Prince of Fire

by Linda Winstead Jones

  He did not leave her in the dark, and while she would never tell him so, she was grateful that he replenished the flaming torches when it was necessary.

  Her captor came to her at least twice a day to question her about the curse he claimed she had put on his people, and he never seemed to hear her when she told him—again and again—that she had done nothing to the pitiful creatures. Eventually, in utter frustration, she quit answering him at all, and he ended up standing on the other side of the bars staring at her with those terrible and beautiful green eyes.

  Standing in her cell, Keelia felt the pull of the full moon even though she could not see the sky. Tonight Anwyn and Caradon would transform. She had the unique ability to be able to resist the change—as well as being able to transform at any time—but unless there was a reason to do so, she embraced the transformation and ran as a wolf under the full moon, as all Anwyn did. Here in this cell there would be no room to run, but perhaps if she shifted, she could pass the night without dreams of her kidnapper making love to her.

  Her dreams were always different when she slept in wolf form. Under the full moon she dreamt of running unfettered in a shaded forest, or of leaping along mountain paths with the rays of the moon feeding her power. Sometimes she even dreamed of flying high above the mountains she called home. Those were always such dramatic and surprisingly peaceful dreams, when she soared as if she’d been born to the sky. Perhaps if she passed the night as a wolf, she would not awaken in the morning with her body trembling with need.

  She refused to need anything from any Caradon.

  Her kidnapper appeared not long before sunset. In her dreams he smiled often, but she had never seen that expression on his face in reality. He looked more somber than usual as he gripped the bars of her cell so tightly his knuckles went white.

  ‘Tonight the Caradon who have been bitten by those you cursed will join the afflicted if you don’t do something right now to save them. Now, Your Most Beautiful Cruelness. Do you have no heart? What will it take to convince you that the curse must be lifted?” His green eyes narrowed. “What do you want in return for lifting the curse? My life? My fealty? What do you want from me?”

  She had argued so many times that she had not cursed his people, to no avail, that she remained silent under his scrutiny. More than once she had rushed to the bars in an attempt to attack him with her claws, but he was fast and always moved beyond her reach too quickly. Today she remained still, her back close to the cool wall of the cave.

  The Caradon grew angry, angrier than he had been before this moment. His jaw was tight, his mouth thinned, and his eyes … was it her imagination or were his green eyes now touched with flecks of glowing red? She cocked her head and took one step closer to the metal bars that separated them.

  The man before her yanked his hands from the bars of her cell and held them out, palms up. Before her eyes, flickers of fiery flame began to dance on those palms. As each second passed, the flames grew brighter and more real, until her captor held a blazing ball of fire in each of his hands.

  “Remove the curse, or I will burn you alive.” He whispered, but she heard him quite clearly.

  “I cannot remove a curse I did not cast,” she insisted, her eyes on the flame that danced on one palm. She had not known, had not even suspected, that her kidnapper might wield such power. Her sister and each of her four brothers possessed some sort of inborn magic, but she had never seen anything quite like this. “I have never cursed anyone or anything.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  His eyes were more red than green now, and for the first time Keelia feared for her life. Joryn was no normal Caradon, but was a demon who had invaded her dreams and would murder her here deep in a mountain cave, where no one would ever find her body, and no one would ever know what had become of her. Her army, her devoted guard, should’ve found her by now, but no one had come to her rescue. A terrifying thought made her heart do strange things. What if they had come, and Joryn had attacked them with his fire? What if those who would save her were all dead?

  For the first time, she felt truly lost and afraid.

  Keelia dropped to her knees and lowered her head. In the past few days she had tried several times to reach out to her mother with the ability they shared. She had never felt as if the connection had been made, but now, with death only moments away, she tried again, calling out to her mother with all the power she possessed.

  I love you all.

  The danger I have been warning you about is real. Be ready when it comes.

  Giulia is not ready to be Queen. Help her.

  And then again, I love you all

  Not knowing if her mother had received the message or not, Keelia lifted her head and stared at her kidnapper. The flame in his hands had grown hotter and higher, but he apparently felt no pain. His anger and frustration had increased along with the flame, and she expected him to send that fire to her at any moment.

  “I despise you and your people,” she said in an even voice, “but I have never cursed them, or anyone else. That is not my way.” Her dreams of pleasure must’ve been pure fantasy, because tfiis creature before her possessed

  no laughter, no passion, and certainly no love. “If you are going to execute me… I’m ready.” She closed her eyes and waited for the flames to consume her. I love you all.

  *

  Ciro sat in a nicely padded, comfortable chair which his soldiers transported in a small wagon, so that he would not be entirely without comforts on this journey. He searched the sky as his army, his soulless Own, set up camp for the night. He had promised them another village to raze, but there was no need to rush. There were many villages between tonight’s camp and their final destination, and the destruction of all those villages would take place at the hands of his legion. In time.

  Soon the moon would rise. On the mountain which was now days behind him, Anwyn and Caradon alike would transform, as would those he had called to him who were no longer the creatures they had once been. He had been tempted to summon some of the mutated creatures to him for his army, but he was marching to Arthes, and in the capital city the creatures would be too far away from the mountains to be affected by their magic. No, they had their work there in the mountains, and he had his in Arthes. Another would lead them; that was as it should be, the demon told him.

  Ciro thought ahead to his return to Arthes. His father would be surprised to see him, he imagined. Surprised, and then dead. Once that was done, Ciro would be emperor. Taking the throne would not be the end of this journey. No, it would be the beginning. A wonderful, terrible beginning.

  Diella sauntered over to him with her hips swaying. She was proud of her new body but still annoyed with him for the scar he’d left on her new face. The scratch he’d left with his teeth—before the body had become hers—had become infected, and the scar would only grow worse as days passed. He was already tired of the former empress’s demands and her complaints, but she had a purpose to serve still, and he could not dispatch her just yet, much as he wished to do so.

  “A few of the idiots who call themselves your Own have gone to fetch your supper from a nearby farmhouse.”

  “I know.” Ciro knew everything that happened with his army. He knew their thoughts, their fears, their desires. The Isen Demon had taken his soul first, and then he” had drawn in the souls of his Own. Those lost souls mingled with his and became something stronger than he had ever imagined possible. They became one with the Isen Demon, and Ciro’s body housed the demon and all the power it possessed.

  “Why can’t they bring me a man as well?” Diella complained.

  “You are surrounded by men.”

  “I am surrounded by drooling idiots who don’t care much for bathing or cleaning their teeth,” she retorted.

  Diella’s soul had been lost in Level Thirteen for many years, and now that she had a body to call her own, she was trying to sate more than forty years of need in a matter of days. Ciro was already tired of h
er attentions, and besides … he was saving his seed for his beloved Rayne. The Isen Demon had promised Ciro that he and the woman of pure soul would produce a remarkable son.

  First he would take the throne, and then he would collect his beloved and they would make their special son. Some would call his son a monster, he knew, but Ciro didn’t worry about such. His child’s powers would be remarkable. Dark, malevolent, and remarkable. The very idea made him almost giddy with anticipation.

  He fondly remembered Rayne as he’d last seen her, chained to the wall of the basement of her father’s house, begging to be released. If he took the drug Panwyr into his body, he could pretend Diella was Rayne, but he’d done so a few times, and while the physical release was real, it was not the same as having his beloved beneath him. What he felt under the influence of the drug was an illusion, a trick of his mind. No, he would prefer to save himself for his betrothed. He would wait for her. He would wait. She would make a fine empress, a fine mother to his child. Monster or not, she would love her child as a mother should.

  Two of his men approached, dragging a reluctant young woman between them. The girl was pretty enough, in spite of the tears on her cheeks, but Ciro studied her soul, not her face or her body. Even from this distance he could see that it was tarnished. He was not yet strong enough to take a pure soul, but he had only recently progressed to the point where he could take a gray soul without the permission of mat soul’s owner. Soon no one, not even a man or woman with the purest soul, would be able to deny him, and when that happened, he would be unstoppable.

  Ciro smiled, and the girl stopped struggling. Amazing what a disarming smile would do. He knew he was handsome, and that some females placed high values on his outward attributes. The girl stumbled at Ms smile, as her legs were much shorter than those of his soldiers who moved forward so quickly, but she no longer appeared quite so terrified.

  “What is your name?” Ciro asked.

  Diella huffed once and stalked away, searching the camp for someone else to annoy while Ciro attended to the business at hand.

  The girl before him licked her lips. “My name is Ilda. I… I don’t understand. These men killed my husband and my brother.” She tried to yank away from the soldiers who held her fast. “Why? What do you …”

  Ciro raised a silencing hand, and the girl ended her tirade abruptly. “I am Prince Ciro, Ilda, and I require your assistance.” He could be done with the girl so quickly she would never know what had happened, but there was no joy in taking what he needed with such speed.

  Hda lifted a callused hand so that it rested between her small breasts. “You have need of me, Prince Ciro?”

  “Yes. I’m afraid no one else will do.”

  She shook her head. “But why did these men kill my family? What purpose could that serve?”

  Ciro’s powers, the powers of me Isen Demon, grew stronger every day. He realized the emergence of a new power now, capturing the girl’s eyes and holding them. He reached not for her soul, but for her weak mind. I am your family now. You are not afraid. You trust me above all others. You will now walk forward and sit on my knee.

  Ilda walked toward him and sat as he had instructed. She weighed almost nothing, it seemed. She was tiny, and he had grown larger and stronger in the past few months. In truth, the girl was no more substantial than a bug he might step upon, or a fly he might swat away.

  She reached out and shyly caressed a long strand of Ciro’s fair blond hair. Her eyes were dreamy, soft and unfocused. If he touched her mind and suggested that she have sex with him here and now, in front of an entire army, she would not demur. But Ciro’s lust for women had been replaced by a determination to have Rayne, who would soon be his wife, bear a sofl who would be like no other. No, it was not lust he felt as he held this girl in his arms. It was hunger. Deep, undeniable, hunger.

  She stared into his eyes, rapt. Enthralled. Waiting.

  Offer me your throat.

  Ilda tilted her head to one side and brushed back a length of her own dirty-blond hair. Ciro saw the vein pulsing there, just beneath her pale skin. He lowered his head and kissed the flesh lightly, then trailed the tip of his tongue along the vein. He smelled the blood he needed, and felt the soul he craved dancing just out of reach.

  Ilda placed a steadying hand on his shoulder and sighed, as if she desperately wanted what he was about to offer. It was interesting that he could reach into the girl’s mind and make her his in all ways, but there was no challenge in taking a soul in this manner, there was no joy without the fear.

  Ciro abruptly disconnected himself from the girl. Her body twitched, and the hand that had been resting on his shoulder began to push and slap ineffectually. “What are you doing to me? Let me go!” She tried to struggle, but could not get away. She was no match for him. No one was.

  “Fight me, Ilda,” Ciro commanded as he buried his face against her throat. “Fight this ugly death I offer you, if you can.”

  He felt her growing fear as she struggled, tasted it as he bit into the vein that had teased him. Blood and a tainted soul poured into Ciro, nourishing him. Ilda might look innocent enough to the average eye, but she was far from innocent. She’d stolen, lied, and cheated. Why did he worry about not being able to take pure souls when there were so few of them in the world?

  As Ilda’s blood and soul poured over his tongue, Ciro saw some of her past, felt many of her hopes and fears. She was a foolish girl, not terribly bright, who’d used her pretty face and convenient lies to get what she wanted. She’d never appreciated the simple pleasures of her life, but had constantly whined and complained and wished for that which was not hers.

  She would cherish her simple life if she had the chance to take it now, but that chance was gone.

  When Ilda’s soul was entirely his, she stopped struggling. Ciro continued to feed, taking every drop of her blood into his body and luxuriating in the feeding. With every soul he took, he grew stronger. The Isen Demon grew stronger, and the demon worked—worked, saw, breathed, and lived—through him. With a new soul inside him, he felt invincible. There were those who would oppose him, he knew, but they were powerless to stop him.

  As he finished feeding, Ciro thought of Rayne. After their child was born, if she did not please him, he would dispose of her just this way. He would be able to take a pure soul by that time, and if he was not, then he would see that her soul was tainted. He didn’t know how that could be accomplished, but it could be done, he was sure. Nothing could stand in the way of what he wanted; not anymore, not ever again.

  When Ciro was finished with the supper his soldiers had provided, he dropped the body at his feet. Two of his Own came to take it away, and he settled back with a sigh of contentment. Soon the Isen Demon would snatch away the soul for itself, but as he and the demon grew more connected, that emptiness did not come so quickly, nor last so long. There was very little of the man Ciro had been left in this body, and soon, very soon, even that would be gone, and all mat remained would be demon.

  The demon spoke to him. At the moment, they were both satisfied and hopeful. It was odd mat a demon could hold such hope, but Ciro felt it as surely as his own. The prince was not the demon’s only general in this war. There were others who would gladly trade their souls for the power the Isen Demon promised. All was proceeding well. There were still obstacles, but at the moment those obstacles seemed insignificant.

  Ariana and her wizard and her army might try to stop them, but at the moment they felt entirely unstoppable.

  *

  The change was coming. Juliet could feel the call of the moon in her blood. In her very soul. She so loved these nights when she embraced the wild wolfen side of her nature and ran unfettered, with Ryn at her side. They had been traveling, living the life of a pair of rogues for many weeks now. She missed her children, and it was almost time to go home, but she did so love this time alone with her husband. It reminded her of their first days together.

  No one was about but Ryn, as she bega
n to undress so as not to ruin yet another gown. There wasn’t much to her frock, since the days were growing warm and she had no tolerance for the heat, but still, she liked tfus garment and did not want it to be ripped as she transformed.

  Here high in the mountains, far from everyone and everything, she had very few visions. In truth, her visions had been few and far between for months, no matter where she was. Perhaps it was simpjy a part of growing older, and she should be grateful. In an odd sort of way she missed the gift she had so often dismissed as unwanted.

  As she contemplated her changing powers, a voice— Keelia’s voice—rang clearly in her head. I love you all.

  Juliet reached out and grasped Ryn’s arm. It was already too late. Her husband was changing, and so was she. Before the form of wolf consumed her, she whispered hoarsely, in a voice that was not entirely her own, “Keelia is in trouble.”

  *

  One flick of his wrist, and the Red Queen would be dead. She wasn’t going to reverse the harm she had done. She wasn’t even going to admit to her actions. So why should he keep her alive?

  She was brave, and Joryn admired that bravery even though he should not, could not, admire anything about the Anwyn witch. For a long moment her eyes remained closed and then she opened them slowly. Her eyes met his, and she did not even tremble, much less beg for mercy. No, this was a woman who never begged for anything, he imagined. She commanded. She ruled. She greeted death with her chin held high and her eyes dry of tears. There was no pleading, no begging for mercy.

  One flick of his wrist…

  And he could npt do it. He could not kill this maddening, evil woman. Only an evil woman could’ve done what she’d done, and yet he did not feel malevolence from her. He did not possess psychic powers as she did, and yet he did have inherent instincts. Should he trust the Grandmother, who told him this woman was responsible for the ruination of his people, or his instinct, which told him that she was not washed in the darkness he sought? The Grandmother had told him not to harm the Queen, but if she refused to cooperate, what else was he to do?