Prince of Swords

by Linda Winstead Jones

  Segyn had betrayed him, and in answer Lyr had driven a blade through the helpless man’s heart. There was no honor in that, but neither would it have been wise to allow Segyn to live and come after Rayne again. The man he’d called friend for as long as he could remember had ruthlessly murdered two fellow Circle Warriors and attempted to kill Lyr as well.

  Lyr had great responsibilities thrust upon him. He had been born to great responsibilities, but none as important as the one he now embraced. Rayne, Ciro, the crystal dagger, those were all in his hands, but when he allowed his mind to go back to that afternoon by the stream, they all faded into nothingness and he felt only pain.

  Burned.

  “I’ll admit, you’re right that there is some beauty here,” Rayne finally said, her voice remaining soft as if to raise it in this desolate place would bring Ciro and his army down upon them. “But it is also frightening, especially those reptiles. They have teeth, did you see?”

  “The reptiles are much smaller than us or our horses, and thus far they have not come close to us. If they do, I have my sword and my gift with which to defend us.”

  He’d been taught it was not sporting to freeze an opponent in battle, but when that opponent was a reptilian creature who might harm Rayne, he would have no doubts. Besides, after what he’d done to Segyn, did he have any honor left?

  Rayne glimpsed to the western sky, and with great skepticism in her voice she asked, “Where will we sleep tonight?”

  “I don’t know,” Lyr answered truthfully. “Perhaps on horseback. Perhaps we won’t sleep at all until we exit this swampland.” He glanced at her pale, frightened face, which was so beautiful. How had he ever believed her a traitor? Of course, he’d never seen Segyn as a traitor, either, and look where that misplaced trust had gotten him. “Then again, perhaps you can build us a treehouse of vines and we’ll sleep there.”

  “Would we be any safer in the trees than we are on the ground?” She tipped her head back to look up, and her brow furrowed.

  “I don’t have any idea.” Riding without stopping might be their only safe choice, but it would be hard on Rayne, who was not accustomed to such conditions. Just as he was about to decide that was their best bet, their only choice, Lyr caught a whiff of smoke.

  Somewhere ahead was a fire burning in a fireplace. Somewhere ahead, there waited shelter.

  LYR HAD TOLD HER THAT THEY WOULD COME ACROSS A house of sorts, and though she had doubted him and his nose, when she smelled the smoke herself, she felt a rush of relief. While she couldn’t imagine anyone choosing to live here, at the moment she was very relieved. Surely whoever lived out here in the swampland would allow them to stay until morning.

  She hadn’t relished the idea of remaining on horseback when darkness fell and she could not see the water or the birds or the far bank where reptiles cavorted. What might come out at night in this place? She shuddered at the very thought. Every step she took away from the only home she’d known introduced her to something new. Love, violent death, pleasure, betrayal, friendship, fears such as she had never known…

  Lyr, with his hawklike eyes, caught sight of the cabin before she did. He changed their direction of travel slightly, and soon enough she, too, saw the home they had been seeking. At least, she assumed it was someone’s home. The small cabin was built of the sturdy wood which grew in the swampland, and the chimney which spat smoke was made of gray stone. One side rose out of the water, and a small barn of sorts sat crookedly, half in the water, half on the muddy bank. There was a sagging porch and steps which rose out of the water. A single rocking chair was sitting on that porch, and as Rayne watched, an unexpected breeze caught the rocker and made it move very slightly. A chill walked down her spine. Perhaps it was not a friendly house, but the home of an enemy.

  The sky was growing gray, and on the opposite bank something entered the water with a splash. It sounded larger than what they’d been hearing all day, and in Rayne’s mind it was much more ominous than the cabin and whatever waited inside.

  Before they could dismount, the front door opened and a woman stepped onto the porch. She was middle-aged and slender, and her dark hair streaked with gray had been pulled back simply. Her colorful dress was unlike any Rayne had ever seen—not that she’d been exposed to worldly fashions in her lifetime. Gold bracelets hung from both wrists, and when the woman took another step, it was clear that she wore no shoes. Her feet were clean. For some reason, that simple fact made Rayne feel much better.

  The woman did not seem surprised to see them. She moved onto the steps and lifted her face, focusing her attention on Lyr. “I thought you would not make it before dark. You’d best tie up the horses and get inside. Supper’s waiting.”

  “How did you know we were coming?” Rayne asked, her heart turning over at the very idea that they’d been expected.

  The woman smiled. “The two of you have been making quite a lot of noise, and the animals are all disturbed by your presence. They don’t take to intruders well, and they speak to me of disorder in their swamp.”

  There had been a time when Rayne would’ve been quick to disbelieve that anyone could understand what the animals were saying, but no more. Anything was possible, for good or for ill, in this world she lived in.

  Lyr dismounted and stepped into the shallow water, his tall boots keeping the murky swamp from his clothing and skin. He reached up to help Rayne, and she gladly allowed him to carry her to the porch before placing her on her feet. Up close, the swamp woman’s age showed more clearly than it had from a distance. There were deep lines around her mouth, and her eyes were calculating. Still, there was no distrust or anger in those eyes, and Rayne took some comfort from that.

  Lyr led the horses to the side of the cabin which was out of the swamp water. The small wooden enclosure there would protect the animals in the night, or so Rayne hoped. She would not wish anyone or anything to be unprotected in the darkness that was coming.

  The swamp woman waited silently while Lyr saw to the animals, merely nodding at Rayne and smiling gently. The smile seemed real enough and was somewhat reassuring.

  Rayne had been in the saddle so long she ached, and as she stood there, she stretched up onto her toes and circled her shoulders to remove the kinks in her body. It felt good to stand on solid ground, even if that ground was a less than sturdy porch in the middle of a desolate swampland. At least she was on her own two feet!

  When Lyr returned, sloshing through the shallow water before marching onto the steps, their hostess smiled a touch wider. Even a woman of an older age would appreciate what a fine specimen of manhood Lyr was. His beard was coming in again and he had not had a bath in many days, and still…he was impressive.

  And he was hers. Rayne felt that to the pit of her soul. Lyr was hers, and it had nothing to do with the sexual experiences they’d shared. She pushed down the jealousy that rose up strongly simply from watching the woman smile at the Prince of Swords.

  “My name is Gwyneth,” she said, “Gwyneth Ziven, wife of Soren, mother of Borix, seer and keeper of the Blessed Swamp.”

  Lyr introduced himself and Rayne, and as he did so, Rayne began to smell a most delicious aroma which drifted from the cabin. Supper, Gwyneth had said. Rayne’s heart hitched. She was starving, but having recently been exposed to food which was not all it seemed to be, she was also cautious. Would this seemingly innocent woman who smiled at Lyr poison them? Was she one of Ciro’s soldiers in disguise? Had she aligned herself with the Isen Demon in some way? At the moment, Rayne trusted only Lyr. No one else was above suspicion.

  At Gwyneth’s invitation, they stepped into the cabin. It looked larger from inside than it had from the front. One large room contained a kitchen, where a kettle hung above a low fire; a long table and four chairs, all made of the same wood as the walls, floor, ceiling, and porch; two chairs, on the opposite side of the large room, each placed before another fireplace, which was currently cold. She’d expected to see a bed, but instead there were two door
s off the main room. At least one of them, and possibly both, would lead to a bedchamber, Rayne supposed.

  “I can see that you are hungry,” Gwyneth said as they walked into the warm room. She grabbed one of three wooden bowls from a counter beside the fireplace, and with an iron ladle began to spoon a thick stew. One after another, she placed the bowls on the table, in no particular order. If she’d poisoned the stew, then she was willing to poison herself as well. It was Rayne who placed each of the bowls before a chair. When that was done, Gwyneth fetched large spoons, which were also made of wood. The mugs she placed on the table were of pewter, and the wine came from a large glass jar. Not everything in this cabin had been made by hand from what was found in the swamp. Most, perhaps, but not all.

  They sat at the table, and once again Rayne eyed the stew. She had to eat something, and it didn’t appear that this food was poisoned. The yettle berries had looked innocent, too, however, so how could she know with any certainty? Lyr studied his bowl with the same suspicion.

  Gwyneth sighed and lifted her own spoon. “You two can contemplate your stew all evening if you’d like, but I’m hungry.” She lifted a spoonful to her mouth and ate greedily.

  Lyr followed, taking a small bite. “Very good,” he said. “Nicely seasoned.”

  “I gather many herbs from the swamp and the forests beyond,” Gwyneth said as she spooned up more and prepared to eat it.

  As Lyr took another bite, obviously enjoying the taste, Rayne finally lifted her spoon. If he was willing to take a chance, so should she be.

  The stew was delicious. There was meat of some sort and vegetables she did not recognize and those herbs Gwyneth spoke of. True, she was very hungry, but Rayne was sure she had never eaten a better meal. She soon forgot that she did not know or trust the woman who had prepared the stew, and she emptied her bowl and then reached for the wine, drinking greedily. Such simple pleasures were taken for granted until they were taken away. Food. Drink.

  Love.

  She looked at Lyr, who ate and drank as heartily as she. Love was not exactly simple, and yet it felt to her as essential as food and drink, as necessary as the air she breathed. What a horrible time to find love, when her future, the future of the very world, was at risk.

  When their supper was finished, Gwyneth cleared the table quickly. “What of the world beyond the swamp?” she asked brightly. “It’s been many years since I had news from beyond my home.”

  Lyr’s face became solemn. “All is not well, I’m sad to say. A demon has taken control of many men, and they plot to take this land, to take all the lands, and turn all to darkness.”

  Gwyneth’s chin lifted, and she looked at Lyr hard and long. “And you are fighting this darkness?”

  “Yes.”

  She nodded, and then turned to saunter to the opposite side of the room, where she opened a squeaking drawer and removed a thick square wrapped in colorful silk. Gwyneth reclaimed her seat and unfolded the silk, revealing a deck of unusual cards. They were square, rather than rectangular like the playing cards Rayne had seen in the past, and as the seer and keeper of the swamp began to flip the cards over in a pattern of some sort, Rayne saw that the hand-painted pictures were of a different type than any she had ever seen. They were colorful and somehow twisted, as if the images there had been seen through broken or half-blinded eyes.

  “Perhaps I can help you,” Gwyneth said as she studied the cards she’d placed on the table. “Perhaps there will be guidance in the cards.”

  “This is witch’s magic,” Lyr said in a lowered voice.

  Gwyneth’s head snapped up, and her eyes flashed angrily. “Yes. Do you have something witty or degrading to say about that?”

  Lyr smiled. “As my mother, two sisters, two aunts, and numerous cousins are witches, that would not be at all wise.”

  Gwyneth relaxed. “That explains the magic I see in your reading. Great magic.” She allowed her hands to float above the cards as if she absorbed their energy. “And great sacrifice. You are important to this war of which you speak.”

  “Yes,” Lyr whispered. “So I have been told.”

  “Before the first snows of winter fall, you will face your enemy.”

  “And the victor will be…” Lyr prompted.

  “Unknown at this time,” Gwyneth said simply. “Much must happen between now and then in order for you to win.” She shook her head. “You must win, Prince of Swords,” she added in a gruff whisper. “I cannot imagine the pain that will follow any other outcome.” One finger came down and touched a particularly dark card. From where she sat, Rayne could barely see the picture there. It appeared to be a bird with wide, black wings, but the beak of the bird was crooked, and the wings were twisted. “You must throw off your heartache and be vigilant, Lyr Hern. You must not allow anyone, no matter how trusted, to keep you from what you must do.”

  Rayne imagined the seer spoke of Segyn, but Lyr looked at her as if he could not trust her, not even now. It hurt, just as it had hurt when he’d told her that for a short while he’d believed her capable of poisoning him.

  “Can you read the cards for her?” Lyr asked, nodding his head at Rayne.

  She wished to believe that he was concerned about the outcome of this war for her, but suspected he wanted more to know if he could trust her. Again, that hurt terribly.

  “Of course.” Gwyneth seemed happy to scoop up the cards and shuffle them, her attention shifting to another subject. She tried to smile, but the effort was weak. What the seer had seen in Lyr’s reading had disturbed her. The uncertainty was not at all comforting, not for any of them.

  Again, Gwyneth placed the cards on the table in a seemingly random pattern. Before she was finished, the expression on her face changed many times. There was curiosity, worry, then astonishment, as she finished and placed the unused cards aside. “I see a child.”

  “Whose child?” Rayne snapped. Not Ciro’s. By the heaven above, not Ciro’s child.

  “That I do not see. Perhaps like so many other things, that has not yet been determined.”

  Gwyneth moved on to another grouping of cards. “Your life has not been an easy one thus far, but if all goes well in weeks to come, your life will change.” She cocked her head to one side. “Do you know that your father murdered your mother?”

  Rayne gasped, shocked at the question and the cavalier way in which she had been asked. “He did not!”

  Gwyneth barely listened to Rayne’s protest. “He poisoned her. He made it look as if she contracted an illness, but in truth he simply grew tired of her.” The seer shook her head. “Foolish man. He did not know who she was, what she could do.” Gwyneth lifted her head and looked at Rayne squarely. “You are lucky that your father never discovered what you are capable of. It’s no coincidence that your talents remained hidden until he was buried. Deep inside, where you cannot yet see, you knew he was a danger to you and so the gifts you have possessed since birth slept. Some of them continue to sleep, but as days go by, they will be discovered.”

  Rayne licked her lips. “Are you telling me that I’m a…a witch?” Even though Lyr happily claimed witches among his relations, to Rayne the word had an unsavory connotation. She did not wish to be a witch!

  “You are not a witch,” Gwyneth said gently.

  Rayne sighed in relief, too soon.

  “You are an Earth Goddess.”

  THEY’D BEEN IN THIS SPRAWLING COASTAL TOWN FOR days, and still there was no sign of Liane. Isadora was getting frustrated. Even Juliet, who was usually so very helpful in such situations, could not point them in precisely the right direction.

  On this evening, she and her sisters rested in the inn they had begun to call home. They’d taken the entire second floor for their extended stay, but spent most of their hours in this sitting room. No one was getting much sleep these days.

  As much as Isadora enjoyed spending time with her sisters, she was ready to go home. She missed her daughters, her home, her friends, her routine. And yet, until t
hey found Liane and her sons, she could not go home. One of Sebestyen’s sons would be emperor when Ciro was defeated.

  When, not if. She could not afford to think otherwise.

  To take her mind off their recent failures, Isadora turned to Juliet with a question she asked frequently. “How is Lyr tonight?”

  Juliet closed her eyes and reached for sensations from her nephew. She took a few deep breaths. “Alive, distressed, determined.” Juliet’s hand lifted slowly. “I see vines growing larger and twining together, but I don’t know what it means. I also see water and long-legged birds and”—she shuddered—“snakes.”

  Isadora’s heart skipped a beat. “Do the snakes symbolize danger?”

  Juliet shook her head. “No. These are actual snakes, not symbolic at all. The birds are standing in muddy water, and some of them are bright red. They have long, thin legs and crooked beaks. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Swamp,” Sophie said gently. “The muddy water, the red birds, the snakes. Lyr must be traveling through the swamp.”

  “Why?” Isadora shouted. “Why on earth would Lyr leave a perfectly acceptable road and go into the swamp?” A horrible thought occurred to her. “Was he taken there against his will? Is he a prisoner?”

  “No,” Juliet said quickly. “He travels this way of his own accord, that much I can see. And he is protected by something or someone he does not entirely understand. I don’t understand it myself.”

  “But he’s all right?” At least for now.

  “Yes,” Juliet said. “Sad, confused, but well.”

  As any mother would be, Isadora was sad for her son. She did not know what had happened, but she wished to protect him. Even though he was a grown man, even though he was Prince of Swords, she wished to shelter him from all hurt. As if that were possible.