Cursed by Fire: The Immortal Brothers

by Jacquelyn Frank

  “I am not angry,” he assured her in a low, steady tone. “Nor will I ever be with you. I am not a man prone to temper. No, wait. That is untrue. I can have a great deal of anger within me. But as long as you are honest with me and keep faith with me, I will never direct that anger toward you. Do you understand?”

  “Keep faith?” she asked shakily.

  “I understand what it must take for you to trust me or anyone right now, but I will prove myself to you. Once I do, I expect your true loyalty to me. Unquestioning. Putting no other desires before those that you know would best represent and please me. That does not mean I do not want you to have your own voice, for you are of no use to me without a voice and thoughts of your own. I can get a womb anywhere; what I need is a mother and wife and political ruler. That is why I have chosen you. Just as you have chosen me to be a warlord, a husband, a provider, and a protector. If we keep faith with each other, we can become an unstoppable force together. I will be able to leave you in charge of the city while I conquer other lands in Weysa’s name. I must know that you can be trusted to fill that role.”

  After a long moment of staring up into his eyes, a long enough moment to make him question whether or not she had heard him, she looked away, shook her head gently, and laughed.

  “There must be something wrong with you,” she insisted before looking back into his eyes. “My fortunes are not this good as a rule. There must be something wrong with you.”

  He chuckled at her. “There are a great many things wrong with me. Do you forget I am cursed?”

  Her frown was instantaneous. “Is there no way to cure you from this curse?”

  “None,” he assured her. “My only goal is to fulfill Weysa’s demands of me.”

  “Perhaps if you perform well she will forgive you your crimes entirely and set you free.”

  “I would not presume such a thing. It serves no purpose to exercise false hopes, so please, I wish you to stop thinking on it. All I need from you is to come be by my side each night and help ease me.”

  She lowered her lashes at that remark, color spotting her cheeks. “I will do whatever I can. Whatever you ask.”

  “Little juquil, you are not a slave to me,” he said sternly, lifting her chin up with his hand and making her look into his eyes. “Do you understand? I have seen the fire in you. The defiance you show. I want to cultivate that fire, build it until it burns so brightly others will have to look away from its powerful beauty. Do you understand?”

  “Are you certain that’s what you want?” she asked cautiously. “Most men prefer their wives cowed and dutiful.”

  “Dutiful, yes. Cowed, no. Feel free to test me. In time, you will understand. Now it grows light. You need to get back to your bed lest you are caught.”

  Dethan rose from the bed and she flushed furiously, looking away from him as he stood gloriously nude and held out a hand to her.

  She scooted out of the bed, lurching to her feet. She hastily slid on her corset, adjusting herself and trying to reach her own laces. She jumped a little when she felt his hands settle over hers and then push them away. He took the ties into his hands and slowly, learning how to do it with a few queries, he laced her into her corset just as well as Hanit would have done, if taking a little longer in the doing of it. His hands kept drifting along the length of her torso. Caresses she did not feel through the stiffness of the corset yet was still very aware of.

  Next, she stepped into her dress and pulled it over her arms. He helped her lace this together as well where it was needed. Then he reached for her cloak as she stepped into her slippers. He cloaked her and then turned her to face him. There she was, fully dressed in contrast to his utter nudity, and she still felt as though she were nude with him. She felt far more exposed than he was as he tipped up her chin and gave her one more gentle kiss on the lips before sending her out into the hallway.

  CHAPTER

  TWELVE

  Grannish was studying his adversary hard.

  He sat in one of the empty household chambers that looked over the fortress bailey. In the bailey were the usual comings and goings, but there was something very distinctly different today. There was a line of men leading away from two tables that had been set up. A very long line. Apparently this Dethan had posted notices and paid for criers to announce that Hexis was forming an army, that troops would have bread and a bed within the week. All they need do was volunteer.

  Grannish had thought perhaps fifty men would respond to something like that. It was not glamorous, did not promise glory and personal fulfillment. Just a bed and bread and a little joining silver. And yet there it was, a long line of men leading out of the bailey, down into the streets, and as far as the old High Post. Perhaps beyond that. Where Grannish was he did not have the proper perspective to see. But there were well over two hundred men waiting and fifty others had already been given their joining silver and the papers they would need to gain a bed in the barracks, once the barracks were done being built.

  Grannish smiled. He wondered just where and how these magical barracks would be built. Grannish had instructed the master of the king’s purse to be very stingy when it came to the army’s needs. He was going to make this as difficult to pull off as he possibly could. After all, it would not do if Dethan were somehow able to actually succeed at this attempt to free them from the Redoe’s siege.

  No, it would not do at all. Grannish refused to be upstaged by some upstart peasant who was promising solutions to problems that had none. Grannish had tried raising an army himself before, and the results had been lackluster. He had been reduced to forcing men to become soldiers, forcing them to fight, the lazy bastards. But the army, such as it was, had fallen apart and their attempt to cure the Redoe plague had failed.

  Well, it would fail again, Grannish thought. He would see to it. Volunteers or no volunteers, Dethan would be forced to call up a draft eventually. It was the only way to get the numbers that would be needed to set the Redoe down. Then they would see what a waste of time it was.

  There were two clerks at the two tables taking down names and giving out papers. Behind the clerks stood Dethan, his arms folded over his chest, his calculating, dark eyes taking in the goings-on with an almost evil air. Often he would step forward and say something to the new soldier.

  Soldiers were all well and good, but it took a chain of command to run an army, which meant lords of high houses. And Grannish would see to it that not one lord of any of the high houses stepped forward to offer command. If they did, they knew Grannish would make them pay for it. One way or another, they would pay. He would bide his time so it did not look so obvious, but eventually he would poison the grand against that particular lord until he was no longer a lord, his lands and titles stripped from him at the command of the grand. Grannish was a very, very patient man with an excellent record as far as these things were concerned. His reputation would ensure compliance. All the lords knew not to cross him.

  He had already begun to make it clear to them that they were in no way to help Dethan’s cause. The trick was how to do it while seeming to be supportive of it when in front of the grand. He could puppet the grand only so far. The grand was still under the illusion that he was in control of his own city. There were times like this, like with Dethan, when the grand went completely off in his own direction without seeking any guidance from Grannish.

  But that was okay, Grannish thought serenely. It had become a little boring of late, to be honest. Manipulating that regal idiot and his whiny little daughter was sometimes so easy he could cry with the boredom of it.

  At that moment the little bitch herself walked out into the courtyard. Everything ground to an instant halt and everyone bowed to her respectfully.

  Everyone save Dethan. Dethan merely watched her, those dark eyes looking at her with … with what? Grannish wasn’t certain. He needed to figure out how to get into the man’s head. Needed someone to pay very close attention to him.

  “Your lordship, Page Ton
kin,” his page announced, the disdain he felt at being forced to call Tonkin “page” all too clear.

  Tonkin was as big and oafish as could possibly be imagined. He actually had to duck to keep from hitting his head on the top of the doorframe. Where in the hells had Dethan found this fellow? Grannish thought he was familiar somehow, but he could not place him.

  “Ah, Page Tonkin. Good of you to join me,” Grannish said, turning his back on the window and his all-seeing view of the courtyard.

  “As your lordship likes,” Tonkin said deferentially. The page’s cap was in his hands and he was mauling the fabric in great pawing twists. He was nervous. Good.

  “Sit down, my good man,” Grannish invited, indicating a nearby chair.

  “If it’s all the same, I’ll stand. My lord Dethan will be wanting after me soon.”

  “Sor Dethan is no lord,” Grannish bit out.

  “He is my lord, begging your pardon.”

  Grannish frowned but decided he had better things to do with his time than teach the lumbering ass about etiquette. “Page Tonkin, I will get straight to the point. You know who I am, correct?”

  “Yes, your lordship. Everyone knows who you are.”

  “Very good. I am here to make you an offer. And before I make the offer, I want you to take into consideration what I might do if you choose to refuse the offer.” Grannish smiled when Tonkin went suddenly still, like a deer in the woods that had heard a sound and knew something dangerous was lurking about. “I know you are a farmer, with lands beyond the walls. I also know you have not cultivated your fields this year. That is a direct violation of your deed agreement with the grand. Technically I could default your lands right now and you’d never be able to set foot on them again.”

  “B-but I … I didn’t have the money for seed this year ’cause the Redoe took all my crop last year. They took a lot of the crops last year. I’m not the only one—”

  “I really do not care about any of that,” Grannish said, trying with difficulty not to yawn in the other man’s face. “The law says a farmer must farm his fields or he will be in default. You are in default.”

  He let Tonkin stew on that a moment.

  “What’s your offer?” Tonkin ground out. It was clear the man was trying to rein in his temper. There was anger in his eyes and tightness around his mouth.

  “You are angry. Good. I want you to be angry. And I want you to remember that had your new master not singled you out and made you his page, I would never have known about your farm. Now, while you think on that … my offer is thus: You tell me anything and everything of significance your master does and I will not only overlook your breaking of the rules but I will give you enough money to buy seed for next year’s crops.”

  Grannish truly wanted to laugh. It was all Tonkin could do to keep his jaw from dropping open. So easy. It was all so easy. All it took was knowing where they were most vulnerable and where they were most greedy.

  “So? What is your answer?” Grannish asked needlessly.

  Selinda was not an idle grandina, Dethan thought as he watched her from a distance. When he had left her this morning shortly after breaking their fast, she had been called aside to handle a domestic squabble of some kind. Then before noon meal he found her in the common room presiding over matters of law and arguments between the commoners or general grievances. She listened to every one very carefully and her quick mind always seemed to come up with the perfect solution. She was fair but stern when necessary. Kind and altruistic when it was called for. A ruler to her very core. This was a proceeding her father should be officiating over, in Dethan’s opinion, and a remark questioning that made Tonkin tell him that it was indeed supposed to be the grand’s duty, but he was dealing with other matters of state. It was often the case, it seemed, for the grandina was usually the one presiding on any given grievance day.

  Later on, she came into the courtyard, and as Dethan stood behind the drafting tables, he watched her stop and have a conversation with nearly every commoner in the bailey. She had ordered kitchen wenches to bring water to the men standing in line in the sweltering sun, then she walked slowly down the line greeting them, many by name, and thanking them for their service to the crown. Telling them how vital they were and how appreciated they were. It was by far the best thing she could have done. There she is, the grandina, reaching out, touching, and feeling gratitude toward me … What man alive wouldn’t want to be touched by something so ethereal in both station and actual beauty. She believed they thought her ugly, and that may be, but it was just as clear they were readily willing to look past that fact and see the inner beauties she had to offer.

  Yes, he thought, she would be a phenomenal ruler in his stead. Oh, he had his doubts that so kind a heart had the toughness needed to keep a city safe. He would have to leave a proven and trusted lieutenant behind to support her rule. But who? As it was, he was in need of captains to marshal all these men. The men needed to be organized into work details, put to the task of building their own barracks. They needed to know there was a watchful eye above them. Until they proved themselves together, there would be little cohesion. Right now all that drove them was the promise of a hot meal and a roof. Providing those things would take time, effort, and, more important, money.

  And that was why he was standing in the office of the grand’s coin handler, fuming at being made to wait a full twenty minutes while the coin handler tallied a seemingly endless amount of numbers.

  “Now, what is it you want?” he said at last, peering down his nose at Dethan from his raised dais. Behind him, behind a significant guard detail—one that Dethan hadn’t noticed the first time he had come here—was presumably the vault holding the grand’s coin. It was a massive metal door surrounded by thick stone. It was locked in no less than five different places. But the coin could be under a thousand locks and it wouldn’t be any safer from the potential invading force outside the gate. Once the castle was overrun, it would be nothing at all to get at a vault.

  “I told you,” Dethan said, impatient from having stood under the hot sun all day. His burn scars, what few were left by then, had not liked the heat at all. “I will need significant coin in order to build the men’s barracks and pay them their first wages.”

  “Pay wages? What for? They haven’t done anything yet!” the man scoffed. “We don’t have the money to cast at every lowborn piece of trash out there on the promise of what they might do.”

  Dethan stepped forward, his expression dangerous. “You do your job your way and I will do mine my way. Let us agree on that.”

  “I do agree. And my job is to hold the grand’s coin as tightly as possible! I will not allow it to be spent frivolously.”

  “But the grand has charged me with this task and this task requires money,” Dethan said, his fist clenching as he resisted the urge to climb up the dais, grab the pinched-nose little fiend, and shake the wax out of his ears.

  “That may be, but until Jenden Grannish tells me to release a specified amount of coin, I am not able to do so. As it stands, the jenden has allowed for …”—he peered at a piece of paper—“twenty gold sovereigns.”

  “Twenty—! That won’t even pay for the building of the barracks!”

  “That is the sum allotted. Do you wish it or not?”

  Dethan ground his teeth. Grannish. He should have realized. The entire household, the entire granddom, was run by Grannish, held hard in his fist. He would have to tackle this another way.

  “Very well. Twenty sovereigns. It is a beginning.”

  He stood there waiting while the coin was doled out to him and then he turned to Tonkin. “I’m in need of many things and have no idea how to find them. I will need your help most of all in these matters.”

  “You can count on me, my lord,” Tonkin said.

  “First, I need a ledger. I wish to track this coin as closely as possible.”

  “A wise idea,” the coin handler said, suddenly eagerly interested in Dethan. “I have an e
mpty ledger for you.” Something resembling a smile touched his thin lips. “Perhaps if you show the use of your coin thoroughly the grand will issue you more.”

  As Dethan accepted the ledger he could tell that the coin handler had acquired a sort of respect for the new general that had not been there moments ago. As though he was impressed that Dethan would be keeping books on his expenditures. But why wouldn’t he, Dethan thought in puzzlement. Any good army was run with good bookkeeping. Without well-managed coin a campaign could fall apart. It was one of the many underpinnings that held an army afloat. Food. Coin. Leadership. Strategy. These were key. And Grannish knew this as well, Dethan realized. Grannish was going to attack his efforts by attacking his underpinnings. So not only was he expected to battle the Redoe, he was expected to do it while Grannish kicked away as much of Dethan’s support as he could.

  Dethan would have to figure a way around this, and the key to that would no doubt lie in completely winning over the grand.

  But wait. If Selinda was acting in her father’s stead in matters of state, then clearly she had the ability to delegate coin. But should he use her in this way? It might draw unwelcome attention to her by Grannish.

  No, he would need to do this another way. As he left the room, he drew Tonkin beside him.

  “I need lieutenants. I can second some from the city guard, but I would much prefer an untapped resource.”

  “Well, usually the nobles lead the forces of an army,” Tonkin provided.

  “Why? Are they better skilled at it?” Dethan asked sharply. “Birthright does not make for the best generals. The man in charge of the forces at present is a fine example of that. No. I need strong leaders that the men will want to follow. Men with brains enough to handle strategy and direction, who are not slaves to impulsivity.”