ability, then it is now done,” she said without regret.

  “And if they’re not?”

  Rayne placed one hand on Lyr’s chest. “Maybe it was you. Us, more rightly. I swear, I did feel as if I reached another place in my very soul when I…well…when we…”

  “After what we shared, I would say there is no need for shyness.”

  “I suppose there’s not.” She took a deep breath. “The pleasure I experienced in your arms was not only of the body, it touched my soul. I felt it there, I’m sure of it. Perhaps my gift was resting there until you roused it.”

  “That is unlikely.”

  “Is it? Is that theory any more unlikely than a magic that might’ve been trapped in two pieces of gold?” Her hand settled boldly on his penis, and he grew quickly. “I believe there is more magic in what we shared than in any wizard’s words or talismans. I believe the magic of the universe might awaken at the soft sound of two bodies coming together.”

  “It was only—” Lyr began.

  “It wasn’t only anything,” she said breathlessly. “Tell me you don’t want me again. Tell me you have not thought endlessly of being inside me again.”

  It had not been Lyr’s intention, when he’d led Rayne into the darkness, to do anything but talk. But the way she touched him, the way she spoke so seductively and innocently, changed his intentions.

  “Do you want me now?” he whispered, leaning down to kiss the side of her neck.

  “I do, more than ever. More than I thought was possible.”

  There was no soft bed, no undressing or arousing or games. He was hard, she was wet, and it seemed they tumbled together without thought or design. She freed him, he lifted her skirt, and moments later he took her with rough tree bark at her back and her thighs wrapped about his hips.