WinterofThorns

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  “And you went after the duke.”

  “It took me a month to catch him alone and when I did, I knocked him out and took him to the room where Sofia had died. The servants saw me but not a one would have lifted a hand to stop what was coming. They hated the bastard as much as I did. They kept the guards occupied elsewhere while I beat the fucking shite out of Llewellyn. When I tired of hitting him, I took out my dagger and castrated him. I shoved his cock into his mouth and held it there until he choked on his own blood.”

  Seyzon shuddered. “I heard the duke choked to death but there was no mention of how or on what,” he said. “Did the law come after you?”

  “Hell, no,” he replied. “The law could not touch me any more than it could have—or would have—touched the duke. The matter was discreetly dropped and my father told me I had to go. I didn’t want to leave but my brother had me drugged and bound and taken away.”

  “You were sent to Selwyn,” Seyzon said.

  “No. I managed to escape and take myself to Selwyn to spite my father and brother. Because I was young and foolhardy, didn’t care whether I lived or died at that point, I joined the Reivers. They were starting up the war with Meiraman again and it seemed like a good place for me to work out my anger issues. They needed men with military training and I’d had my share.”

  “You became their leader, the border lord.”

  “Something like that.”

  “But Robin Bray isn’t your real name.”

  “Why would you say that?” he asked and those blue eyes turned cold again.

  “Just a guess,” Seyzon answered.

  “Let me give you a few words of advice, son,” Bray said, getting lithely to his feet. He stood there with his hands on his hips, his gaze boring into Seyzon. “Be careful what you say and even more careful what you think. If you want my help, learn to keep your mouth closed and your mind open. Is that clear?”

  “As a bell,” Seyzon replied.

  “All right. I’m going to see what’s keeping my men and that bloody wagon.” He turned to go.

  “Milord Robin?”

  The border lord looked around. “Aye?”

  “Thank you,” Seyzon said and when the tall man nodded, lifted the canteen to his lips.

  * * * * *

  The warrior whose men knew him as Lord Robin Bray stood beside the wagon as Seyzon was laid carefully in the bed. He was concerned that the young man was hurting far more than he let on. A fine sheen of sweat covered Seyzon’s face and he had his jaw clamped down hard.

  “You sure you don’t want a spot of tenerse?” he asked Seyzon.

  “No,” came the answer that had been an explosion of breath more than word. As a tremor rippled down the young man’s frame, the border lord pursed his lips.

  “You are a stubborn boy, aren’t you?” he asked.

  “A determined one,” Seyzon managed to say.

  “That you are,” Bray agreed. He looked up at the wagon’s driver. “Try to keep away from as many potholes as possible, Landis. The boy is hurting.”

  “Aye, Lord Robbie,” the man acknowledged.

  “I have the lad’s food, milord,” the border lord’s second-in-command said as he hopped up into the wagon and handed the jerky and bread to Seyzon. “That should keep you until we get to the ship.”

  “Thanks,” Seyzon said gratefully although the paleness of his face and the sweat that was now dripping down his temples didn’t bode well for him being able to eat the repast.

  “Stubborn,” Bray said with a shake of his head. “Drive easy, Landis.”

  He stepped back as the driver flicked the reins and the wagon rolled forward. Satisfied the young man was as comfortable as could be without the painkiller to dull the agony of the broken leg, the border lord headed for his horse.

  “Did you contact the ship, Dyson?” he asked his second in command.

  “Aye. The TAOS arrived and is being set up now.”

  “And the other thing I asked you to do?”

  “That was taken care of as well, milord,” the 2-I-C replied.

  “Was there a problem?”

  “Nothing more than expected.”

  “Good.” The border lord reached for the pommel of his saddle then swung atop his mount. “Once I get him settled and the ship is on its way, I’ll head back south.”

  “Aye, milord.”

  Kicking his beast into motion, the border lord followed the wagon, keeping his gaze locked on the man in the back.

  * * * * *

  “No one will lend me the money, Freddie,” Lady Millicent sobbed. “No one. Not even that odious man who sits the throne!”

  “They’re afraid, sweeting,” Arbra told her. “You can’t blame them.”

  “Aye, I can!” she snapped. “And blame them I do! My son is in the hands of a murderous band of malcontents who might be torturing him at this moment!”

  Arbra tried to calm her but she turned away from the arm he started to drape around her shoulders.

  “I hate that treacherous bastard!”

  “The border lord?”

  “No! The king!” she shouted. “I despise him. He could have given me the money to ransom Seyzon. What is his excuse for not helping? Is he afraid of his own son?”

  “My guess is he knows the damage the Reivers could do with that large a sum of money, Millie.”

  “He owes me!” she snapped. “The bastard owes me for raising his son!”

  “You need to calm down,” Arbra said sternly. “You are a stroke waiting to happen.”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down. I’ll calm down when Seyzon is safely home!”

  “He can’t come home, Millie,” her lover said. He put his hands on her upper arms and shook her gently. “He is better off away from Meiraman right now. If he came back, he’d go straight to Wicklow and you know what would happen then.” He pulled her to him. “Do you want him sent to prison?”

  “I want him home,” she said, sobbing. “I want my son home!”

  “As do I but until we can find a way to get Lady Jana away from the prince and out of Vindan’s reach, he is safer where he is.”

  “They could be torturing him,” she said, clinging to Arbra.

  “Why would they do that?” he asked. “He’s more valuable to them alive and well.”

  “Until they realize I can’t come up with the money to pay the ransom. What then, Freddie? What happens to him then?” She pulled out of his arms. “Have them bring the buggy around.”

  “What?” he asked, confusion furrowing his brow.

  She pivoted on her heel and hurried toward the door. “I’m going to Blackhall to talk to the fool. Mayhap if I make my request in person, remind him how much he owes me, he’ll relent and give me the money.”

  “And mayhap he won’t,” Arbra said as he hurried after her.

  “He’d better or I’ll cause such a scandal he’ll wish he had! The skeletons I can rattle in his closet would stand this kingdom on its ear.”

  “Oh, hell,” Arbra whispered. Sometimes, he thought, it is hell loving such an obstinate woman.

  * * * * *

  It had been two weeks since their Joining and Jana had yet to speak a single word to him. No matter what he said—or did—she looked right through him. Lying in their bed each night like a statue, nothing he had tried could rouse the passion he had glimpsed at Riverglade. If she felt anything when he touched her, she refused to let it show. As a result, the erections he got were short-lived and unproductive except in the shower when he could put hand to flesh and relieve himself that way.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  At that moment she was in the bathing chamber relieving her belly of the little bit of food she had forced down at the breakfast table. She had locked the door against his intrusion as she had every morning since the retching began. Because she had, he had ordered a maidservant to fetch someone to remove the lock on that door.

  “Jana, open the door and let me help you,” he said with
his cheek to the panel. He thought he heard her say something but knew she wasn’t talking to him but at him.

  No doubt to lay a curse upon his head.

  Something has to give, he thought. He’d pledged no more coercions and had held to his word. He’d sent his godmother home—not that he would have carried out his threat of sending her to Galrath.

  Nor would he have sent Seyzon to Utuk Xul had the idjit been in Meiraman and not concealed wherever it was the Reivers had their home base. He would have sent him to Tyber’s Isle for a while just to press home the point that he couldn’t defy his Overlord and get away with it Chalean-free.

  But taking Zonny’s lands? Aye, he would have done that and wasn’t entirely sure that he wouldn’t yet.

  “Jana, open the door,” he pleaded with her. “I just want to make sure you’re all right.”

  A knock on the bedchamber door brought his head around.

  “What?” he yelled.

  “There is a message for you from the king, Your Grace,” his new adjutant general—a freshly promoted Joseph Vashteel—informed him. “The vid-com in your room seems to be offline.”

  “Well, of course it is,” Vindan mumbled under his breath. Leave it to Jana to have turned the thing off so he couldn’t spy on her. He pushed away from the door. “Thank you, Vash.”

  “You are welcome, Your Grace,” the warrior replied.

  Going over to the wall across from his desk, Vindan reset the vid-com and moved back from the six-foot-wide screen. Almost instantly the image of his father appeared. King Nolan had his back to the transmitting camera. His shoulders were ramrod straight, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared out his office window, which generally meant the great man was pissed. Vindan knew his father’s face would be livid with rage.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Vindan Karl?” the king snarled.

  “In regard to what, Your Majesty?” Vindan inquired respectfully.

  His father spun around. The infuriated glower that twisted the older man’s face made Vindan take a step back.

  “Do you know who showed up on my doorstep this morn?” his father demanded.

  “I’ve a good idea,” Vindan said.

  “Aye, I imagine you do!” the king shouted. “And do you know why she is here?”

  “To beg for money to ransom her son?” Vindan returned.

  “Don’t wax fucking cute with me, boy!” his father warned with a growl.

  “My apologies, Your Majesty,” Vindan mumbled. “I meant no disrespect.”

  “Since you refused to pay the ransom, the price has gone up. The bastards want seven million credits, Vindan!” the king all but bellowed. “The Reivers want seven million credits to return him to his mother with all his parts intact.”

  Vindan blinked. “Seven million?”

  “I did not stutter, you stupid dolt!” his father threw at him. “If they don’t get the money, there’s no telling what they will do to the boy.”

  “They’re bluffing about harming him,” Vindan said. “They know if they so much as bruise him I’ll send troops into Selwyn so fast—”

  “You’ll do nothing of the fucking sort!” his father screamed, fury turning his broad face scarlet red.

  “No, Your Majesty,” Vindan was quick to say. “Of course not.”

  “You are responsible for this mess. You might as well have handed him over to them yourself. What the fuck were you thinking having your men take him to that tavern? You lost the only friend you’ve ever had. Why the hell would you do that?”

  “I gave him an order and he disobeyed. He went A.W.O.L. and I punished him.”

  “Because you wanted his gods-be-damned woman!” his father bellowed. “And took her. For the love of the gods, why couldn’t you have chosen any other woman save his?”

  “I love her,” Vindan said.

  “I cannot allow them to harm one hair on that boy’s head or I will never hear the end of it from his termagant of a mother,” the king said as though he either hadn’t heard the declaration or didn’t like what he’d heard. “Are you listening to me, Vindan?”

  “Aye, Your Majesty. Are you going to give them the money?”

  “Fuck no, I’m not!” his father snarled. “You are!”

  “Your Majesty, we don’t have that kind of money in the treasury at Wicklow. I—”

  “Mayhap not in the treasury but you have that much and more in your personal account.”

  “Me?” Vindan yelped and became aware he was no longer alone in the bedchamber. Jana was standing behind him. He glanced at her and saw a tight smile on her pretty face—ashen as it was from being sick.

  “You set this into motion and you will be the one to put it to rights. You will bring that boy home.”

  “I will not let him take my wife from me!” Vindan stated.

  “Like you took his from him?” the king countered. “I can’t make you give her back since you had the authority to annul the Joining and then compounded the issue by turning around and marrying her. But I can tell you I am sorely disappointed in you, Vindan. I thought Lady Millicent raised you to be an honorable man. Apparently both she and I were wrong.”

  “Your Majesty, I am an—”

  “You will bring him home. Keep him at Lavenfeld if you’re afraid he’ll come after the girl but you will not put him in prison nor send him out of this country. Is that understood?”

  “Aye, Your Majesty.”

  “You have wronged a good man,” his father told him. “Taken what did not belong to you. The taking was your right but that did not make it right.”

  “No, Your Majesty.”

  “Don’t mess with him, Vindan,” the king warned. “Don’t get it in your head to go to Lavenfeld to see him.”

  “I will not, Your Majesty.”

  “The Reivers will send a convoy to pick up the ransom. They want it in rhodium bars and they want it by Thursday morn.”

  “Your Majesty!” Vindan gasped. “That’s only two days away!”

  “It’s encouraging that you know your days of the week and what days come when,” his father sneered.

  “But I thought you would not negotiate with terrorists,” Vindan protested. “Think of what the Reivers could do with that kind of money.”

  “I’d rather have the Reivers on my ass than Millicent Montyne! I will not have that irrational woman breathing down my neck, Vindan!” the king shouted. “You will pay the ransom. See to it, boy!”

  The vid-com screen went black.

  “Sucks to be you,” Jana said with a mean laugh. “I doubt Seyzon will stay at Lavenfeld.”

  “He’ll not get you back!” Vindan shouted. “I’ll make gods-be-damned sure of it!”

  “Touch one hair on his head, send him anywhere, Vindan Brell, and I will cut your throat in your sleep,” she warned, showing true ferocity for the first time.

  “You dare to threaten me, woman?” he barked.

  “Not a threat,” she said. “A promise and one I vow to keep.”

  He would have grabbed her as she passed but the cold look she gave him stilled his hand. He watched her leave the room with impotent fury lashing at him. Turning, he drove his fist against the wall and wished he hadn’t. Though he didn’t break his hand, he did open cuts over the knuckles.

  “Bastard,” he said of his father.

  There had never been a good relationship between them. He’d always thought his mother was the cause of that. She was a hateful, bitter woman who loathed men—his father and him in particular. Venting her spleen seemed to be the greatest joy in her life. Well, that and finding advantageous alliances between the House of Brell and whatever powerful family with sons who were willing—and often unwilling—to marry her ugly-ass daughters.

  Cradling his injured hand, he went to the sofa and flopped down on it. Drawing his knees up, he lay there seething.

  “It’s all your fault, Seyzon,” he muttered. “You’re a bigger bastard than my father is.”

  W
hich isn’t true, he thought. Seyzon had been a true and loyal friend to him over the years. He’d stepped aside to let his prince shine when all the while the aura that rippled around Seyzon was a thousand times brighter. Stronger, faster, cleverer, Seyzon would have made a much better prince for he was also compassionate and levelheaded, wise and fair. Seyzon Montyne was the better man and Vindan knew it.

  “Damn you to the Abyss,” Vindan whispered. “Why did you have to go behind my back with her? If you had only brought her to meet me…”

  I would have taken her away from you all the same, a little voice hissed in his ear.

  Lapping at the blood pebbled on his knuckles, he turned his head to the window. Winter was coming. The leaves were already turning gold and rust and scarlet, cascading to the ground and whirling like a gypsy girl’s skirts.

  “Winter of Thorns,” he said and laid his left arm over his eyes.

  That was what the coming year—which ran in Meiraman from the Winter Solstice to a day before the next Winter Solstice—would be called. The Winter of Thorns was the second symbol in the nine-year cycle of the Meiramanian zodiac. This year had been the Winter of Shards, the Primary Symbol, the First of Nine.

  “And this year certainly blew my life apart,” he said quietly.

  Thorns. Crystals. Staves. Quills. Blades. Spurs. Needles. Claws.

  “All things sharp,” he remarked.

  He dwelt on the meanings of the word thorn. First to mind was the rigid point on a plant. A thorn pricked the finger and drew blood. Aye, well, blood had been drawn between him and Seyzon. Was there more to come?

  Second was that of an impediment that causes distress or irritation such as the idiom of something being a thorn in one’s side. Wasn’t that exactly what Seyzon was?