Prince of Swords

by Linda Winstead Jones

  “Why didn’t you freeze time and finish him straightaway?” she asked, her face buried against his shoulder. “Why didn’t you use your magic? Do you know how close his blade came to you? Do you realize what a risk you took in fighting him as you did? Why?”

  “I’m not afraid to face any man fairly,” he said, his voice oddly calm. No, he was not afraid of much at all, but when he thought of Rayne in Ciro’s possession, he was truly terrified.

  “Well, I was afraid,” she said, a touch of petulance creeping into her voice.

  “I would never have allowed him to hurt you.”

  Rayne loosened her grip and placed her feet on the ground. She backed away from him just a little, and let her hands fall to her sides. “I was not afraid for myself, I was afraid for you.”

  “You needn’t have been.”

  Her chin came up a little, as if she didn’t like that answer, and she changed the path of the questioning. “How far are we from the armies you seek?”

  “Half a day or thereabouts, if General Merin is where he said they would be.”

  “Half a day,” she repeated. “Our journey is almost done, then.”

  “Yes.” Almost done. Just beginning.

  The dagger against his thigh hummed.

  WHEN THEY CAME ACROSS THE ARMIES OF THE RIGHTFUL emperor of Columbyana, Rayne felt a tugging at her heart. This was their destination, she was safe here, and yet she did not feel relief. Lyr would leave her now, and he would probably be glad to ride off without her to slow him down. After all, he didn’t even think she had a right to be worried about him.

  The sight of all the armed soldiers that spread before them should have been a comfort. The sprawling camp bustled. Ciro would not take this country and its people easily. There were many men who would fight to the death for what was right. Men like Lyr—though she suspected there was no other man precisely like Lyr Hern, Prince of Swords.

  He slowed his pace as a soldier on guard came toward them. The young man in green was serious of nature and well armed. Lyr raised his hands so the soldier could see that he did not hold a weapon.

  “You’ll be fine now,” Lyr said in a lowered voice so only Rayne could hear. “My cousin and her husband and the others will all gather round you and make sure Ciro does not come near you.”

  “Do you think it’s really that simple?”

  Lyr hesitated. “I don’t know. I hope so.” He nodded toward the army, a camp filled with soldiers ready to fight. “Getting past so many dedicated men will not be easy, not even for Ciro.”

  Rayne knew what Ciro had planned for her, and thanks to Gwyneth’s claim that she was a Goddess of the Earth, she now understood why. Power. Ciro wanted to use whatever power she possessed to create a greater evil in the child he planned to give her.

  Whether Lyr cared for her or not, she hoped with all her heart that his child was already growing inside her, that if Ciro did defeat Lyr and make his way past this army, she would not be suitable as a vessel for his child.

  Not right away, of course. Not unless he waited or worse…harmed the child within her.

  Rayne placed a hand over her flat belly. It was much too soon to know if there was a child or not, but if that was the case, she had not only herself to protect but the child as well.

  The soldier recognized Lyr as he came closer. His face relaxed, and his sword dropped. “M’lord,” the soldier said. “Where are the others?”

  Lyr’s jaw tightened. “There are no others, I’m afraid.”

  The soldier nodded. “Ciro’s Own has been at work in your part of the world as well as here, then.”

  “Here?” Lyr leaned forward in the saddle. “What happened?”

  “The rightful emperor has been taken.”

  “Emperor Arik?”

  The soldier shook his head. “Emperor Arik is dead. His son, Emperor Sian, has been kidnapped. We fear for his life.”

  True puzzlement crossed Lyr’s face. “Emperor Sian?”

  “Yes. Much has happened while you were away, m’lord. Sian Sayre Chamblyn, the wizard who is wed to our own Sister Ariana, is the illegitimate son of the late emperor and was named as his successor.”

  Lyr took a moment to allow the information to soak in. “Sian is emperor and he’s been taken?”

  “Yes, m’lord. He was taken last night.”

  “How do you know it was Ciro? Isn’t it possible that Sian simply…wandered off?” As he asked the question, he knew that could not be. Sian was devoted to Ariana, and was not a man given to wandering.

  The soldier shook his head. “A note was left.” His face paled and his lips thinned. “It was written in blood, m’lord.”

  Lyr glanced toward Rayne, perhaps trying to judge her reaction to the news. “Sian’s blood?”

  “We don’t know, m’lord.”

  Lyr nodded his head. “This is an unexpected turn of events. Good heavens, my cousin Ariana is—”

  “Livid, m’lord,” the soldier said. “She’ll be glad to know that you’ve arrived. We’re moving toward Arthes within the hour.” The young man’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, yes, she’s also empress apparently. Empress Ariana. That will take some getting used to.”

  Lyr turned again to study Rayne’s face, and he saw the worry etched there. He’d been so certain that she would be safe here, that Ciro and his damned Own would not be able to touch her among these soldiers. But if the rightful emperor could be taken, was there any safe place in this world for her?

  14

  “YOU COULDM’VE TOLD ME!” LYR SHOUTED.

  “He didn’t want anyone to know!” Ariana’s voice was as loud and strident as his own.

  “Obviously someone knew!” Lyr took a step forward, and General Merin, who stood behind Ariana, mirrored his step.

  “You’ll not speak to the empress in such a manner,” the general said sternly, “even if you are Prince of Swords and a relation.”

  Empress. Ariana, with her wild hair and well-worn soldier’s uniform, did not look like any empress Lyr had ever imagined. No, that was not entirely correct. There was a strength in her eyes, even now, that was downright imperial.

  She dismissed her general’s warning. Poor Merin might as well not have been in the vicinity for all the attention she showed him at this moment. “This discussion will have to wait. We’re going after Sian now.”

  “Not in a panic you’re not,” Lyr said. “That’s exactly what Ciro will expect and he’ll be ready for you.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “If he decimates this army…”

  “I don’t care!” Ariana shouted.

  Lyr placed stilling hands on his cousin’s shoulders. He understood too well what she was feeling. He had never before been torn between what he knew to be right and what he felt inside. Warriors did not take emotions into account when formulating a battle plan, but since meeting Rayne, he’d been turned inside out by the awakening of his own emotions. Killing her would put an end to a horrific possibility, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t even suggest such an action aloud, because Ariana’s army was filled with capable men who, in the name of victory, would be glad to do what Lyr could not.

  Rayne was presently under massive guard. If those men knew what Ciro intended, would they take her life rather than take the chance that she might give birth to a monster? Of course they would. They might shed a tear, they might regret the action for the rest of their days, they would not take on the task with any joy…but they would kill her.

  The only solution was to succeed in his task and take Ciro’s life with the crystal dagger.

  He remained calm. “How many battles has this army fought against Ciro’s Own?”

  “Too many to count,” Ariana answered tersely.

  “They fight and they win, do they not?”

  “Yes.”

  “And with each win you weaken the demon, with each soul you return to one of Ciro’s Own, you keep the Isen Demon from the power it seeks.”

  “Yes, but we�
�re talking about Sian!”

  Could he reason with her? He wasn’t sure. Ariana had sacrificed much to this war. Had she reached the breaking point? “If you lose this army with a rash move at the wrong time, Ciro wins. It will take years to build another like it, it will take a generation to construct an army capable of facing Ciro and the demon, and even then…no, the truth is if we don’t defeat him now, we’re lost, Ariana. Lost. Are you willing to sacrifice the world in order to save your husband?”

  “Yes!” she answered quickly, and then tears filled her eyes. “It’s not fair that you should even ask that question.”

  “These days nothing is fair.” If someone as beautiful and good as Rayne had to be destroyed in order to save the world from the child she and Ciro might create, would that be fair? No. That meant he could not afford to lose. He could not allow Ciro to win in the days to come.

  “I have a better plan,” he said calmly.

  “You can’t expect me to sit back and—”

  Lyr grasped his cousin’s shoulders firmly. “Empress Ariana, please listen to me.” He leaned in and repeated in a whisper, “I have a better plan.”

  LYR’S FAMILY WAS DECIDEDLY ODD, RAYNE DECIDED AS she watched and listened. For most of the day she’d been sequestered in a tent which offered the comforts she had been without during her travels. Pillows to rest upon, clean water for bathing and for drinking, tasty food—even a sweetcake! She’d eaten little, been unable to rest, and had cared only for washing the grime from her face. Throughout it all there had been a heavy guard outside the tent.

  She’d been very much relieved when Lyr had arrived to collect her for supper, where he’d introduced her to his family. Ariana, leader of this army, healer, and empress. Queen Keelia, with her startling gold eyes and uncanny powers. Joryn, Keelia’s man. They ate at a roughly constructed table which was close to a large tent, Ariana’s tent, Rayne assumed. When they were finished with the meal, they went inside the tent to resume a private conversation which Rayne did not entirely understand. Apparently there was a plan. Some of them thought it was a good one, others did not. None of them bothered to tell her what this plan entailed.

  She waited for Lyr to escort her back to her tent, where she’d be forced to spend the night alone, wondering if he would ever come, wondering if he was gone for good, but he did not. She remained silent as they argued about this plan, and after a while it seemed that they had all forgotten about her. She liked it that way. Forgotten, she could listen and learn.

  “It’s a fair enough scheme,” Ariana said, almost calm even though her husband had been kidnapped. “But really, Lyr, Tonlin? He’s been a soldier for about two weeks. He’s much too young.”

  “I need someone young and small,” Lyr insisted. “And you’re exaggerating his inexperience. He tells me he’s been fighting with you since spring.”

  Rayne had heard only a small part of the plot, which somehow included Lyr riding off to face Ciro on his own, rather than this entire army marching on Arthes. Her heart did a dance at that very idea, even though she knew that it was his destiny to face Ciro.

  Ariana turned to her cousin Keelia, the Anwyn Queen, as she had often during the evening. “Is he all right?”

  They all knew she spoke of her husband, and as before, Keelia’s answer was unsatisfactory. “Sian is alive. That’s all I know.”

  Ariana’s face turned red and her hands balled into fists. “You’re supposed to be able to see anything!”

  “But not everything, cousin. Never everything,” Keelia explained calmly. The Queen’s man, Joryn, placed his arm around her in silent comfort.

  Lyr glanced Rayne’s way often, his hawk eyes hard and without emotion. He was riding off to face his destiny, a destiny not of his own choosing, and she didn’t know if he would come back. He wasn’t going to Arthes to face a normal enemy, but a monster. A demon.

  Unable to remain silent any longer, Rayne asked, “Can’t you just…stop time and kill him while he’s unable to move? I know you speak of honor and fairness, but where demons are concerned, any advantage is fair.”

  Keelia shook her head. “No, no, the heart must be beating when the crystal dagger touches it. The body must be living and moving forward in time, otherwise it won’t work.”

  A chill walked down Rayne’s spine. “But—”

  “That’s as it must be,” Lyr said.

  Until now, he’d kept the dagger her mother had fashioned hidden against his thigh, but since coming to this camp, he’d moved the crystal dagger to a sheath at his waist. He gripped the handle and drew it, as all watched.

  “It is alive,” he said reverently as he held the dagger before him for all to see. “I cannot explain how, but this dagger lives.”

  The murky gray and white swirled within the crystal, moving slowly and with an unexpected beauty.

  “I know what Keelia says is true not because she is a powerful seer but because the dagger itself tells me it is so.”

  “It is a thing,” Rayne whispered. “It cannot speak.”

  “Your mother instilled this weapon with a powerful magic, Rayne, and it does speak to me.”

  At that moment, the gray and pink cast of the weapon disappeared, and Lyr held a crystal-clear dagger in his hand. The weapon was alive, as he’d said it was, and Rayne knew as she studied the crystal-clear stone that it was united with the Prince of Swords in the same way she was united with the earth.

  Her mother had made it for him, no one else.

  The gray and pink danced in the crystal once again, and Lyr returned the dagger to its sheath. He took Rayne’s arm, and they left the others behind. As they exited the large tent, Ariana was still grumbling about using the young soldier in Lyr’s attack, but he ignored her.

  He held Rayne’s arm snuggly and walked toward the tent she had been assigned. His body was rigid, his jaw taut. By the light of the fires that illuminated this camp, Lyr looked much older than she knew him to be.

  He was scared.

  The entire army had been prepared to march, but something Lyr had said to his cousin had stopped them. What? Why did he think he could do what an army could not, especially if he could not use his magic and stop time in order to fight Ciro?

  “Let me help you,” Rayne argued as Lyr walked with her into the tent, where she’d spent most of the day. How much time did they have before he left? She held on to his hand, afraid he might vanish at any moment if she didn’t physically hold him here.

  “You will help,” he said.

  “Let me go to Ciro and—”

  He pulled her roughly against his body. “No! Not that, do you hear me? Never that.”

  “I would if it meant saving you.”

  His anger faded, and he caressed her face with one hand. “I know you would, but you were not built for war, Rayne. You were intended for better things. Nurturing, tending, growing, these are your gifts.”

  “What about love?” she asked. “Is love one of my gifts?”

  “I believe it is.”

  Rayne did what she’d been longing to do all day, she took Lyr’s face in her hands and drew it down. She kissed him, not with hunger or with desperation but with the love he confessed was one of her gifts. His keeper, her mother had said, and she felt the truth of that statement to her bones.

  When she took her mouth from his, she asked, “When do you leave?” She knew better than to cry or try to convince him that he didn’t have to do what needed to be done.

  “Before first light.”

  “Then we have time.”

  She would not tell Lyr how to fight, and she would not cry. Not for herself or for him. That’s not why she was here.

  She pushed Lyr’s purple vest off, allowing her fingers to trail against the muscles in his arms. She removed his sword from his belt, sheath and all, but when her hand moved near the crystal dagger, she hesitated. “May I?”

  Lyr didn’t move. “Yes.”

  Rayne touched the crystal dagger, and when she did, she knew that
Lyr had been right when he’d said it was alive. It did not speak to her, as it did to him, but she felt a rush of energy as her fingers brushed against the grip. Faint firelight illuminated the tent, fighting through the fabric of the structure and through a small slit in the entrance. Though the amount of light was lesser even than moonlight on the night of the crescent moon, the crystal caught that light and held it for a moment.

  Rayne set the extraordinary weapon aside. Tonight was not about war, not about death or a destiny of destruction. Tonight was just about the two of them and their destiny, whatever that might be.

  When his weapons were set aside, she unfastened Lyr’s trousers and slipped her hand inside to touch him. He shuddered in her grasp, this hard, hawk-eyed man who rarely shuddered. Lyr reached for her, but she danced just out of his reach and directed him to lie upon the pillows she had been unable to rest upon that afternoon. He obeyed, and when he was stretched out upon the pillows, she removed his boots and then his trousers, leaving him completely bare. She knelt beside him, and her hands gently traced his warm, hard skin. Their first time together she hadn’t known entirely what to expect, and after that…after that, their encounters had been rushed or desperate.

  She wanted neither tonight. She wanted to pretend that they’d run away to a safe place and had all the time in the world for this. For love.

  Rayne lowered her head and kissed Lyr’s taut belly as her hand gently gripped his penis. She could feel the tension in his body, she could taste the quiver. With a shifting of her head, she laid her lips against the shaft, tasting him, flicking her tongue against him as he buried his hands in her hair.

  He liked it, so she continued. She licked him, she sucked gently, she teased until he grabbed her head and moved her away. She’d be concerned if he didn’t laugh gently.

  “Take off your clothes,” he ordered gruffly, that laugh coloring the edges of his demanding words.

  Rayne sat back and did as he asked. She pulled the peasant blouse Gwyneth had given her over her head, but left the blue stone and gold chain. Both were cool against her warm skin. She took off her boots and tossed them aside, then stood above Lyr to unfasten and drop her colorful skirt.