WinterofThorns

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  Third was the twenty-third letter of the Meiramanian alphabet, þ. He’d always thought the letter looked like a tall skinny woman with a big swollen belly.

  He dropped his arm behind him, drawing in a quick breath.

  “Pregnant belly,” he said.

  Jana was pregnant. This was her year of the Thorn.

  No, he thought and shot up so fast his head spun.

  Not Thorn but….

  Thorns!

  “Is she carrying twins?” he asked.

  Surely not. That could not be what this new year signified.

  He flung himself from the sofa. There was only one person who could tell him what the connotation of this coming year could mean in his life and that was the Mage.

  * * * * *

  “He paid the ransom,” the border lord told Seyzon. He was standing off to one side with his arms crossed over his broad chest as the plexigon shield slid back and the healer helped his patient to sit up on the sled of the TAOS unit.

  Seyzon ran a hand through his hair. “The king?”

  Lord Robin Bray snorted. “Not fucking likely. That bastard is as tight as a nun’s cunt.”

  “Then who?”

  “The shitty little twit, the princey-poop,” Bray replied.

  Seyzon stared at him. “Vindan paid the ransom?”

  Bray nodded.

  “All of it?”

  Another nod.

  “The entire seven million credits?”

  Within the black mask, the border lord’s blue eyes twinkled. “In rhodium bars as I requested.”

  “Why?”

  “I hear he was ordered to by the supreme high imperial muckety-muck asshole at Blackhall because your mother hop-skipped over there and raised holy fucking hell with the poor bastard.” He shrugged. “No skin off my nose but I almost felt sorry for old Nolan Brell,” Bray said with a chuckle. “Almost.”

  “Damn,” Seyzon said. Gingerly he tested his left leg by putting his hands under that thigh and lifting the leg from the sled. When there was no pain, he shifted the other leg beside it then slid carefully from the TAOS unit to the floor.

  “Any pain, milord?” the healer inquired.

  Seyzon shook his head. “No, none at all.”

  “Test your shoulder, boy,” Bray ordered.

  Lifting his left arm with his elbow crooked, Seyzon slowly straightened it, flexed it then straightened it again. “It seems to be okay.”

  “Fucking A,” the border lord said, clapping leisurely. “Now you’re good to go.”

  “Aye and then what?” Seyzon asked. “Go back home so I can be arrested as a deserter?”

  “There is a secret order for your arrest as soon as you cross into Meiraman,” the border lord lied.

  “I figured as much. Vindan doesn’t want me coming after him.”

  “It isn’t him who issued that order, son. That edict came straight from the king.”

  Seyzon’s head came up. “How do you know that?”

  “I have spies everywhere, Montyne,” the border lord said with a grunt. “Even at Blackhall.”

  “That edict won’t stop me. I will find a way to get my woman.”

  “You could,” Bray refolded his arms. “Or you could tweak their noses.”

  “How?”

  “By joining the Reivers and making life hell for Vindan Brell. Teach that brat some manners. You’re already a wanted man. Might as well make it count.”

  Seyzon smiled. “I could do that,” he said.

  “Aye, lad, and you should,” the border lord replied. “It’s just a matter of time before they seize your lands. Where would that pretty mother of yours go?” He tilted his head to the side. “Why not bring her to Selwyn and set her up in a grand keep here?”

  “Where would I get the credits to do that?”

  “You can take her to Gracen Hall,” Bray replied. “It belongs to me but I’m never there. It’s just going to waste.” He shrugged. “Take those servants that are loyal to you and her and you’ll rest easy knowing she’s out of the prince’s reach.”

  “Aye, she would be,” Seyzon said. He was liking the idea more and more. The lands had been in his father’s family for centuries but it didn’t mean that much to his mother and if it meant keeping her safe, he could do without it. If Vindan did get around to confiscating it, losing it would not be a burden.

  “And once we have your lady, we will bring her here as well and I guarantee you there would be no way in hell Vindan Brell would ever get to her again!” He unfolded his arms and stepped forward with his hand. “What do you say, lad? Is it a deal? Will you join me and my merry men?”

  As a soldier who had been stripped of his rank and given a dishonorable discharge, Seyzon had lost his rights and privileges as a Meiramanian citizen. He would no longer be allowed to vote, to buy land, to engage in trade with respectable and lawful merchants. For all intents and purposes, he had become a pariah. Law-abiding citizens would shun him for fear of being tarred with the same brush that had smeared his reputation. What did he have to lose?

  Seyzon took the proffered hand—trying not to wince as his hand was enveloped in a grip so tight and firm it crushed his fingers together.

  “You’ll not regret it, lad.” The border lord shook Seyzon’s arm hard.

  Chapter Nine

  The Mage had given Vindan news that had unsettled him. Jana was expecting twins.

  “Twins run in milady’s family and since it is from the mother’s side twins come…”

  “She has a twin brother,” Vindan said. “Does that mean she is carrying a boy and girl?”

  “Not necessarily,” the Mage replied. “It could be identical twins of either sex, Your Grace.” The old man smiled. “And may I be the first to offer my congratulations to you and your lady-wife?”

  Vindan felt a wave of relief flicker through him. If the Mage thought the children were his, mayhap no one would question the legitimacy of their birth.

  “We are very happy with the news,” he told the old man.

  Walking back to the quarters they shared, Vindan decided not to tell Jana what he had learned. She was so angry at him he doubted anything he said could mollify her.

  Or change her opinion of him.

  He loved her. The gods knew he did. That he had fallen in love with her so quickly—almost at first sight—wasn’t surprising. Seyzon loved her, had chosen her for his wife knowing he was borrowing trouble. He and the man he wished was still his friend had always liked the same things. Their tastes in food and drink and horseflesh was identical. They had shared the same lady-in-waiting who made men of them both. They’d had crushes on the same girls growing up and—if truth were told—most likely bedded the exact same women save for Seyzon’s first wife.

  “Jacqueline DuMer,” Vindan said and shuddered. The poor woman was dead but still the thought of her had the ability to distress him.

  King Nolan had given the DuMer chit to Seyzon to bind two influential Meiraman families together so therefore Zonny’s bride had been off-limits to Vindan. That arranged marriage had not been one into which Seyzon had happily entered but he had made the most of it. At least he had liked the overweight woman.

  Vindan had not.

  The Lady Jacqueline had been a plain, nondescript woman with big tits, broad hips, and a laugh like the braying of a mule. She’d been nice enough but she’d been no goddess for whom a man would lust—not that he would have touched her anyway.

  So it was no surprise they had fallen for the same woman who had set their bodies aflame with desire.

  Sitting down on a wrought iron bench just outside the solarium, Vindan braced his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, and stared at his booted feet.

  How did it go so wrong? he asked himself. He had not gone to Riverglade to take his friend’s woman from him. He had gone there to clap Seyzon in irons in the Reynaud’s dungeon for a few weeks to teach him a lesson.

  Nothing more.

  He certainly hadn’t entertai
ned the notion to do to Seyzon what he had done to Lord Raymond deVille. Punishing Zonny in that way was unthinkable.

  And he hadn’t gone there with it in mind to declare Ceart an chéad oíche. That, too, was unthinkable.

  Until he looked into the beautiful face of the Lady Jana and lust reared its ugly head.

  Lust and the sure knowledge he could—would—have the woman standing at Seyzon’s side.

  He thought back to the conversation he’d had with Lady Millicent. She had brought it home to him just how he had taken things from Seyzon over the years. Not once had Seyzon complained. How could he? He was the son of a baron and Vindan was a prince. What choice did Seyzon have but to turn over whatever had been demanded?

  And for the first time in Seyzon’s life, he had balked. The reason he had was clear. The Lady Jana was his heart-mate, his soul-mate, his life-mate and he would fight to keep her. Unfortunately, he had never stood a chance.

  Vindan scrubbed his hands over his face and lifted his head, the bottom portion of his face hidden behind his palms as he stared across the garden. He had engaged in each of the Seven Sins and he knew his soul was damned.

  Envy. Aye, that had been the first to trip him up.

  Lust. Who could not look upon Lady Jana and not feel that?

  Greed. He had wanted and he had taken.

  Gluttony. He had sent her back to Seyzon but he could not bear being away from her. He wanted more of what he had experienced that first night. His every thought of was of her. His body ached desperately for hers.

  Pride. He was a prince and as such he could have what he wanted. He wanted Jana and had ordered Seyzon to give her up and like it.

  Sloth. Another word for apathy and he had been indifferent to Seyzon’s rights and Jana’s commitment to the man she loved. He cared not what anyone thought. He did as he pleased and to hell with whomever did not approve. He was uncaring of everyone else’s wants and needs, desires and dreams.

  And lastly…

  Wrath. Self-evident in the way he had ordered Stoneway to chastise Seyzon.

  Aye, he had committed all Seven Sins, blackening his soul and condemning himself to the Abyss for his deeds.

  None of that mattered. He would gladly tread the fires of the Abyss to keep Jana at his side.

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

  There was guilt. A big heaping cupful of guilt roiling around inside him. He loved Seyzon—he truly did—but the man had something Vindan wanted, needed, and it was Seyzon’s duty to hand it over without comment, to give it up without complaint.

  “She is his wife,” he had told the Lady Millicent. “In my mind nothing has changed in our friendship.”

  Everything had changed. He had taken Jana from Seyzon, annulled a marriage he swore he would not and then forced Jana to marry him. He had destroyed the only friendship he’d ever known. A part of him had deep regret at how he had treated Seyzon.

  And Jana.

  But in order to have her at his side, he would do it all again.

  Getting to his feet, he yanked open the door to the solarium and was surprised to see Jana standing at the window. She’d been watching him. Though her lovely face was expressionless, there was a telling smirk hovering in her green eyes.

  “You are my wife,” he stated.

  “In name only,” she replied.

  He took two steps and grabbed her arm, pulled her roughly to him.

  “Then we’ll just have to remedy that now won’t we, milady?”

  As he pulled her to the stone floor, that part of him that mourned the loss of his relationship with Seyzon was pushed firmly aside. The part of him that lusted after Seyzon’s woman took complete control.

  * * * * *

  “Why does he keep his face hidden?” Seyzon asked Spence Dyson, the border lord’s 2-I-C.

  “My guess is he doesn’t want anyone recognizing him,” Dyson replied in a droll voice. “Why do you think he does it, newbie?”

  Seyzon smiled. He liked all the men of the Reivers whom he had met so far. They treated him no differently than they did any other warrior among them. No deference was shown because he had inherited his father’s title of Lord of Lavenfeld or that he had—at one time—been the adjutant general to the Prince of Meiraman. To them, he was just another fighter against the tyranny that was his homeland.

  Tyranny he had known absolutely nothing about until the men began to tell him their tales. The things of which he hadn’t been aware had stunned him, made him ashamed to be a Meiramanian.

  “Have you ever seen him without the mask?”

  Dyson frowned. “Instead of playing twenty questions with me, newbie, you’d do best to hit the rack. We’ll be leaving before dawn and ain’t a man among us who’ll be picking your sorry ass up off’n the road if you tumble from your nag.”

  Seyzon ran the palm of his hand down his left leg. Though completely healed, he had phantom pains in it from time to time. “I don’t plan on falling asleep on my mount.”

  “Well, to make gods-be-damned sure that you don’t, get your scrawny ass to your rack.”

  Getting to his feet, Seyzon put his hands to the small of his back and stretched. He’d been sitting before the campfire for over an hour, shooting the breeze with the men who made up the border lord’s inner circle of fighters.

  “Any idea where we’re headed tomorrow morn?” he asked.

  “Away from here,” Dyson said in the same noncommittal voice he used when he was finished with a conversation. He turned his head and spat a thick stream of tobacco juice into the darkness. “Now, get and let the grown-ups be about their discussions.”

  The insult amused Seyzon. Dyson and Hawkins—the red-haired giant who was the border lord’s private bodyguard—treated him as though he were a green youth. He supposed to them he was. Though he’d been on nine raids over the last three weeks, he had yet to prove to them that he was an invaluable asset to their cause. They still watched him as though they expected him to blunder badly.

  As he started away, he heard Hawkins clear his throat and he looked around, knowing the man was about to hurl another insult his way.

  “And don’t be rubbing one out in your blanket,” Hawkins said. His green eyes reminded Seyzon too vividly of Jana’s. “Save your energy for our next gig.”

  “Aye,” Seyzon acknowledged.

  “I mean it, boy!” Hawkins called out. “Keep your grubby little paws off’n your meat!”

  “What little of it he has,” Dyson mumbled.

  Those left around the fire laughed heartily and Seyzon lifted his hand in the time-honored salute men gave one another.

  Settling down a few minutes later in the scratchy wool blanket that was now his bedding, he propped his head on his saddle and stared up at the brilliant array of stars overhead. He wondered if Jana was allowed to go up on the battlements of Wicklow to view the stars or if Vindan kept her under lock and key.

  “Fucking prick,” he said and the words made him flinch for he knew that was exactly what his ex-best friend might be wielding this night. The thought of it enraged him and hurt him at the same time. Frustration brought tears to his eyes and he brutally reached up to swipe them away.

  Crying served no purpose and only drove home the impotence that gripped him with steely claws—squeezing the breath from his lungs at times.

  “Hold on, Jana,” he said. “Just hold on, baby. I will come for you.”

  He did what he had done a lot of in the last month. He began to count the twinkling stars scattered across the black velvet of the sky.

  The border lord joined his men at the campfire, taking the place the young Meiramanian had vacated. He sat down with a grunt—knees cracking—and exhaled a long breath. “All set for tomorrow?” he asked Dyson.

  “As set as can be given the circumstances,” Dyson replied and spat into the fire this time. He lowered his voice. “I didn�
��t tell the lad where we were headed.”

  “Good,” Bray said. “He doesn’t need to know else he’d get no sleep this night.”

  “You think he’s ready for this?” Dyson queried. “Can’t be no end to it tomorrow.”

  “No, but it will help and that’s all that matters at this point,” Bray said. “He needs a taste of victory to keep him going. It’s gonna take a few more months before everything is in place so this will give him the incentive to endure those months.”

  “Let’s hope it don’t make him all the more determined and thus reckless,” Hawkins put in.

  “Despite the man who fathered him, the lad is as levelheaded and steady as they come,” the border lord observed. “He’ll hold the course in order to gain the finish line.”

  “Then you’d best have a good long talk with him before tomorrow afternoon,” Dyson advised.

  “I will,” Bray agreed. “Believe me, I will.”

  * * * * *

  At that moment Jana was looking up at the stars as well. She had managed to escape the prince’s eagle eye and had gone to the battlements.

  “Are you watching the stars, my love?” she asked. She wrapped her robe more closely around her for the night was chill with a slight breeze. “Or do they have you locked away in the darkness?”

  That the man she loved might be lying in a dismal, cold cell—possibly chained to the stone wall—made her want to cry but she refused to let the tears come though they blurred her vision.

  The blame for Seyzon’s predicament falls entirely at Vindan’s doorstep, she thought. He was the cause of any bad thing that might be happening to her husband—she refused to name Brell her husband for she would have only one of those for as long as she lived.

  “I hate him, Zonny,” she said. “I despise him so badly it makes me want to claw his eyes out for what he’s done to us.”

  The wind whipped up to blow the hem of her robe away from the pale-yellow nightgown she wore. She shivered, her fingers tightening on the front closure of the wool robe.

  “Wherever you are, know that I love you. I will always love you and you alone. The babe in my womb is yours and even if I dare not admit it to the world for his or her sake, I am telling you. He may claim this child but it will never, ever be his.”