Prince of Swords

by Linda Winstead Jones

  The knock at the door surprised them all. It was too soon for their husbands, who had gone to a nearby tavern to ask questions, to be back. Unless they’d found what they were looking for.

  Isadora left her chair to rush to the locked door. They’d been nosing about the port town for days, offering rewards and describing the Liane they remembered from twenty-five years past. If Lucan and the others were not back with news, then perhaps someone had come to claim that reward. Someone who had the answers they sought.

  As Isadora opened the door, Juliet sighed and said, “I should’ve known she would come to us.”

  The heavy wooden door opened on an older woman who had stark white hair pulled back into a tight bun. Familiar green eyes were sharp and intelligent and angry. There were lines around the eyes, and the dark clothing was not only simple but starkly plain and seemed to be made to disguise any figure that might lurk beneath.

  But the face, the face had not changed. There was still a timeless beauty in the shape of the jaw and the high cheekbones and the perfectly shaped lips. There was also an unmistakable determination.

  “You’re stirring up too many questions with all your nosy inquiries, and they must stop. They must stop now. What do you want from me?” Liane asked sharply. “What the hell do you want?”

  11

  WHEN THEY’D FIRST ARRIVED, GWYNETH’S ATTENTION had been focused on Lyr. She’d obviously seen him as the most important of the two travelers, the man in charge, the man who possessed the most power. It was certainly possible that she’d focused on Lyr because she was a woman who lived very much alone. Was Gwyneth any different from the brightly colored women who’d offered their bodies to the warriors on a crowded street?

  If that had been her intention, it was now forgotten. After reading their cards, Gwyneth turned her attention almost entirely to Rayne.

  Rayne still didn’t believe what the swamp witch had said. Earth Goddess? That wasn’t possible. She only made things grow, that’s all. That certainly didn’t make her a Goddess, a supernatural being who was both human and more than human, a magical creature who walked with one foot in the world of mortals and the other in a magical world Rayne did not comprehend. An immortal spirit housed, for this lifetime, in a mortal body. A Goddess like the woman who had given birth to her. She also dismissed the woman’s ridiculous assertion that her father had killed her mother. He had not been a good man, she knew that, but surely he wouldn’t have taken his only child’s mother away.

  Deep down she knew it was possible, but she didn’t want to believe. She had so few positive memories of her father, she didn’t want to stain them with this horrid supposition. It was murder Gwyneth suggested. Cold-hearted murder.

  When the cards had been put away, Gwyneth fetched clean water—rain water, Rayne supposed—for the Earth Goddess. She also offered a brightly colored skirt and a dark green loose-sleeved blouse which were plainly constructed but clean, and in better shape than the gown Rayne had been wearing for so many days.

  The water and clothes were placed in one of the two bedchambers, a small room with a narrow bed which Gwyneth said was her son’s. Not long after her husband’s death, Borix had gone hunting and never returned. It had been many years, but she still held out hope that one day he would come home.

  From Borix’s bedchamber, which for tonight was Rayne’s, a small, roughly fashioned window looked out over the swamp. Moonlight lit the stagnant water. Rayne looked through the window as she undressed and bathed, feeling safe in this cabin, feeling separated from the swamp and all its dangers. Tomorrow she and Lyr would travel in the swamp again, but for tonight, at least, they were safe.

  She left the skirt and blouse Gwyneth had given her folded neatly on the single chair in the room, and crawled into the bed naked. A single candle burned. Lyr was feeding and brushing the horses, but she hoped he would join her before she fell asleep. Her body was aching and exhausted, but she did not want to sleep without holding Lyr. She didn’t want to drift to dreams without hearing his voice.

  But very shortly after crawling into the bed, she did sleep. She dreamed of thrusting her hands into the dirt and watching trees and flowers grow. She dreamed of moving rushing water aside with her very breath. She dreamed of calling down the rain and laughing as it washed over her.

  When she awoke, the candle had burned down substantially, and Lyr was with her. He stood over the bed, uncertain and silent. She smiled at him and drew back the covers to invite him in.

  After a moment, he shook his head. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

  Rayne sat up. “Why?”

  “Because it is best. We have not been thinking, Rayne. A child, Gwyneth said. Is this the time to create a child? To lie together as if tomorrow is at all certain?”

  She had thought of that, but she had also caught a more important thought. “I will have a child, according to Gwyneth. Should it be your baby I catch or Ciro’s?”

  A muscle in Lyr’s jaw twitched. “I don’t know if I’ll survive the war that’s coming. Of all the psychics and seers who have looked to the future for me, none has seen victory.”

  “Has one seen defeat?”

  “No,” he whispered.

  She knew he was rushing toward the war that might claim him, which made this night all the more precious.

  “We don’t know what lies ahead, I understand that. But Lyr, if I have your child inside me, I can’t carry Ciro’s. If the worst happens, if you lose and Ciro captures me, he can’t give me a child if I’m already carrying yours. I think any child Ciro and I create would be beyond terrible, beyond dark. Why else would he insist that I be the mother? He’s a monster incapable of love, so there must be some dark reason. Maybe there’s something among my newly discovered gifts which will be passed to the child, something which can be used for dark purposes. Would a child of mine and Ciro’s be able to make things die as I make them grow? Would it be able to make the earth shake, and bring floods, and stop the rain?” She relaxed and lay back on the mattress.

  “Besides, the simple answer is I want you to hold me. I want you to lie with me. I want you to make me forget all that might be and simply enjoy this moment.” She gathered all her courage. “I love you, Lyr. Don’t make me lie here without you. Don’t make me feel horribly alone when you’re so close.”

  It was the sensation of being truly alone that she feared most, and when Lyr held her, that sensation went away.

  By the light of that one candle, Lyr removed his vest. He said nothing, but no words were necessary. In her heart she wished for a return of “I love you,” but she didn’t expect that from Lyr. Not now. Maybe later, if things worked out as they should, he would feel free to say the words, to mean them. Right now his trust had been damaged, and he likely did not wish to love anyone ever again.

  He set his sword and knife aside and stepped out of his muddy boots, one and then the other, and then shucked off travel-weary trousers. In a matter of moments he was bare, but for the crystal dagger which was strapped to his thigh. An ordinary man would appear less powerful without his uniform and weapons, but not Lyr. His strength was in his heart and soul and body, not in the things he carried with him. Every muscle was perfectly crafted, and arguments aside, he did want her. Physically, at least.

  For a moment he wasn’t sure what to do with the crystal dagger he removed from his thigh. He briefly studied the weapon wrapped in velvet before lifting the mattress and slipping it beneath. Segyn had asked for that dagger, which meant Ciro and the demon knew of its existence and the threat it posed.

  Completely bare, Lyr crawled into the narrow bed with her. His arms circled her, and he buried his head against her neck and kissed her there. His lips were gentle and then not so gentle. He kissed her throat, and her mouth, and the valley between her breasts.

  And then he stopped to rise up and look down at her. “I have dreamed of this sight,” he said in a lowered voice. “Until now you have been lost in darkness or shrouded by clothing. I have felt you,
I have joined with you, but I have only dreamed of seeing you this way, by candlelight and moonlight.” He touched her, and watched the movement of his hand against her skin. “You are more beautiful than I imagined any woman could be.”

  He spread her thighs and touched her with arousing fingers. He pushed the coverlet to the floor so no part of her bare body was hidden from him. There were many miles between “I love you” and “You’re beautiful,” but she gladly accepted anything which resembled sweet words from Lyr.

  But that didn’t mean she couldn’t wish for whispers of love to go along with the power of his body aligning with hers. She wished for love to go along with the beauty of pleasure and his admiration for the physical, she wished for the fierceness of the heart to combine with the passion of raw release.

  But Lyr’s heart still stung, she knew, and she did not dare ask too much of him now.

  With his hand and mouth arousing her so well, she soon forgot unspoken sweet words and bonds of the heart. Her body twitched and trembled and ached, until she wrapped one leg around his hips to draw him closer. He seemed determined to take his time, however, and did not give her what she wanted. She hurt with need, and exploring hands proved to her that Lyr was ready. He was hot and hard in her hands, and she stroked, urging him to come to her, trying to bring him to the place she had found, where nothing mattered but their bodies together. Still, he waited. He moved one hand over her sensitive nipples and sucked at her neck, which had proven to be surprisingly sensitive and erotic. She threw her head back to allow him full access to her throat, and stroked him harder. They were entangled like the vines she could speak to, twining and growing and reaching. Joined by the twist and weave of their bodies.

  Again she tried to reach for him with her body, and again he held steady.

  “Are you trying to drive me mad?” she whispered.

  “Yes.”

  She heard the humor in Lyr’s voice, and was glad of it. There had been little cause for humor in days past, and if this moment was the only respite he had from pain, then she was glad to be the one to offer it.

  In a burst of joyful frustration she rolled atop Lyr and straddled him. He guided himself to her, into her, and with great relief she plunged down to take him inside her body. All of him, everything he had to give, inside her welcoming and needful body.

  That done, she allowed her movements to slow. She rose and fell in a languid motion, and he moved his hips with hers. He reached up and twisted one hand in her hair, hair which fell loose and thick to touch his chest.

  She’d never had what she’d call power in her life. Every day had been structured for her, every lesson well planned, every betrayal beyond her grasp. But as she and Lyr moved toward the pleasure of release, she felt true power. In her heart, in her soul, and in his. Making love was more than comfort or satisfaction or making babies, it was a great power all its own.

  She moved faster as she felt release coming to her, but a part of her did not want this moment to end so she held back a little. She didn’t move all the way down to take him fully into her body again. When she did, this moment of wonder would be over. Lyr’s hands gripped her hips and he guided her down, all the way down, so that he was deeper than he’d ever been. Immediately she began to shudder, and then release came in forceful waves that brought intense pleasure from where they were joined to the top of her head. She saw stars; she saw the roots of life; and then she saw nothing. She felt Lyr’s release as he shuddered and came into her body in yet another way.

  Still joined, but much less frantic, she dropped down to take Lyr’s face in her hands. His beard was rough beneath her hands, but she did not care. She kissed him deeply, holding his face so that he could not move away from the intimacy of mouth to mouth, so that he could not deny her what she wanted at this moment.

  “I do so love you,” she whispered against his fine, full lips. “I’m tired of war, Lyr, tired of what is asked of us. Give me a child, and take me to a place where no one will ever find us. We could hide there, far away from politics and war and responsibilities.”

  “It sounds tempting, but we can’t hide forever.”

  “Why not?” she asked, but even though a part of her wished to escape, she knew he was right. They couldn’t run, not from Ciro and not from what they knew had to be done.

  “Because I am Prince of Swords and in possession of the only weapon that can kill the monster, and you, apparently, are a Goddess.”

  “I don’t believe that,” she said, so softly the words were almost lost.

  “I do,” Lyr said. “I very much believe.”

  “LEAVE MY SONS ALONE,” LIANE INSISTED, NOT FOR THE first time. Hours had passed since she’d shown up at the room where the Fyne sisters, the Fyne witches, had waited. “You don’t know their names, and you don’t know where they are. You don’t even know the name I have been using all these years!”

  “Now that we have seen you, I suspect we can get that information, as well as the names of your children,” Isadora said. She owed much to Liane, but she would not sacrifice an entire nation on her behalf.

  “One of your sons fights for the rightful emperor,” Juliet added calmly. “We know that much.”

  “Many fight,” Liane said sharply, but she went a little pale. “He is only one. Foolish boy,” she added in a whisper. “I told him to stay away, but did he listen to me?”

  It was Sophie who sat before Liane and took her sister-in-law’s hands in her own. “You know we would not come to you if there was another way. Placing your eldest son on the throne will save Columbyana from further war. Only the legitimate, rightful heir will be accepted by all when Ciro is defeated.”

  “If Ciro is defeated.”

  “When,” Sophie said without anger, and then she took a deep breath. “Please tell us what you’ve been doing since you came here. Did Ferghus and Mahri stay with you?”

  “For a while,” Liane answered.

  “Ferghus was in love with you,” Juliet said as they left the questioning about Liane’s sons behind for a moment. “Did you marry him?”

  Liane shook her head. “No. He asked, many times, but Sebestyen never left me. I dreamed of him every night for years, and there were times when I was certain his spirit was with me. How could I marry another when I was still in love with my husband?”

  Love was strange, that was sure, Isadora thought as she watched the angry woman clasp her hands tightly on her lap. There was no man less deserving of love than the former emperor Sebestyen Beckyt, and no woman less likely to remain faithful to a dead man than Liane Varden, former concubine and assassin, a decidedly cold woman.

  Sophie nodded, as if she understood. “So you made your own way all these years.”

  “I’m not a bad seamstress,” Liane said with a nod of her head. “And I remember how to put together a few useful potions. I looked over the shoulders of many a palace witch in my years as Sebestyen’s slave and as his wife. Those talents were enough to provide for me and my children.”

  “It can’t have been an easy life for you,” Sophie said.

  Isadora rolled her eyes and gently but firmly moved her youngest sister away. “Liane has never been a woman in need of coddling. It was one of the traits I most admired in our time together.” She took Sophie’s seat and looked Liane in the eye. After so many years those eyes were so achingly familiar. They brought back memories, horrible and wonderful. “You protected your children and I admire you for that. I would’ve done the same. But your sons are now grown men, and the eldest is emperor. Do you understand that, Liane? Your eldest child belongs in Arthes.”

  Liane’s chin trembled. “I hate that palace,” she whispered. “I do not want either of my sons to be trapped there.”

  The door opened, and the three men walked in bearing what they had planned to be a late supper for six. Liane’s head snapped around. Kane instantly recognized his sister, even though it had been years since they’d seen one another. He swore, and then he smiled, and then Liane ro
se and they hugged one another tightly.

  Isadora stepped back and watched, anxious to move on but willing to give the siblings a moment. Juliet sidled up beside her.

  “We must get those names,” she whispered.

  “I know.”

  “No, you don’t,” Juliet snapped. “Sebestyen is coming for Liane very soon. If she doesn’t tell us before that happens…”

  “He’s dead, and he’s going to kill her?”

  “No. Someone else is going to kill her, and Sebestyen will be waiting to greet her spirit.”

  “We will protect her,” Isadora said insistently.

  Juliet sighed tiredly. “That’s a lovely idea, but I don’t think we can.”

  RAYNE LOOKED VERY DIFFERENT IN HER BRIGHTLY COLORED striped skirt and the green blouse which showed off more shoulder than her more proper traveling dress. Her hair was simpler, too, pulled simply to the top of her head and falling in tendrils around her face. She wore her mother’s blue gem as usual, and it added yet more color.

  Was there power in that gem which had once belonged to the woman who’d fashioned the crystal dagger? It was certainly as possible as the supposition that he’d awakened her gifts, or that somehow she’d been suppressing them until her father was no longer a threat to her.

  Did he believe Rayne was a Goddess? Yes, he truly did. His life had been too enmeshed in magic to dismiss any possibility.

  Last night she had told him more than once that she loved him, but he had not been able to say the words in return, even though he knew that was what she wanted. He would only offer her truth, and at the moment Lyr did not know what the truth was. He wanted her, he was dedicated to protecting her, he would die to keep her away from Ciro. Was that love? No. It was duty wrapped in physical attraction; it was honor mingled with the respite of sex. When this battle was over, would he still feel the same way about her? Would she feel anything at all for him?

  Gwyneth had sent them on their way early in the morning, with the sun not yet over the horizon. She’d fed them breakfast and sent them into the swamp with one warning: Beware her sister Beatrisa, a spiteful witch who lived on the opposite edge of the swamp. She would be beautiful and sweet at first glance, but when one looked beyond the facade, she was rotten to the soul and filled with hate.