“Elaine said you should wash, then sleep,” Johan said. He paused as a thought struck him. “Did … did he touch you?”
Charity shook her head. “Never,” she said. “He just enjoyed having me at his beck and call.”
Johan frowned in bemusement. He’d always assumed that Deferens would be just like Jamal, having his way with everything young, female and vulnerable that crossed his path. The idea of Deferens not taking advantage of Charity was puzzling. She’d been his slave; he could do anything to her, if he wanted. And yet he hadn’t touched her.
Perhaps he’d been more interested in men, he thought. And yet it did make a certain kind of sense. If one had been raised to detest women, why would one want to have sex with women? Surely the whole affair would seem disgusting? He shook his head, snorting rudely at the thought. Deferens was a right piece of shit.
“At least you got his body,” Johan said. He wasn’t sure if Charity believed that any longer, but he wouldn’t try to convince her otherwise. “And you freed yourself.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever be free,” Charity admitted. She sat on the bed, looking down at her knees. “Do you remember being young and happy?”
“No,” Johan said, tartly.
Charity flinched at his tone. “I used to think that happiness could be found at the end of life,” she said, softly. “And now I find out that it’s at the wrong end.”
Johan shook his head. “You were young, beautiful, wealthy and powerful,” he said. “Do you think your maids would have agreed with you? Or the whores on the streets? Or scholarship pupils at the Peerless School? Or …”
“You’ve made your point,” Charity said.
“You went through hell,” Johan told her. “But you freed yourself. And now you can resume your position as Head of House Conidian.”
“Hah,” Charity said. “Do you think anyone will accept me after I was enslaved?”
“People have been enslaved for short periods of time and then released, once they worked out their sentence,” Johan reminded her. “Besides, who else is there?”
“You,” Charity said. “You’re old enough to become the Conidian.”
“No, thank you,” Johan said. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life slowly becoming his father. Besides, he had the feeling that Elaine wouldn’t want to stay in the Golden City … if, of course, the Witch-King was defeated. “You’re the only one who can take it.”
“I don’t want it,” Charity said.
“Nor do I,” Johan countered. “Hold the position long enough for Jay to turn nineteen, then hand it over to him. By then, you may have recovered your poise.”
“Everyone will remember me in that,” Charity said, kicking the harem outfit. “They’ll spend the rest of their lives making fun of me.”
“Ignore them,” Johan said. “At least you’re not running around without a single spark of magic to defend yourself.”
He shrugged. “Besides, I don’t think there’s anyone in the Golden City who doesn’t have a secret shame of their own, not now,” he added. “You were a slave. What about the assholes who went along with Deferens willingly?”
Charity smiled, wanly. “That’s true,” she agreed. “But …”
“Sleep,” Johan said. He felt a sudden flicker of concern, reminding him that the Draught was slowly wearing off. “I’ll stay with you until you’re deeply asleep, if I can.”
“You don’t have long,” Charity said, as she lay down and covered herself with the blanket. “I think you have only minutes, at best.”
Johan nodded. The concern was growing stronger; he was suddenly very – very – aware that Elaine wasn’t far from him, her presence in his mind suddenly sparking with emotion. He forced himself to remain calm as his sister closed her eyes, muttering a sleeping charm just loudly enough to be heard. Her body shivered one final time, then started to breathe normally. Johan stared down at her for a long moment before standing and walking out of the tent. Outside, the Inquisitor was still waiting.
“Please make sure she isn’t disturbed,” he said, quietly. Elaine might be able to boss Inquisitors around, but he suspected he had no such authority. “She needs her rest.”
“She will have it,” the Inquisitor assured him.
“Thank you,” Johan said. He felt another quiver of emotion; a flash of rage that suddenly became an urge to sit down and cry like a baby. “I …”
“Go to your friend,” the Inquisitor ordered. “You’ll need help.”
Johan nodded and hurried towards the Royal Tent, turning as he heard a loud roar behind him. The dragons were devouring the remains of human bodies, as he’d expected; teams of slaves, still held in bondage by their collars, were carting the bodies over to the pens and throwing them to the giant beasts. It struck Johan that giving the dragons a taste for human flesh was probably a bad idea, but he knew enough about their creation – and the legends that had been passed down through the ages – to be sure that it probably wouldn’t matter. The sorcerers who’d first called them into the world had wanted weapons of war, creatures that would rend and tear their way through entire armies, and they’d succeeded beyond their wildest dreams.
He felt another stab of envy as he saw the harness on the back of one of the dragons, a green-scaled brute happily chomping its way through the remains of a red-robed sorcerer. It would be fantastic, he was sure, to mount a dragon and fly high over the country, staring down at the tiny people below. He almost turned and walked towards the pen before catching himself; the slaves were being very careful, but the dragons were snapping and snarling at them as if they preferred live prey. They probably did. If he’d been designing weapons of war, he’d want them to go after the fleeing armies too.
The thought made him feel a surge of absolute terror. It was all he could do to keep going, staggering onwards, until he reached the tent. Elaine was inside, sitting at a table and talking to Dread and Dolman, maps spread open in front of her. Johan felt a surge of jealousy – how dare she talk to any other man – that almost sent him stumbling forward, fists at the ready. It took everything he had to catch himself …
“Handle the army,” Elaine ordered, as the two Inquisitors rose to their feet. “Give us some privacy.”
“Yes, My Lady,” Dolman said.
Johan forced himself to stand still as the men slipped past him and out of the tent. His skin was prickling, as if someone had hit him with an itching hex; Jamal had to have done it … no, Jamal was dead. Wasn’t he? His mind warred with itself as he forced himself to remember that Jamal was actually dead. But what about the body? There hadn’t been time to go back and bury it … could Jamal have recovered and walked off? It didn’t seem possible …
“You need to listen to me,” Elaine said. She was standing right in front of him, her eyes flickering between brown and red as his mind fought the glamour. “You’re coming off a powerful drug. I need you to listen to me.”
Johan reached for her as his entire body shuddered. He wanted her, he hated her, he loved her, he loathed her … somehow, he forced himself to grip her hands as the string of emotions roared through his mind. His legs buckled and he sat down hard on the frozen ground; Elaine pulled him closer and hugged him as he shuddered once again. Her calmness was reassuring, despite the confusion shimmering through his mind. And then he remembered Jamal and started to cry helplessly.
“It’s all right,” Elaine breathed. She grunted as he gripped her hands tighter – he felt a stab of pain through the bond – but didn’t try to pull back. “Just keep focusing on me.”
Guilt flared through Johan’s mind. He’d hurt her! He knew he was strong; he’d squeezed her hands tight enough to hurt. How could he? How could he hurt the woman who’d taken care of him, who’d been the first person to show any concern or consideration for him, who’d opened her heart to him … he let go of her hands and pushed her away, trying to stumble to his feet. He could get out of the tent and start running into the mountains, where he could die well
away from everyone else. He’d hurt her! He deserved nothing less.
“Sit down,” Elaine said, gently. “Please.”
“I hurt you,” Johan pleaded, as she caught his hands again. “Let me go!”
“You’re not in your right mind,” Elaine said. “I don’t blame you for anything you do while you’re recovering …”
Johan shuddered as she pulled him close and hugged him. He wanted to run and, at the same time, he wanted to grab her and rip off her clothes. Elaine held him tightly as he fought for balance between the two conflicting urges, her voice whispering sweet nothings in his ears as she rocked him forwards and backwards. His body shuddered one final time and …
… He found himself lying on the bed, staring up at nothing.
“Elaine?”
“I’m here,” Elaine said. She was sitting beside the bed, one hand holding a mug of water, but he could feel her presence in his mind. “How are you now?”
“I’m not sure,” Johan admitted, reluctantly. She passed him the water and he drank greedily, feeling dehydrated. “What happened to me?”
“You were drugged to keep your magic under control,” Elaine said. “Quite clever, really; I suspect the Witch-King must have suggested it. When the drug left your body, you were hit with withdrawal symptoms. I kept you here until you finally collapsed.”
Johan frowned, looking down at his shirt. Someone had cleaned it using magic – it had to be Elaine – but the faint stench of vomit still hung in his nostrils. His skin felt cold and clammy, his shirt and trousers soaked with sweat. He tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness overcame him and he had to lie back down. Elaine took the empty mug of water, refilled it from a jug at the head of the bed and passed it back to him. Johan had to drink several more mugs, one by one, until he felt refreshed.
“My clothes …”
“I had to clean them,” Elaine said. Her lips twitched in sudden amusement. “I’m afraid they were rather messy.”
“I don’t want to think about it,” Johan said. A memory surfaced from the confused thoughts occupying his mind; he’d hurt her, hadn’t he? He glanced at her wrists and saw nasty bruises against her pale skin. “I …”
She followed his gaze. “You weren’t in your right mind,” she said. He had a vague memory of her saying that sometime before, but it wasn’t clear. “I don’t blame you for your actions while you were coming off the drug.”
Johan flinched. What had he done?
“I blame myself,” he said. “Elaine …”
“Don’t,” Elaine ordered. She poked him with a long finger. “Does your sister blame herself?”
“I think she does, yeah,” Johan said. “But I wasn’t under a spell …”
“But you were drugged,” Elaine said. She rose to her feet, revealing that she’d changed her clothes while he’d been sleeping. Had he thrown up on her shirt? Or had he done something worse? “Johan … you are not to blame yourself, do you understand? Or I’ll turn you into something unpleasant.”
Johan had to smile, despite the guilt. Not knowing what – if anything – had happened was worse than being caught trying to sneak into his brother’s room. He loved Elaine; he didn’t want to hurt her, even by accident. But he knew she wouldn’t tell him what had happened, merely keep the memories to herself. She didn’t want to burden him with real guilt.
“I’ll try,” he mumbled. He wasn’t sure if Elaine could make good on her threat, but he didn’t want to find out the hard way. “How … how long was I out?”
“Several hours,” Elaine said. “I didn’t dare use any potions, so I had to wait for you to sweat the rest of the poisons out of your body.”
She walked over to a corner, where a large washtub had been placed; Johan watched as she pointed her finger into the water and muttered a spell. Steam started to rise from the washtub, revealing that someone had filled it with water. Johan eyed her with some concern as she turned back to face him, her face twisting into a smile.
“It would probably be better to use a stripping spell,” she said, as she held out a hand and helped him to stand up. His legs felt a little stronger now, but he still had to fight to remain upright. He doubted he could undress manually even with her help. “I’m sorry …”
Johan shrugged as his clothes fell into dust. Jamal had thought the spell a hoot, often bragging of the times he’d used it on unsuspecting girls at the Peerless School. He’d used it on Johan too, although it was less entertaining for Jamal than some of the other spells he’d been fond of casting. Johan sensed Elaine’s wry amusement as she helped him over to the tub and used magic to levitate him up and over the water. Seconds later, she dropped him into the tub and started to scrub his back with a cloth.
“I thought you were in command,” Johan said. The combination of her touch and the warm water was exciting, too exciting. “Shouldn’t you be issuing orders or something?”
“Dread’s in command,” Elaine said. She looked oddly embarrassed, lowering her eyes. “I don’t like command.”
“But you’re the sole remaining Privy Councillor,” Johan objected.
Elaine looked away. “I hated the post,” she said. “I’d have been happy with the Great Library. Light Spinner … insisted … that I also take a seat on the council. I think she meant it as a consolation prize for being stuck in the Golden City.”
“I’m sorry,” Johan said. He could taste her deep regret, mingled with a strange kind of shame. It took him a moment to work out that Elaine thought she should be a commanding personality, even though she wasn’t. “But can Dread issue orders?”
“They remember him and respect him, even without magic,” Elaine said. “Now the Emperor is dead, they’re free to go back to their original oaths. They wiped out the red-robes at considerable speed, Johan. I never really appreciated how good they were …”
Johan sighed as she finished washing his back and helped him to his feet. “Do you think we have time …?”
Elaine smiled. She didn’t need to do more than taste his emotions to know what he was really asking.
“We’ll make time,” she said, as she undid her shirt. Johan felt a surge of lust as her breasts bobbled free, then a matching surge from her. “The world can wait.”
Chapter Thirty-One
It took all of Elaine’s courage to walk out of the tent, once they were both clean and dressed, but somehow she made it. Dread had understood, thankfully, that she’d wanted to take care of Johan personally – she was the safest choice, if his magic had started to flare out of control – yet she was sure he understood why she wanted it. Elaine knew she just wasn’t cut out to issue orders to men stronger, both physically and magically, than herself. It was a mystery to her how Queen Sacharissa managed it.
She’s a Queen, born to a King, she thought. She had command taught to her from the day she spoke her very first word.
Johan followed her. He was trying to look innocent, but she rather doubted that anyone would believe they’d been doing anything other than making love.
Elaine smiled at the thought as she paused long enough to look towards Ida. The sun was slowly sinking below the mountains, casting long shadows over the camp. It looked as though they’d lost a day, she decided; she hoped – prayed – that the Witch-King hadn’t made good use of the time. If he’d headed south after dumping Johan, chances were that he was retracing the army’s steps to the Golden City.
He could have taken one of the dragons, she thought. But balancing the different kinds of magic might have taxed even him.
She sighed and walked into the command tent. Dread and Dolman had set up a large table and covered it with maps, while Sarah, Tarpon and a couple of men Elaine didn’t recognise were sitting on the far side. They rose as she entered, Sarah’s face twisting with bitter amusement. Leveller that she was, the idea that Elaine had a right to take command had to hurt. And yet, there wasn’t any choice. Elaine took the seat at the head of the table, then waved for everyone else to sit down. Johan sat next
to her, his eyes grim. There was no sign of Charity – or Daria – at all.
She’ll need to sleep it off, Elaine thought. Charity had been enslaved … held in bondage by her own oaths, rather than a slave collar. It would take years for her to leave the ghosts of her past behind. But at least she’ll have some help, if we survive.
It took her a moment to clear her throat for attention. “Gentlemen and lady,” she said. She’d never chaired a meeting, not even at the Great Library. “What’s happening with the army?”
Dread smiled at her, rather wanly. “Right now, we have around five thousand infantrymen and twelve dragons,” he said. “Between the … combat losses and the deserters, the army has been quite badly weakened; we’re very short of senior officers, even though Queen Sacharissa has loaned us a number of experienced men. Morale is appallingly low; there’s a strong feeling that the Witch-King is a god among some men, while others just want to go home. I have a feeling that we’re going to find it difficult to get any effective fighting out of them.”
“They’d just be targets if they had to fight the Witch-King,” Elaine said. “Where is he, anyway?”
“Good question,” Sarah said. “We’ve been attempting to divine his location, as he’s the single most powerful concentration of magic in the world. He’s actually broadcasting flares of magical interference, but we believe he’s slowly walking towards Falcone’s Nest.”
Elaine frowned. “Walking speed?”
“More or less,” Sarah said. “He doesn’t seem to be in any hurry.”
“Perhaps he can’t move any faster,” Johan suggested.
“It may not matter,” Dread said. “Yes, maybe he can’t move any faster than a normal soldier carrying a heavy pack. But as long as he’s drawing on magic to power himself, he can just keep walking when the soldier gives up and collapses. He could make it back to the Golden City long before any of us.”
“That isn’t true,” Johan said. “We have dragons.”
Brian gave him a sharp look. “Can we fly them?”
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