S&SS [04] The Poison Priestess

by Karen Azinger

  “Yarl found a hidden doorway to a subterranean vault. The monks were all excited about a stone statue in a side chamber, a massive hand with an eye carved in the palm, but the real treasure was the stores, casks of food and loot, like a dragon’s lair. We’ve been eating well ever since.”

  “Not a dragon, but a brigand’s lair. Ill-gotten gains raped from the countryside, Skarn’s winter stores.”

  Jordan sobered. “Skarn, the brigand you killed, the one with the mitered helm?” Her voice held a dangerous edge. “The one who was going to sell you to the Flame?”

  Stewart nodded, his hands curling into fists.

  “I’m glad you killed him.”

  “So am I.” Stewart met her sea-blue gaze. “I’ve seen what the Flame can do. I know what’s out there, what the queen keeps at bay.” Conviction filled him. “We have to find a way to defeat them. Without the queen there is no law, no honesty, no chance for a decent life.” His gaze burned into her. “I never understood before, but I do now. Whatever it takes, the queen must win.”

  “I know.” The worries of the outside world crowded her eyes. “Lingard has fallen.”

  He hissed with disbelief. “No!”

  She nodded.

  “I wondered when I saw Ronald among you. The war does not fare well for the Rose.”

  “There’s more.” In a grim tone, she told him about Danly playing the prince at the gates of Lingard, a traitor in emerald robes, betraying the city to the ravages of the Flame. “Ronald says they opened the city gates for him. They gave him a royal welcome, inviting the traitors in.”

  Stewart swore. “By the Dark Lord’s balls, the queen should have strangled Danly at birth.”

  Jordan let him fume.

  “Lingard betrayed by my own brother.” A killing rage gripped Stewart. “Danly has always been a trial.” He struggled to quell his anger. “A filthy traitor, and my own brother! But you wouldn’t know what that feels like.”

  “Oh yes I would,” her voice was soft but deadly, “not my brother but my aunt. My family lives under the Curse of the Vowels. We know what it’s like to be betrayed by one of our own. Nothing cuts deeper, or hurts more.”

  He’d forgotten about the curse. He took her hand, kissing her upturned palm. “And if we have children, will the curse follow us?”

  She blushed, giving him a shy smile. “No, the curse only follows the crowned royals. It’s tied to the magic of the tuplets.” Her smile turned to a devilish grin. “But ever since childhood, I’ve been collecting names that begin with a K.”

  He made a mock groan. “So I won’t have any say in our children’s names?”

  “Not unless you want to bear them.” But the playful glint in her eye quickly quenched to sadness.

  “What is it?”

  “I must leave on the morrow.”

  Her words cut like a dagger. “But I’ve just found you!”

  “I know.” She took a deep breath. “I told you about my visions. And now that you’re here, now that you’re safe, I must hurry to Navarre.” She shook her head, a grim look on her face. “I fear I’ve lingered too long.” The words rushed out of her. “For the sake of my family, for the sake of my homeland…and for Kath, I have to leave.”

  He heard the resolve in her voice. Having been saved by her visions, he could not gainsay the will of the gods, no matter the price. “I long to keep you with me, but we’re both warriors. And we’ve both been given a second chance.”

  She gave him a searching stare.

  “You were saved by the monk’s magic and I was saved by your visions. The gods gifted us with a second chance. We need to make that second chance count.” He gripped her hands tight, needing to touch her. “Duty beckons. We both have battles to fight. We’ll do what we must to win this war, for our sovereigns, for our kingdoms, and for the sake of our own future. And when it is over, we’ll never be parted, I swear it to you.” He laid a fervent kiss on both her palms as if to seal the promise, but when he met her gaze he found sadness clouding her eyes.

  “What is it?”

  She looked away, a glint of tears in her eyes.

  His hands gently cupped her face, turning her back towards him. “What is it? It pains me to see you unhappy.”

  “It’s my dreams, my nightmares. I’m not sure if they’re visions or just fears plaguing my mind.” Her gaze clung to his, as if desperate for relief. “I fear for you, for us, if you return to Pellanor.”

  “Pellanor? What danger lurks in the Rose Court?”

  She took a labored breath as if burdened by a terrible weight. “In my dreams I see you crossing the checkerboard floor of the audience hall…married to Jemma.”

  “Jemma! But it’s you I love!”

  “And it’s Jemma the queen wants as a daughter-in-law.” She turned away from him, hugging her knees to her chest, a ball of misery.

  “I swear to you, it will not happen!”

  “My visions do not lie.”

  That rocked him back on his heels, but he refused to give up. “You said yourself it might just be a nightmare, not a true vision?” But she kept her back to him, a wall of hurt. “Jordan, talk to me. Together we can figure this out.”

  She slowly turned, a pair of tears marring her face.

  It hurt to see her cry. “The monks say the gods give us a choice, right?”

  She gave a tentative nod.

  “Then perhaps your visions are a warning, a god-given chance to change our fate?”

  She waited, watching him through tear-strewn eyes.

  He knelt before her, taking her hands. “Then let’s change our fate. Let’s grasp our destiny. Marry me?”

  A smile broke across her face. “I already said I’d marry you, we hand-fasted last Midwinter.”

  “Yes, but I’m asking you to marry me, here, now.”

  “Here? Now?”

  He laughed. “Why not, surely the monks can perform a wedding. And what better place for a wartime marriage than a ruined tower?” He sobered, holding her hands tight. “Jordan, I’d lay down my life for queen and kingdom, but after all I’ve seen, after all I’ve endured, I will not give up my one chance for love.” His voice deepened. “The gods brought us together. It’s their visions that led you to this tower. So I ask you, here and now, marry me? Be my queen?”

  “Yes.”

  The love in her voice overflowed his heart. He pulled her close. They kissed, long and deep, a promise of love, a promise of passion, but then he pulled away with a sigh, tucking her pale blonde hair behind her ear. “You’d best get ready.”

  “Ready?” Her voice was muzzy with passion.

  He chuckled, a deep throaty sound. “For your wedding.” Grinning, he pulled on his boots and strode from the tent. He left her in a blind panic, sorting through her clothes as he went in search of the monks.

  60

  Jordan

  A crescent moon danced along the edge of the night sky, still a few hours from dawn. The wedding party assembled in the heart of the ruined tower, snowflakes falling amongst the tumbled stones, but Jordan did not feel the cold. Every snowflake, every star overhead, seemed like a boon from the gods, a blessing upon their marriage. Dressed in her checkered cloak and a borrowed tunic of midnight blue, she waited for the ceremony to begin.

  The strum of a lyre echoed through the crimson tower. The wedding song faltered, fingers fumbling to find the right notes, causing Jordan to smile. Rafe was doing his best, but she’d always thought Justin would play at her wedding. She whispered a silent prayer, wishing her brother well, refusing to let anything mar the magic of the moment.

  Thaddeus offered his arm. “Shall we?”

  She took his arm, letting the sword master lead her into the ruins.

  The others waited in the heart of the tower. Ronald and Owen stood behind Stewart, both men in burnished armor, standing surety for the groom. Stewart wore borrowed clothing, a mixture of brown and blue, a sword belted to his side, nothing to indicate his royal rank, but to Jordan
’s eyes, he looked handsome, his long dark hair cascading to his shoulders, his face alight with promise. Seeing her, he touched his seashell broach and gave her a radiant smile.

  Warmth rushed through her, suffuse with joy.

  Beside her, Thaddeus said the age-old words. “Who comes to claim this bride?”

  “I do.” Stewart stepped forward, offering his arm.

  Thaddeus played his part, his voice gruff with warning. “Guard her well.”

  Smiling, Jordan signaled her acceptance, stepping from her friend to her love. Linking hands, they turned to face Ellis. In the wane moonlight, with her dark hair flowing past her shoulders and her robes of midnight blue, the monk looked like a priestess of old, invested with the all the power of the gods. Raising her arms to the heavens, her voice rang with the words of ancient ritual. “Heart to heart, hand to hand, mind to mind, will ye wed in the Light?”

  They answered in unison. “We will.”

  “Then kneel and pledge your troth before the gods and man.”

  They knelt, staring up at the monk who served as a priestess.

  “We gather here for the joining of two hearts and two royal houses, a sacred union of marriage.” Ellis smiled at her. “Jordan, princess of Navarre, will ye bind your heart and body to Stewart, forsaking all others, so that Two may become One beneath the Light of the gods, for as long as ye both shall live?”

  Jordan felt the solemn words wash across her like a balm. “I do.”

  “Stewart, prince of Lanverness, will ye bind your heart and body to Jordan, forsaking all others, so that Two may become One beneath the Light of the gods, for as long as ye both shall live?”

  Stewart squeezed her hand, his grip as sure as his words. “I do.”

  Ellis raised the crystal orb to the night sky, summoning the moonlight. “By the power of the Light, I call upon all the gods to witness this sacred union.” Moonlight coalesced in the orb, radiant as a captured star.

  Beside her, Stewart gasped in wonder.

  Jordan shivered, awed by the monk’s power.

  A soft silvery light filled the ruined tower, like a blessing from the gods.

  Ellis held the glowing orb over their clasped hands. “Let this ring of light be proof of your sacred vows.” She wove the glowing ball around their hands, weaving a trail of moonlight around their wrists. “Bound by the light of the moon, bound by the shine of the stars, bound by the favor of heaven, bound by eternal love.” Jordan stared in wonder, her hand bound to Stewart’s with shimmering ropes of moonlight. “Let these two be forever wed by the power of the Light.” Ellis tied an intricate knot and then the orb darkened, returning to a ball of clear witch-glass, yet the glow around their hands remained bright. “You may stand.”

  Jordan stood, her hand still bound to Stewart’s by ropes of light.

  Ellis spread her arms wide in benediction. “Henceforth let it be known across Erdhe that Princess Jordan of House Navarre and Prince Stewart of House Tandroth are bound in marriage by the Light of the gods. What the gods have joined let no man put asunder.”

  A cheer erupted from the others.

  Ellis smiled. “You may take your first kiss as husband and wife.”

  Jordan turned towards Stewart. They kissed, twice for love and once for passion, and then they both looked at the light binding their hands. Jordan gave Stewart a devilish smile and he grinned in reply. By unspoken agreement, they unlinked their fingers and tried pulling their hands apart, but the moonlight ropes held them fast, their wrists bound tight as steel. Gasping in surprise, Jordan looked at Ellis.

  The monk gave her a wry smile. “I said it was for all eternity.”

  Jordan stared slack-mouthed, but Ellis only laughed. Reaching out, she touched the bonds and the moonlight faded away, melting into their skin. Jordan shivered, feeling a tingle run up her arm.

  Ellis chuckled. “The bonds would have faded with the dawn’s first light. Moonlight powers the weave.”

  “Kiss her! Kiss her! Kiss her!” the others grew impatient, taking up the age-old chant.

  They turned to face their friends, and then Stewart swept her into his arms. Dipping her backwards, he gave her a deep passionate kiss that seemed to melt the bones from her body. When he finally let her up for air, she wavered on her feet. He nuzzled her ear, “My queen of seashells.” A radiant smile broke across her face, realizing she was truly married.

  Someone yelled, “Break open the ale!” and the celebrations began.

  Stewart gazed down at her. “May I have this first dance?”

  She answered with a smile and he swept her into a waltz. There was no music, no lilting harp or pounding drum, no ballroom floor, yet they danced to their own tune, twirling beneath the glittering stars. Stewart drew her close, a hint of concern in his voice. “Do you mind not having a court wedding?”

  She gazed into his eyes. “Bound by moonlight, witnessed by the stars, what could be more perfect?”

  He held her close. “Everything’s perfect.” They danced close as lovers, lost in their own intimacy.

  But then a lookout’s cry broke the merriment. “Look to the north!”

  The revelry stilled and they turned to stare skyward. Dawn’s red light broke across the east, revealing a great white frost owl winging toward the ruins. Flying from the north, the owl spiraled around the tower in a gentle glide, coming to rest atop the stairs. “Whooooo?” The owl shimmered and stretched into a blur of light, transforming into a blue robed monk.

  Beside her, Stewart swore in surprise. “By the gods!”

  Jordan whispered, “The magic of the monks.”

  He gave her a sharp stare. “These monks are full of secrets,” and then they both turned to watch as the monk descended the stone stairway.

  “I bring word of Lingard.”

  The others crowded the newcomer with warm greetings, but Stewart’s voice cut through the welcome. “What word of Lingard?”

  For just a moment, Jordan closed her eyes, resisting the tug of destiny, trying to hold onto her wedding bliss, but the call to arms was implacable. She watched as Stewart transformed from a bridegroom to a warrior prince. His hand on his sword hilt, his voice full of command, he cut through the others. “What word of Lingard?” And she, as a warrior princess, stood by his side.

  The newcomer hesitated till the introductions were made. Hearing their names, his eyes widened, betraying a hint of surprise. “My name is Aeroth, a monk of the Kiralynn Order.” He offered them each a half-nod. “The heir of Lanverness, a princess of Navarre, and the heir to Lingard, all gathered in the same place, proof the Crimson Tower remains a sanctuary for the Light. Truly the gods lend a hand.” His gaze turned to Stewart. “Many are searching for you, while others name you dead.”

  Stewart’s voice brooked little patience. “Yet you found us.”

  “The Kiralynn Order has its ways.”

  “So I’ve learned.”

  Thaddeus intervened. “The Crimson Tower is known to the Order. Aeroth came to find us, not you.”

  “Yet finding you here is a boon from the gods. We have much to discuss.”

  They left the ruined tower for the warmth of the stables. A small bonfire was lit in the corner, banishing the shadows. They settled around the blaze, sharing flagons of ale, smoked ham, a haunch of roast venison, fried potatoes, dried apples, a sack of walnuts, and a small bag of sugared plums. Jordan sat by her husband, watching as her wedding feast became a council of war.

  Aeroth leaned forward, his gaze fixed on Stewart. “The Flame divides its forces.”

  Beside her, Stewart quickened like a hound to the hunt. “We’ve been waiting for this! We’ve never had the numbers to confront their whole army, always hoping to splinter the main force, but they never took the bait.”

  “Does the enemy keep Lingard?” Ronald’s gaze held a haunted look.

  Aeroth nodded. “The Flame still holds Lingard, but they’ve emptied the city of cavalry.”

  “Do they ride on Pellanor?” Te
nsion leaped through Stewart like a taut bow.

  “No. They ride at a hard canter towards the southwest, six thousand mounted men or more, but they ride without foot soldiers or supply wains.”

  Thaddeus joined the discussion. “Without foot or supplies, it sounds like they’re in a hurry. A raiding party of some sort?”

  Aeroth nodded. “Yes, but to what end?”

  Stewart said, “Doesn’t matter, as long as it’s not Pellanor.” He leaned forward, his gaze keen. “What matters is that they’ve split their army, giving us a chance to even the odds. Question is, should we chase the riders or go for the foot soldiers in the city?”

  Thaddeus said, “We?”

  Stewart answered. “The Rose Army, assuming the owl-man can find them.”

  Aeroth nodded. “The army can be found. From the air it’s hard to hide so many men.”

  Jordan stared at the monk, considering the implications of his magic.

  Ronald dragged the discussion back to Lingard. “What about the legion of tents surrounding the city?”

  “Gone. Either they’ve ridden away, or they moved inside the walls.”

  “Damn them. We might have ambushed the enemy, trapping him against the outer walls, but once inside the fortress,” Ronald shrugged, his face grim, “the walls of Lingard remain formidable, whether they’re held by the Rose or the Flame.”

  “Unless someone opens the gates.”

  Owen cracked a walnut with his fist, the shells hissing in the fire. They grew quiet, thinking of the traitor prince.

  Stewart looked to Ronald. “Any chance?”

  Ronald shook his head. “Not likely. The bloody priests held a mass burning even before they took the last gate. Any loyalist was likely burnt or beheaded.”

  Thaddeus said, “Then you’re best bet is to chase the cavalry and spring an ambush.”

  Stewart scowled. “But Lingard is the greater prize. The fortress is a thorn in our side, protecting the bulk of their army, surfeit with food and supplies. Lanverness can ill afford to let this war drag out. We need a decisive victory.”

  A grim silence settled across them. They sat mired in a dire puzzle that seemed to have no solution. Jordan felt Stewart’s tension, his desperate need to turn the course of the war. She longed to help him, but her visions had never included Lingard. The bonfire snapped and crackled, spitting sparks. Jordan watched the blaze, the flames contained by a stone ring. An idea teased the back of her mind. “Perhaps we’re looking at this the wrong way. Walls can protect…or they can imprison.”