Prince of Swords

by Linda Winstead Jones

  Last night her room had been dark. Tonight the moonlight illuminated her, and her worse-for-wear traveling dress covered the skin he longed to see. He had touched her delicate flesh, he had reveled in it, but he wished to see. He wished to see the swell of her breasts as well as touch it. He wished to study the dip of her waist and the curve of her hip. Even now he could be still and remove her gown, showing patience and restraint and care, but he did not.

  Lost in her tight warmth, he forgot all else. There was no gentle instruction of a virgin, not tonight. It was as if they’d become animals, as if they’d lost control and obeyed the commands of their bodies without the interference of their minds. Lyr never lost control. Never.

  If losing control meant this kind of intense pleasure, he should allow himself the satisfaction more often.

  Rayne moved against him, she moaned as she ground her hips against his and very quickly found release. She gasped and clutched at his hair. Her thighs tightened around him and he felt her tremble in every bone of her fine body. Her inner muscles spasmed around him and he climaxed in response.

  To the soul, she’d said, and at the moment he could not argue with her. This was certainly unlike any controlled, well-planned liaison he’d shared with any woman in the past.

  As Lyr returned to the world, he noticed that leaves fell all around their joined bodies. Red leaves, plump and colorful, dropped en masse, though the color was not easy to see at night. Rayne lifted her face and smiled as the leaves rained down.

  She took his face in her hands and kissed him. The kiss was deep and enthusiastic and filled with emotion. Her lips danced over his, her tongue fluttered and explored. The rustle of falling leaves surrounded them, and Lyr felt them pile up at his feet. He heard a sharp cracking sound, a crackling of the bark as the tree grew more quickly than was natural. The rustling sound was like the wind, or the rush of a brook, but there was no wind, no rushing water. There was only Rayne, daughter of the dead wizard Fynnian, betrothed to Ciro, lover to Prince of Swords.

  “I do not think it was my father’s gold that awakened my magic,” Rayne whispered as the leaves fell. After a hard day where there had been no joy, Lyr heard joy in her voice.

  RAYNE WAS GLAD TO PUT MILES BETWEEN HER AND THE village where her father had died. As she rode along, she wondered if Lyr had any idea that he had helped her so much when he’d led her into the forest last night. Not just for sexual pleasure, not that she was complaining, but for the simple and wondrous act of being with a friend.

  Lyr was her friend, wasn’t he? Perhaps the only true friend she’d ever had.

  Tiller sometimes looked at her and almost smirked, as if he knew what had happened last night. He’d been too far away to do more than suspect, and in truth she didn’t care. Lyr did care, however. He’d made it clear his men were not to know the true nature of their relationship.

  Friendship.

  Sex.

  Love?

  Maybe.

  When they stopped for an afternoon break, Segyn left the care of the horses to Til and Swaine and swaggered to her with a smile on his face. “Do you think you could make any bush grow the way you made the flowers grow?”

  “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “The ability is…new. Untested. I honestly don’t know what I can do.”

  “I ask because I spotted a yettle bush right over there.” He pointed to the south. “Have you ever had a yettle berry?”

  “I’ve never even heard of them,” she confessed. “Are they tasty?”

  Segyn rolled his eyes. “Tasty indeed. Sweet as pie with just a touch of tartness to tease the tongue. They’re very rare. I had wondered if there were any yettle berry bushes left in the world, that is how rare they are. They sprout early in the summer, but it occurred to me that if you can make flowers when there should be none, perhaps you could make berries as well. I suspect Lyr would enjoy a bite of something sweet on a warm afternoon.”

  The very thought made Rayne smile. Lyr didn’t take time for many pleasures; she had learned that about him. If she could feed him a few sweet berries when there should be none, what a gift that would be.

  Segyn led her to the bush, and Rayne knelt down before it. Lyr was not about, so if she was successful, the berries would be a surprise. Lyr had gone to the stream where Til and Swaine had taken the horses, and there he would likely shave quickly with a small, sharp knife. Last night his beard had been quite rough, so it was time. He would return with smooth cheeks, and she would feed him sweet berries—if she could make her magic work again.

  She pressed her hands into the dirt at the base of the bush. She could almost feel a part of herself seeping into the soil, feeding the plant with a magical energy. “Can you give us lovely berries, even though the time has not come?” She began to sing, as she had yesterday, and in moments the growth began. The leaves quivered, and soon small blooms opened. The blooms dropped, and berries appeared. At first they were red, and then they turned a dark purple.

  And then the growth stopped.

  Rayne began to pick while Segyn looked on. “There are so many! Everyone will be able to have a few, and if they’ll keep well enough, perhaps we can pack what’s left for later today and tomorrow.” She looked over her shoulder to a smiling Segyn. “Would you like to help me pick?”

  “After you take some to m’lord, I will pick some for myself.”

  Rayne had so many berries she ended up carrying them in the folds of her skirt. Til and Swaine should have some fruit, too. After all they had done for her, she was glad to be able to give them something, even if it was just a handful of berries.

  There was a rough path of sorts that led to the stream. She arrived just as Lyr was washing off his freshly shaved face, and with a smile she presented the berries, which rested on her skirt, to him. “Yettle berries,” she said. “Segyn says they’re very sweet and tasty.”

  Lyr studied the fruit. “I have never had these berries.”

  “Neither have I, but Segyn says they’re sweet as pie and that’s good enough for me.”

  Lyr took a handful of berries and popped one into his mouth. Another followed, and then he smiled. Lyr did not smile often, she knew that, so this smile was particularly gratifying. While he ate, she offered Til and Swaine some of what she’d gathered, and they both took greedy handfuls.

  They had both taken big bites, tossing several berries at a time into their mouths, when Lyr fell.

  Rayne turned, not sure what to think of what she’d just seen. Lyr fell, landing on his face. He was so graceful, she had never seen him so much as stumble. The breath he took—face in the dirt—was a labored one, and a moment later his hand opened to spill berries across the ground.

  “Are you choking?” Rayne dropped to her knees. The berries she’d caught in her skirt scattered, rolling away from her as she turned Lyr onto his back. His face was taut and slightly contorted, and his hands were clenched. His throat worked oddly, and for a moment she believed that he was truly choking.

  And then Tiller fell, followed by Swaine.

  Rayne looked at the berries she’d dropped. They were poisoned! How could Segyn have made such a mistake? She screamed for Lyr’s next in command and in very short order he was there, as if he had been waiting for her call.

  “I think this is the wrong sort of berry,” she said frantically. “They all ate a few and then they fell, and…I think they’re dying.”

  “You didn’t eat any?” Segyn asked.

  “No, I was—”

  “A lady always serves others first.”

  How could he be so calm? “Do something!” she commanded. “They’re dying!”

  “They’re not dying,” Segyn said in an even voice as he stepped past her and drew his sword. “Not yet.”

  9

  LYR COULDN’T MOVE. HE COULD BARELY BREATHE. HIS arms and legs felt heavy, as if they were not his own.

  She’d poisoned him. Just as he’d feared, Rayne had never been who she’d appeared to be. She’d seduce
d him, made him care about her, and now she was going to kill him for her true lover—her beloved Ciro.

  Segyn stepped into the clearing. He obviously hadn’t eaten any of the poison berries. Rayne spoke to him, but Lyr could barely hear her treacherous words. His blood was rushing so fast he couldn’t understand what she was trying to say. Making excuses, no doubt. Trying to explain away why three men lay helpless while she looked on.

  Segyn saw through her. The Circle Warrior drew his sword. Lyr tried to shout no, but he wasn’t sure why. Rayne had poisoned him and his men, so it was right that Segyn kill her. And still, he wanted to scream no.

  Segyn walked past Rayne to the bank where Til and Swaine lay, no doubt as helpless as Lyr. He couldn’t see them, not in this position, and he couldn’t turn his head for a better view. Segyn was likely checking to see that they still breathed, that they could be saved. Could they? Could any of them be saved?

  With effort, Lyr shifted his eyes just enough to see Segyn raise his sword and bring it down again, not once but twice.

  Rayne screamed. Lyr heard that well even through the rushing of blood in his ears.

  And then Segyn moved to Lyr. He stood above, his sword grasped easily in one hand. For a moment the Circle Warrior studied Lyr from that position so far above, and then he smiled widely and something in Lyr’s heart died. Segyn was his friend, a man he trusted above all others, and somehow he had done this terrible thing. Not Rayne, but Segyn. Or were they working together? Had Rayne seduced Segyn as well? Had she been playing a deadly game from the moment they’d found her bound and supposedly helpless? It didn’t matter how this had come to be. Segyn’s participation was a betrayal of the worst sort, a betrayal that cut to the core.

  Rayne threw herself at Segyn in an apparent rage, but the large man pushed her aside with little expended effort. Rayne landed on her backside in the dirt, and Segyn spun about to point the tip of his sword at her chest. Lyr could not yet hear, but he managed to read Segyn’s lips.

  Move and I’ll gut you.

  So, they weren’t working together after all. It was just Segyn, only Segyn, and somehow that was worse.

  When Rayne was still and properly warned, Segyn turned his attention to Lyr again. He leaned down, bringing his face closer to Lyr’s, and shouted to be heard. “Where is the crystal dagger?”

  Lyr would’ve shaken his head, but still could not move.

  “Of course, you can’t tell me just yet.” Segyn dropped to his haunches, casual and easy as if he had not just murdered two comrades and now threatened a friend. “I could search for it, but in a little bit you will be able to speak again. Before you can move, you’ll regain your hearing and your speech.” Again, there was that smile which was not Segyn’s and yet…was. “I had planned to wait awhile longer before making my move, but when I saw the yettle berry bush so near to the place we stopped, I decided it was meant to be. That isn’t a plant you see every day, after all, so it seemed quite fortuitous. I’ve worried quite a bit about how I might kill you without taking the chance that you’d stop time for me in the midst of an attack. You’re such a light sleeper, especially when we’re traveling.”

  Apparently Rayne moved, because Segyn’s head snapped around. This time, Lyr could hear his words. “You likely know I won’t gut you, not before Emperor Ciro gets his hands on you. I will, however, make you very uncomfortable, and I will gut your lover slowly while you watch, rather than offering him a quick death. So sit yourself down and don’t move until I tell you to move! Don’t look at me that way as if you think you can fight me. What are you going to do, pelt me with berries and flowers?” Segyn laughed harshly at that concept.

  Lyr wished he could see Rayne, but he could not. At the moment he could see nothing but blue skies above and the face of a traitorous friend.

  Segyn returned his attention to Lyr. “We have a little time, and I did promise to tell you about my kitchen maid, didn’t I? It’s a tale I’ve often longed to share, but could not. Not until now.” He leaned slightly closer, as if to make sure no detail was missed. “I made use of her, the same way you have taken to making use of Emperor Ciro’s bride, and she loved me. She loved me even more than you love me. You do love me, don’t you, m’lord? Not the way she did, of course, but as a young man loves a father or an older brother. You trusted your life to me, more than once.”

  Yes. Lyr still could not speak, but the word echoed in his brain.

  “She saw in me the man I wanted her to see, just as you did. I showed her only the face I wished the world to know. I was a lover, a friend, a trusted companion, and she never saw beyond what I wished her to see. It’s been difficult, as you can imagine, hiding my true self in the midst of wizards and seers, with witches all around. I had to become someone else for a while, and let my true self sleep.” He smiled a chilling smile. “I killed her. She was my first. Like you, she didn’t see it coming. Even when I wrapped my hands around her throat and squeezed, she thought it was a joke. Up until the moment she died, my little kitchen lover did not think me capable of taking her life. She was wrong.”

  Segyn slapped Lyr’s cheek soundly, but Lyr felt nothing. “Can you speak yet? I need that dagger so I can dispose of it properly.” He opened Lyr’s vest and patted down the sides of his pants. His hands skimmed right over the dagger, and yet he seemed not to feel it. Segyn’s speed and clumsiness or magic? Lyr had never known Segyn to be clumsy.

  “We can’t have just anyone stumbling across that special weapon,” Segyn said. “It’s on you somewhere, I suppose. In your boot? A hidden sheath? Maybe in your saddle bag, but I doubt it. You wouldn’t want to walk away from such a treasure, not even for a moment. Besides, I’ve already searched your saddlebags, while the berries I pointed out to Ciro’s bride filled your stomach and did their work. You can tell me where the dagger is and we’ll make this quick, or I can tear you apart until I find it.”

  Again, Segyn’s head snapped around to look at Rayne. “What do you think you’re—”

  It happened so quickly, Segyn was cut off in mid-sentence. A thick length of vine twined around the arm which held his sword. The massive, muscled arm was yanked up and the weapon was tossed aside. Other vines, also thick and moving quickly and unnaturally, wrapped snakelike around Segyn’s legs and his other arm, yanking the traitor away from Lyr, throwing him down to the ground with force, and then pinning him there. Leaves twitched as if alive, dancing around the stem, which pulsed gently.

  When Segyn was restrained, Rayne rushed forward and leaned over Lyr. “We have to get out of here. Can you move yet? Can you speak?”

  No.

  “I don’t know how long the vine will hold him.”

  Segyn shouted. He screamed and howled like a trapped animal. “There is nowhere you can go that you’ll be safe, boy. If you escape me now, an army will come after you. They’ll be ready for you and your tricks, and they’ll find a way to stop you just as I did. You’ll sleep, or you’ll let your guard down, and they’ll be there. When that happens, the demon’s soldiers will take her from you and they’ll leave you in pieces on the road. They’re coming for you. They’re coming soon and you won’t know they’re before you until it’s too late! Can you hear their hoofbeats on the road?”

  Lyr began to feel a tingling on his face as Rayne tried to help him into a sitting position. He was too heavy for her, and he ended up lying on his side. He almost wished she had left him where he lay flat on his back, for now he had a gruesome view. Til and Swaine had been ruthlessly murdered while helpless, killed by a man they had trusted just as Lyr had.

  “Shut up!” Rayne screamed as she scurried about gathering berries dusted with dirt. She’d dropped them on the ground, but now she gathered a handful and rushed toward Segyn.

  When she got close, she stopped, afraid to move any closer. Like him, like Swaine and Til, she’d trusted Segyn, but that trust had died a quick and certain death. She dropped down and thrust her fingers into the dirt, and segments of the vine which imprisoned
Segyn crept toward her. Moving like a snake, the vine crept closer. Though it was unnatural and, to Lyr’s mind, inexplicable, she was not afraid. A sturdy leaf growing from the stem plucked a berry from Rayne’s hand. One and then another, the leaves plucked until her hand was empty, and then the vine moved toward Segyn.

  Knowing what she intended, what the unnatural plant itself intended, Segyn tried to clamp his mouth shut. He was no match for the vine which moved at Rayne’s command, a creeping and oddly strong plant which pried his lying lips apart and forcefed him the paralyzing berries. Purple juice spewed from his mouth and down his chin, but some of the berries made their way past stubborn lips and clenched teeth.

  In moments Segyn dropped to the ground, not dead but helpless and no longer fighting against the plant which restrained him. The berries had paralyzed him and the vine continued to bind him.

  Again, Rayne attempted to help Lyr up. He was beginning to feel again. A tingling sensation rippled in his arms and legs, and breathing was easier. The paralysis caused by the berries was temporary, which meant Segyn would be mobile again very soon.

  “We must hurry,” Rayne said as she tugged at his hand. “Please tell me you can move, please tell me we won’t be sitting here when Ciro’s soldiers arrive.”

  Lyr wasn’t sure that part of Segyn’s speech had held any truth. He’d confessed that he’d chosen this moment to reveal his true nature because they stumbled across the berries. That was happenstance, so it couldn’t be possible that a planned attack was about to take place.

  Still, Lyr didn’t know what to believe at this moment. He’d trusted Segyn without question, and that trust had been horribly misplaced. The older man was right. Lyr had loved him, like a brother or a second father, like a friend who would never do what he had done.

  With great effort and Rayne’s help, Lyr rose to his feet. He moved slowly and clumsily, as if there were rocks and grit among his bones.