The aged High Priest staggered and went down, so still she wasn’t sure he breathed.
“Well, well, well.” Stephan stepped over the puddle of sickness, the jeweled dagger in his hand. “You were so close to deposing the Crown Prince. So close to regicide. I would have been delighted to be of service to you in your quest. Now, I’m afraid I must be the instrument of your defeat.”
One of the black snakes writhing from his mouth licked her cheek. Cringing, she turned away, but she couldn’t escape the Shadows touching him. Touching her.
“Such a waste to give you to Theo. He’ll delight in ruining such loveliness.” Stephan reached into a pocket inside his coat and slipped a silver cap on the end of his index finger. “My… tastes… are not quite so… scarring.”
Shame and horror suffocated her. She should never have come here. Such a betrayal. Rejecting Rhaekhar’s honor and love, for this… this… monster. How could she have been so stupid? So foolish? So blind?
Love was there in her heart all along. If she’d only opened her eyes, her heart, as the Lady willed, then she could have struck down both Stephan and Theo with her power. Instead of standing here defeated and chained, vulnerable before such utter evil.
Now, it was too late.
Stephan pointed the silver cap on his finger at her, waving it up and down, side to side, so she saw the vicious point on the end. A nasty smile twisted his face. “Before surrendering you to Theo, I want a small memento of our broken alliance. I believe I’ll be the first to taste this rich, royal blood.”
Her breathing hitched, terror clawing her throat. The end of the cap was a needle. A silver needle. Desperate, she struggled against the chains and the men holding her. “You won’t be the first.”
She couldn’t free her sword, couldn’t even work her hand over to touch it. Slamming her skull back, she smashed a soldier’s nose so hard he bellowed.
“Hold her!”
More soldiers stepped in to assist. Someone threw a length of chain around her throat, crushing her windpipe.
Stephan touched the fresh bite mark on her right shoulder at the base of her neck. “Ah, I see the barbarian has indeed beaten me to the task.”
Agony sliced through her. Sagging in the chains, she fought to remain conscious. Cold sucked her down. So dark.
“What a hulking brute to simply bite you, albeit effective. I will be much more… ” He smiled widely and lightly tapped the needle against her cheek. “Creative.”
Terror shrilled through her, her head throbbing in agony with the Lady’s warning. Pain drove some of the darkness away, allowing her to think. Sharp but not long, the needle scratched a path toward the vein pumping frantically in her throat.
He’d be careful not to kill her, ensuring a blood bond. He would sense her thoughts, her emotions.
A piece of her soul would be his.
Oh, Lady, the thought drove her insane. She couldn’t bear to let him corrupt what had become so sacred to her. So intimate. Ruined forever by this instrument of evil.
The mirrored Lake in her mind shattered. Icy water bubbled up inside her, building pressure until she opened her mouth to scream.
:RHAEKHAR!:
Water poured from her mouth, spraying Stephan in the face. Screaming, he clawed at his eyes and stumbled away.
Choking, drowning, her lungs full of water, Shannari fell into a yawning cavern of darkness.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Trampling outlanders should have been at least entertaining. After hours of doing just that while his every instinct bellowed at him to charge after Shannari, Rhaekhar quickly wearied of the game. He kneed his stallion straight into the last surviving fist of archers, cursing and growling beneath his breath. One last surge, and he should be free to gallop north.
Warriors whooped and galloped ahead, chasing each fleeing outlander and running them down beneath punishing hooves. He let them have the small honor. He had more important worries on his mind and heart.
His skin blazed with urgency, flesh trying to crawl off his bones. Again, he sought her through the bond but met only blackness. No dream, no thought, no emotion. He hoped she was injured, perhaps knocked unconscious. Better than dead or lost to Shadow entirely.
“She is not dead.” Gregar rode up beside him, his face grim. “You would know.”
“We would know.”
Gregar refused to meet his inquiring gaze. “She spoke to your mind, your heart, Khul. She admitted her love for you. I’m more pleased than I can say.”
“She thought of you, too. She felt your bond.”
“Aye. But she will never admit more.”
He might be correct. Vulkar knew how hard he fought to hear those three words. I love you. And now this horrible emptiness where her bond should be.
Varne drew up beside them. “Dalden Bay is yours once more, Khul. Shall we ride for the Plains?”
Grinning widely, Gregar reached over and broke off the arrow embedded in Varne’s thigh. “We ride north.”
Varne grunted but his face remained inscrutable. “She made her choice. Let her live or die by it. Is this not what you said?”
“Aye.” Gregar shrugged and winked at Rhaekhar. “She changed her mind. Khul will not leave na’lanna behind.”
Rhaekhar turned Khan north without a backward glance. Her bond was still a dark void, but he could feel that emptiness. How far away, exactly, he could not say. With a shrill whistle, he drew Athgart’s attention. “Take another fist and secure the village!”
The remaining two fists fell in behind him, speeding their na’kindren to a hard trot to keep pace with him.
“Are you sure two fists are enough, Khul?” Varne frowned, scanning both sides of the wide well-traveled trail they followed for danger. “We may encounter resistance.”
“Then I’ll crush them.” Why didn’t she awaken? Who inspired such fear in her, such sickness? His stomach twisted and rumbled at the memory of the final moments before her bond went so still. “I shall kill whoever harms her.”
The first twinge of her bond drew a shaking breath from him. Relief flooded him and he shared a wide smile with Gregar.
Until she screamed in his mind.
:RHAEKHAR!:
:Na’lanna, I’m coming for you.:
:I’ll be dead by then.: Calming at his touch, she sent wave after wave of regret to him. :I’m so sorry. I was wrong, terribly wrong. I love you, and I wish— :
:Hold that wish in your heart, na’lanna, and I shall make it so.:
:Tell Gregar— :
:Tell him yourself.: Rhaekhar watched his Blood closely, waiting to see a sign that she did so.
:I can’t. He can’t hear my words.:
:He doesn’t need words, na’lanna. Feel for him, let your heart call to him. He’ll hear you.:
Squeezing his eyes shut, Gregar shuddered and drew his rahke. He rolled it back and forth across his palm, his hand shaking.
:Pella took me to Shanhasson.: Rhaekhar felt her trembling, her dread. :He’s taking me to Theo, the new High King. Unofficially, since Father Aran hasn’t coronated him yet. He will, though, in an attempt to buy me time.:
:What will Theo do?:
Her silence was the answer. Grim and deadly.
:We’ll reach you in a few hours. Hold on, na’lanna.:
:No time.: Her fear escalated, shredding at his control. :We’re going in now. Besides, you can’t breach the Shining Walls.:
:If you are held beyond, then I shall.:
Someone jerked her, paining her arms, wrenching her shoulder. For a moment, the bond blazed so strongly that he saw her: heavy links of chain wrapped around her delicate wrists, neck, and ankles; bruises darkening her skin; midnight eyes huge in her pale face; chin and head up as they dragged her into a cavernous room full of fancily dressed outlanders.
“She walks… into a place of such… Shadow.” Gregar rasped, his breathing labored. “We must— ”
“Khul!” The forward scout reined his na’kindre to a
sliding halt. “Outlanders hold the way ahead!”
“Great Vulkar! How many?”
“Nearly forty fists.”
Rhaekhar pounded his fist on his thigh. Any other day he would be interested in trying such odds, but not while na’lanna was in such dire danger.
:I’m sorry it took me so long to give up the fight.: He felt wry amusement and heartache shimmering in her bond. :I surrender to your challenge.:
:Don’t give up, na’lanna.: Rhaekhar seized her chin through the bond, sending all his pride and honor to her, his confidence in her heart and courage. :Fight. Stay alive. Help comes.:
:Good bye. I love you.:
Thinking fast, he turned to Gregar, who straightened expectantly. “Can you slip through these outlanders unseen?”
“Aye, easily.”
“Can you find her in this place of Shadow and bring her out?”
“Aye, Khul. They will die before they see me.”
“Ride, then. I shall continue as I’m able once I win this kae’don.”
“My blood is yours, Khul, and my blood is hers. It’s an honor to serve you both.” Gregar touched his heel lightly to his na’kindre’s flank and the black leaped ahead. The Blood had flown through the air to save her before. Would he reach her in time once more?
“What will you do with these outlanders?” Varne asked.
“Whatever I must to win passage northward. I shall challenge their khul or cut a path straight through them to the Three Hells and beyond. I won’t remain far behind Gregar.”
Looking northward, he scanned the horizon. Gregar and his black na’kindre were gone. No thundering hoof beats, no hint of thickening shadows, nothing but a faint hint of ice trickling down his spine. Rhaekhar felt a predatory smile twist his face.
I shall fight Shadow with Shadow. Fly, my Shadowed Blood.
* * * *
Shannari’s father had always compared Shanhasson to a pit of vipers, and the welcome Stephan received at the Palace confirmed it. She’d been unconscious for most of the rapid trip up the river, but she took careful note of the lords who bowed and scraped to Stephan as he dragged her to the High Court.
The Steward swung open the heavily carved and gilded doors. “Princess Shannari dal’Dainari of Allandor and Father Aran, Our Blessed Lady’s High Priest, escorted by Stephan, Duke of Pella.”
Silence fell in the High Court. Nobles lined up between the massive marble columns. Staring at her, some were shocked. Some horrified. All of them planned how they could use her defeat to their advantage. They were like a pack of starving hyenas, ready to turn on each other for a scrap of the downed doe.
Shuffling and clanking with each step down the red-carpeted aisle toward the dais, Shannari struggled to keep her head high despite the chains dragging at her. Despite the foulness rolling off the man grasping her elbow in a mockery of escort. Despite the pulsing black miasma cloaking the High Throne ahead.
The Lake shimmered in her mind, smooth and undisturbed once more, but she couldn’t forget the flood of water, the brittle, cutting ice. Stephan’s right cheek was puffy and inflamed, streaked with red, and his eye was swollen shut entirely. As if she’d spewed acid on him.
The Lady’s power. Love was in her heart at last, so why not? If only she could learn how to use it, how to protect herself from Theo.
Father Aran stumbled along beside her on her left. Dried blood streaked his elderly face and he’d remained unconscious right up until they walked into the High Court. Gasping, he fell against her.
She caught him awkwardly despite the chains.
“Power awakens,” he whispered urgently. “Through you, Our Blessed Lady shows Her love and light in the world. Power doesn’t come every time, though. Some— ”
The Pellan soldier yanked him away. Shannari kept her gaze locked on the gorgeous stained glass window in the wall far above the High Throne. The blood-red glass roses cast a mosaic of light on the white marble. So beautiful. And on the Great Seal beneath her feet, made of stone instead of glass, more roses and rampant lions to match the lions arched above the High Throne on either side.
Reluctantly, she raised her gaze to her fiancé and concentrated on not quaking like a leaf in a hurricane.
Theo dan’Regis dan’Rikard lounged in the High Throne, his face shadowed by the massive lion statues pawing the air high above him. His shaved head gleamed in the fading sunlight filtered through the lions’ paws. A thick cord of ebony hair growing from the base of his neck hung over his slender shoulder. Gleaming with oil, his prince’s lock was banded with gold at various distances to represent the length at each of his twenty birthdays.
He leaned forward, revealing his face, and her skin crawled. Blue eyes like her own, only cold and hard, like the eyes of a snake. Or was that merely her imagination?
Theo was her cousin, descended mostly from the same royal line. Yet the twisted sneer of malice on his face spoke of hatred and cruelty that she didn’t— couldn’t— understand. A byproduct of living in Shanhasson, twisted by the Blackest Heart, Lord of Darkness, who was imprisoned somehow deep beneath the Palace? Or had Theo been born with a thread of shadow and evil that only grew over time?
Born from the same blood as she.
Her teeth chattered and goose bumps prickled up her arms, making her shiver. The air was thick and foul, musty and rotten like a corpse. Breath shallow, she tried not to draw that taint into her lungs. Would she be as corrupt as he if she had grown up locked within these Shining Walls? Or was it already too late for her, as she feared?
What of the grand throng, the rest of the nobles who lived and dined and played politics in the High Court? How could they not see the madness in Theo’s eyes? The evil? How could they not smell the rank odor of corpse that choked her?
In his oh-so pleasant voice, Stephan said, “Kneel before the High King.”
Straightening to her full height, Shannari refused. “The Crown Prince has not been coronated by the High Priest.”
“He will be.” Still pleasant, Stephan jammed his fist into her lower back. Gasping, she fell onto her knees, barely catching herself before planting her face on the marble. “Right, Father? Because if you don’t coronate the Crown Prince, it will be my grim duty to slit the lovely Princess’s throat. She is a traitor after all, plotting to steal the High Throne for herself.”
Pain pulsed deep inside. For a moment, she feared he might have jabbed the silver cap into her back. Wheezing on her hands and knees, Shannari watched jeweled slippers come into her line of vision and pace around her.
“Why Stephan, my old friend, how can I reward you for at last bringing my fiancée to Shanhasson? Naughty, naughty Princess to have left me waiting so very long.” A wooden heel trod on her hand, and Theo twisted his foot to grind her finger hard against the marble. “Well, Shannari. Shall we proceed with the ceremony?”
Nausea roiled in her stomach, burning her throat. “I regret to inform you that I broke our engagement.”
The sound of their laughter shrieked on her nerves like metal on metal. “Oh, Shannari. You surely know that if you don’t marry me, I’ll execute you.”
“And if I marry you, you’ll execute me any way.”
“But of course. You’ve proven untrustworthy.”
“You have no idea, Your Majesty. Why, Shannari even tried to lure me into marrying her, offering me the High Throne if I would help her.”
The jeweled slipper flew at her head and the diamond tip sliced across her cheek. Twisting away, she rolled onto her back. Hot blood tracked down her face. Her head buzzed and the world felt very distant, thin, stretched as if from a great distance.
Blood is the key. Blood is the key. Blood is the key.
Reverberating, the words pounded in her skull. Agony splintered through her. Another kick.
:Na’lanna:
Not Rhaekhar’s voice in her head. Gregar’s. Her heart ached with his admission of love. My beloved.
:Don’t let that cur kick you again or you will owe
me two kisses.:
Laughing raggedly, she blinked away the pain. Theo’s foot came at her again, and she threw her hands up and twisted, trapping his ankle in the chains. Mustering all her strength, she jerked her hands up over her head and Theo fell, narrowly missing her. She pushed to her feet and backed away. “Try kicking me again and eat some chain.”
Red-faced with fury, Theo scrambled to his feet. “I want her dead. Now.”
Soldiers came at her again. What could she do, unarmed and chained? Nothing but act like the Princess she was. Holding her head up and her gaze steady, she stared at Theo wordlessly, ignoring the men who grabbed her.
“Over here. On the Great Seal.”
They dragged her back to the mosaic. So beautiful, the roses could be real blossoms grown into the stone. Forced to her knees, she felt blessed peace roll over her as Theo sauntered over to her. He wrapped a fist in her hair and jerked her head back, baring her throat.
:Na’lanna!: Rhaekhar’s rage poured into her, his fear, his frustration sending a shiver through her. She saw him low against Khan’s sweating neck, urging the stallion to greater speed. Too far away.
Gregar, too. He was closer, his black horse barely skimming the ground in a dead run. Too far.
Blessed Lady, thank you for letting me feel love before the end. Take care of them.
A drop of blood rolled down her cheek, splattered on her breast, and slid in a slow, hot trail.
“Give me a sword.” Theo leaned down over her, his face a twisted mask. Softly, he whispered, “It’s a shame to kill you so quickly. I had such lovely plans for you, Shannari.”
His voice caught on a soft sound of arousal that sent a shrill of dread screaming down her spine. His eyes, so dark, so vile, so black. Flat and dead and drowning in Shadow. He traced a finger down her cheek, smearing in the blood. Closing his eyes, he raised her blood toward his lips.
A drop of her blood fell onto the Great Seal.
Power rippled outward, a shockwave of chilling water, pure moonlight, joy and light and love. Theo jerked back. Eyes wide, he stumbled off the Great Seal and scrubbed his hand on his powder blue breeches. “Did you feel that?”
The Rose of Shanhasson Page 25