S&SS [04] The Poison Priestess

by Karen Azinger

He hadn’t been with a woman since they’d cut him. He wondered if he could. “For that, I’d give anything.” He turned and lunged at her. Silk ripped beneath his hands, freeing the curves beneath. So lush and full, he grabbed with both hands, kneading her warm globes with his fingers, squeezing hard.

  “No!” She stuck like a snake, her hand slapping his cheek.

  The slap stung like a thousand nettles. For a moment, Danly feared she’d used the ring. He touched his face but there was no blood.

  She gave him a shrewd look. “You’ll live, for now, but you have much to learn.”

  He sagged back on his heels, confused. Even with her robe torn, she still looked regal, part siren, part temptress, part queen. He rubbed his cheek and looked away. “Nothing but a limp threat anyway.” Bitterness washed over him. “I’ve seen gelded stallions. Once the balls are cut, the spear is done.”

  She knelt next to him, offering a seductive smile. “Not with me.” Her hands trailed a path down his chest, lingering at his belt. “With me, you will be a prince among men, a stallion among mares.”

  He breathed deep, enthralled by her scent.

  “You can be a man again, but it must be done my way.”

  He was desperate to believe. “Anything.”

  She shrugged the torn silk from her shoulders, revealing her true promise. Lush curves and silky smooth skin, he moaned with anticipation. Leaning close, she whispered. “Let me show you.” She pushed him down into a nest of silken pillows, her dark hair cascading around his face like a curtain. “Let me teach you the way of a thousand delights.” Straddling him, she slowly removed his clothes, covering his skin with teasing licks of her tongue, working her way down to his groin.

  Lost in a feast of senses, he surrendered to her touch, to her intoxicating scent. At first it was merely pleasant, a dalliance of slow delights…but then the heat began to build. A bonfire of wanting woke within him. A moan escaped his lips as he burned within, as his loins quickened with heat. His spear stood triumphant, urgent with need. He gasped, as if the dead had risen to life. “By all the gods!”

  Her voice was a low whisper. “No, just one.”

  He rolled on top but she held him at bay.

  “Will you swear your soul to me?”

  “What?”

  “Will you swear your soul to me?

  His manhood strained for release. “Yes, anything.”

  She gave a throaty laugh. “Then I grant your wish.”

  He fell on her, sheathing himself in her moist lushness, reveling in being a man once more. And with each wild stroke, he swore in his soul he’d do anything to have her again and again and again.

  23

  Liandra

  Liandra retreated to her solar, a haven from the prying eyes of the Rose Court. Swathed in robes of ermine, she took her ease before the fire, examining the gifts of Ur. Opening the small narrow box, she held the uncut ruby up to the candlelight. “Look at this.”

  Princess Jemma and Lady Sarah both stared in awe.

  She turned the stone, examining it from every angle. Flashes of deep red glinted in the light. “Flawless. A priceless gem.”

  “Is it real?”

  Liandra gave the princess a wry smile. “Oh yes. This queen knows her jewels. A perfect flawless ruby of deep color, blood red, the size of a large man’s fist.” She shook her head in wonder. “We’ve never seen its like, and we own ruby mines.”

  “But why gift you with such wealth? What does Ur owe Lanverness?”

  “Nothing, and therein lies the question. Lanverness and Ur have been trading partners for centuries, but we’ve never had a formal alliance.” Liandra considered the gem. “Gifts of such magnitude always incur obligation.” Her gaze pierced the princess. “What did you think of the delegates from Ur?”

  “Strange, odd, secretive, yet their show of wealth is amazing, even overwhelming.”

  “Wealth flaunted in our court.” Liandra frowned. “Perhaps the wealth is meant to distract.”

  “A diversion.”

  The queen nodded. “They strike us as scorpions trying to hide their stingers.” She pondered the gem. “The trick is to accept the gift without being stung to death by obligation.”

  “Or subterfuge.”

  Liandra gave her apprentice a smile. “Exactly.”

  “Well I don’t like them and I don’t trust them and neither should you.” Lady Sarah poured tea and then took a seat on the far side of the fireplace. “That chained one gives me the shivers, his skin as pale as a dead fish.”

  “What have you heard?” Her lady-in-waiting kept a close ear to the rumors of the court, a valuable resource for the queen.

  “They say he’s a sorcerer,” Lady Sarah leaned forward as if sharing a great secret, “a wizard of black arts. As long as silver pierces his flesh, he can’t work magic.” She nodded like a sage. “That’s why the king keeps him chained with silver piercing his nose, keeps him bound like a dog on a leash.”

  She’d heard tales of silver suppressing magic but she’d always considered them a fairy tale. “Magic is rare in the lands of Erdhe, we doubt he is a sorcerer. A king would not easily part with a servant of such power.” She nestled the ruby back in the box. “No, the one that worries us is the mind behind the message, an unseen player, yet to show his face.”

  “The prince?”

  “Perhaps.” Liandra gestured towards the massive wooden chest set on the far side of the chamber. “Take a good look at the coins.”

  Princess Jemma crossed the room to open the chest. A wealth of gold glittered inside, a stunning sight. Burrowing her hand deep within, she removed a handful of coins. One at a time, she examined them, letting them fall like chimes back into the mound. “They’re all different, and some are worn so smooth they’re almost blank.”

  “They reek of age.” The queen nodded. “Even we have never seen some of them, and we’ve always had a fondness for coins.”

  “But Ur must have vast trading webs, to kingdoms we’ve never even dreamt of.”

  “True, but some coins are more than three centuries old, from kingdoms long conquered and nearly forgotten.” Liandra considered the treasure. “A message lies within the coins, more than mere wealth, yet we do not see it. Almost as if we are being taunted.”

  The princess gave a visible shiver and closed the lid. “At least the gold will help with the war.”

  “True. Yet the timing seems more than pure coincidence.”

  Lady Sarah huffed. “Well, I don’t like those jesters, especially the dwarves, with their nasty pointy teeth, what horrid little men. Like something from a nightmare.” She shuddered. “What a strange gift to give a queen.”

  “Not strange, crafty.” Liandra fiddled with the rings on her fingers. “Dazzled by wealth, we accepted spies into our court. But we intend to turn the tables on the gift-givers. My shadowmen will keep watch. Perhaps the spies will teach us something of this twelfth-fold prince.”

  “Ur is such a strange land, with so many rumors and legends it’s hard to know what to believe.”

  “Great distance will do that. In the absence of fact, the mind is free to run toward the fantastic.” Liandra smoothed her robe across her expanding belly. “But it is the close-at-hand that troubles us. The Urians set us a problem of another sort. Flaunted wealth is always dangerous. Such casual largess will embolden our noble lords. It is so much easier to rule a kingdom when the treasury is fat.”

  The princess looked thoughtful. “Then you must remove the temptation.”

  “Exactly.” Liandra smiled. “It is time to play a different gambit, one that might ensnare the Flame and my unloyal lords, all in one fell move.”

  The princess leaned forward, a keen look on her face. “When?”

  “Tomorrow, at our council. We’ll set the bait and see who takes it.” Liandra gestured toward the treasure chest. “This chest gives new meaning to the notion of staggering wealth.”

  Lady Sarah tittered. “Did you see the muscles on those
bearers?” She rolled her eyes. “In they marched, bold as brass, wearing nothing but those flimsy linen skirts. Quite the eyeful.” The princess blushed and Lady Sarah laughed. . Liandra felt the tension melt from her shoulders, enjoying the company of honest women.

  A knock came from the door, short and sharp.

  The laughter died, both women looking toward the queen.

  Liandra sighed. “Duty calls. Go and see who dares disturb us at this late hour.”

  Lady Sarah turned formal. Giving the queen a slight bow, she stepped to the door, shielding the opening with her body.

  “I need to see the queen.”

  Liandra heard the urgency in Master Raddock’s voice. “Show him in.”

  The black-robed master slipped through the door, like crow come late to the party. He sketched a hasty bow, his voice gruff. “Majesty, a visitor asks to see you.”

  “At this late hour? Surely the Urians have not returned?”

  “No, majesty, but you said you wanted to be told at once.”

  Liandra’s patience was running thin. “Well out with it then. Who seeks audience at such late an hour?”

  “A newcomer, majesty. He claims to be a monk of the Kiralynn Order.”

  The news struck like a deep-sounding bell, resonating in her soul. “We will see this newcomer. Show him in.”

  Her shadowmaster bowed, slipping back through the door.

  Princess Jemma rose as if to leave.

  “No, both of you stay. Lady Sarah, our hair.” Liandra basked in the warmth of the fire while Lady Sarah dressed her hair, adding combs adorned with seed pearls, a striking addition to her raven-black tresses. “And the emerald.” The lady went to the jewel box, returning with a gold necklace set with an immense pear-shaped emerald, a statement of wealth in its own right, wealth she’d earned by the strength of her own intellect. Bedecked in furs and jewels, the queen awaited the late night visitor.

  Another knock on the door.

  “Come.”

  Lady Sarah slipped into the shadows while Princess Jemma remained seated by the fireside. Master Raddock returned. Behind him came a stranger, a man of middling height dressed in robes of midnight blue. He stood in the firelight, a hawk nose set in a tanned face, his dark hair flecked with gray. Two gray streaks flared away from his temples like wings, but it was his eyes that captivated, dark and brimming with intelligence, eyes that dared to be reckoned with. “I bring greetings from the Grand Master.” He gave a half bow, but his gaze never left her face. “I am Fintan, a master of the Kiralynn Order.”

  “Welcome to our court…yet you come at such a late hour.”

  “Late hours are often a cloak for discretion.”

  More riddles wrapped in secrecy, Liandra nodded, knowing she needed to be sharp. “You are the second member of your Order to seek an audience. Master Aeroth comes and goes like the wind. You monks are too mysterious by half.”

  He gave her an odd smile. “Secrecy can be a weapon, or a shield, but the usefulness of both is dwindling. Darkness stirs in the north, threatening the lands of Erdhe.”

  “The north?”

  “I have come in dire times. The Mordant seeks to reclaim his power.”

  Liandra suppressed the urge to make the hand sign against evil.

  “When he has secured the north, he will turn his armies to the south.”

  Another army to contend with, the words struck like blows to her soul. “Your Order is full of dire warnings.”

  “To be forewarned is to be forearmed.”

  “We know the value of spies.” Her words snapped with anger. “But we need more than warnings. Invaders from Coronth march across our lands, too numerous to count.”

  “The Army of the Flame. That twisted religion harbors another form of darkness.”

  “The Flame must be defeated ere we can contend with the north.” Liandra’s stare drilled the monk. “Do you come bearing dire messages or do your come to offer aid?” She dared to hope the rumors were true, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Do you bring magic to our court?”

  He met her stare. “I bring knowledge, long protected by the Kiralynn Order. I’m told you are a queen who values knowledge.”

  A hint of challenge rode his voice, a challenge laced with intelligence. Liandra decided she liked him. “Come sit with us. We would learn the knowledge of the Kiralynn monks.”

  He took a seat amongst them, spinning a tale of knowledge and prophecy, a tale that stretched back through the ages, a story of war and magic, an immortal battle of Light against Dark. Liandra sat captivated, absorbing every word, gaining insights to age-old mysteries. The fire burned to embers and still they talked. Tales of the past colored the problems of the present. Liandra began to see a larger pattern. By the time sunlight glinted on the windowpanes, a plan began to take shape in her mind. She had more enemies than she’d ever suspected…but perhaps the monks could make a difference. Plots within plots, she’d find a way to save her kingdom.

  24

  Jordan

  Jordan stumbled down the trail, shocked to find fall leaves still clinging to the valley below. A pageant of orange and gold flamed amongst the dark green firs, so much color it dazzled her. After the treacherous mountain passes, she’d begun to believe all of Erdhe lay locked in winter.

  A cold wind clawed at her back, as if the mountains refused to relinquish their hold. Clutching her cloak, Jordan struggled to keep pace. The monks led the way, leaning on their quarterstaffs, shaggy as bears in their fur cloaks. Strung out in a line, they staggered down steep switchbacks, footsore and starving. Crossing the pass had been a nightmare of avalanches and blizzards, testing their resolve and exhausting their supplies. For the last three days they’d gone without food; nothing to fill their bellies save thinly stretched tea. Jordan felt hollow like a ghost, but she refused to give up. Licking her cracked lips, she stumbled down the trail, wondering if they’d crossed the mountains only to die of starvation.

  Guilt gnawed at her, knowing the monks had joined in the ordeal because of her dreams. Without their lore, she’d never have survived. She shivered, remembering the glacier, one slip away from an icy death. But now they faced another peril, not a crust of bread among them. Hunger proved a merciless tyrant, gnawing at her insides. It still surprised her that the monks had so miscalculated the food supplies. For all their knowledge, they made mistakes. It did not bode well for the trials ahead.

  Plagued by weariness, her mind slipped sideways, escaping into daydreams. Like precious jewels, she relived her nights with Stewart, especially Midwinter’s Eve. Every facet of their first night was special, the memory blazing like a Yule log in her heart. Suffused with heat, she imagined his touch, but other images intruded. Without warning, her daydreams twisted to nightmares. Ghastly visions seared her mind. Like flashes of lightning they struck, one after another, hitting her with a fury of blows. MerChanter raiders swarmed the Navarren coast, sacking seaside villages, raping and pillaging till the shore ran dark with blood. The image changed and she saw Stewart bedraggled in tattered clothes, running through a bare-branch forest, armed soldiers chasing the hare. Lightning cracked and she saw a severed head stuck on a spike, staring down from a battlement. Faster and faster the images came. A shattered tower, red as blood, reared above a winter forest. Her sister, Juliana, barked orders on her ship’s deck, desperate to outrun the MerChanter fleet. Her father sprawled dead at the base of Castle Seamount, his body tossed to the rocks like dross. A scream tore out of her. “No!” Refusing the visions, she hurled her protest to the gods. “No!”

  “NO! No! No.” Her cry echoed against the mountains, a mockery of her protest.

  Hands gripped her from behind. “I’ve got you.”

  She struggled against the bonds.

  “You’re safe.”

  Reality returned in a rush. She stood on the edge of a precipice, staring down at a thousand foot drop. “Oh!”

  Rafe held her from behind. “I have you.”

  Jordan steppe
d back from the edge and disengaged from his arms. Flushed with embarrassment, her face burned red. “Must be the hunger.”

  He gave her a knowing look but he did not gainsay her. “Have a drink.” He handed her a water skin. “Water will fool your empty stomach, at least for a while.”

  Uncorking the skin, she took a long swallow of crystal clear snowmelt. Her stomach growled, but she had nothing to feed it. “Thanks.”

  Returning the water skin, she followed the others down the trail, struggling to close the gap. Shaken by the nightmares, she gripped her sword hilt, determined to avoid any daydreams, yet the visions haunted her. Such terrible images, such dire consequences, she did not understand half of what she saw, yet she felt compelled to act. Destiny tugged at her, pulling in too many directions. She shook her head, raging against the tumult.

  “What did you see?” Rafe walked close as a shadow.

  Her embarrassment doubled. “Nothing.”

  “The Grand Master believes your visions are gifts from the gods, memories from your time between.”

  “The time between?”

  “You nearly died. Master Garth’s magic pulled you back from the brink. Locked in a healing trance, you lingered between life and death, close enough to hear the gods.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Many masters would give much to know what you saw.”

  He’d saved her life more than once in the mountain pass…she owed him an answer, but it was such a jumble. “Light, I remember a warm light…and a feeling that everything made sense. I tried so hard to remember…but it slipped through my mind like clutching sand on a beach.”

  “And now?”

  “Nothing but nightmares. Visions so terrible they can’t be real.”

  “Perhaps they’re futures you’re meant to change.”

  Her frustration broke like a wave. “But I don’t understand half of what I see! All I know is that it cannot be.” Jordan glanced his way, but he had no answers. Exhausted, she fell silent, locked in misery once more. They straggled after the others, rounding another switchback. Another steep slope, it seemed as if the mountains had no end.