“Feel what, Your Majesty?” Stephan asked. He stood at the edge of the Great Seal, carefully not touching even the tip of his gleaming boots on the mosaic.
Father Aran’s voice rang out in the High Court. “Only Our Blessed Lady may judge one of Her Children fit for execution!”
“This is my Court, my Throne!” Theo snarled, his fear making his rage all the worse. “I’m the Crown Prince, and the High Throne is mine! Leesha holds no power here! Shannari dal’Dainari must die!”
The marble floor rocked beneath Shannari’s knees. Several nobles cried out in fear. Theo’s gaze darted from her to Stephan to the High Priest, his desperation mounting. Like a rabid cornered animal, he might leap in any direction. Who would he attack first?
“The High Priest is right.” One of the nobles came forward, King Challon of the North Forest. Why would he stand forward in her defense? She didn’t know and really didn’t care, as long as she kept her head awhile longer. “Princess Shannari is the Last Daughter, the only one who may wear the Rose Crown and live, let alone wield its power. If you want to be High King alone, then I suggest you choose your Champion for a Trial by Blood.”
Stephan stood beside Theo. With narrowed gaze, he studied his uncle, but nodded thoughtfully. “King Challon speaks wisely. Imprison the Princess while you choose your Champion, Your Majesty.”
Hatred twisted Theo’s face until he looked like a demon. Sweat beaded his upper lip and his hands clutched repeatedly. He pulled on his prince’s lock so hard his head jerked sideways. Fingering that long hank of hair, he got a nasty look of smugness in his eyes.
He waved a Lion Guard over and pointed at her. “Drag her over here by her hair.”
She knew what he was going to do. Sliding across the floor, trying to keep the tears of pain back, she dropped her weight to the side in an attempt to jerk out of the soldier’s grasp. But the Lion Guard merely yanked harder until she knelt at the Crown Prince’s feet.
Theo tugged her hair away from her face. The hair that had never been cut, a sign of her royal blood. She didn’t think it would bother her, but it did. Her hair. He took her hair, jagged cut by cut, until her once royal mark hung hacked and rough about her face.
“Take her to the dungeons.” He gathered her shorn hair into his hands and lifted it, breathing deeply. A shudder swept through him. Lust darkened his eyes— not for her body, exactly, but with his need to maim and torture her. His breeches strained at the front with his obvious desire.
The thought of how close she’d come to being trapped in marriage to such a foul, perverted monster made dark spots dance before her eyes. Lightheaded, she couldn’t stand when the Lion Guards tugged on her arms. They dragged her, stumbling, out the side door, through a narrow hallway, down stairs and more stairs and more, deeper into the bowels of the earth.
The dream that haunted her. Blood thundered in her ears and her stomach rolled. The Blackest Heart of Darkness waited down here.
For her.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Leaving the warriors lined up to charge as in a kae’don, Rhaekhar rode forward with only his eight remaining Blood. Time was of the essence. He had no doubt he could win this kae’don as any other, but how long would it take? He could ill afford any delay.
A group of outlanders on ponies rode out bearing a white flag on a pole. The two parties drew to a halt.
Valche, Shannari’s father. Shaking his head, Rhaekhar dismounted. As much as he disliked this outlander, she wouldn’t appreciate him dishonoring her father or butchering her soldiers. What did the man hope to accomplish by delaying him from reaching Shannari in time to help her?
Perhaps he didn’t know his daughter was in danger.
“Khul.”
“King.” Rhaekhar gripped the hilt of his rahke but left his sword sheathed. He hoped to avoid bloodshed, for this outlander wouldn’t understand such honor. “Why do you delay me when your daughter’s very life hangs in the balance?”
Valche started and then narrowed his gaze. “Stephan, the Duke of Pella, marched on Dalden Bay with nearly every soldier he possesses. I decided to take advantage of the situation and attack the victor. Why would Shannari’s life be in danger? Where is she?”
“Pella took her while I was occupied in the kae’don.”
Valche’s face paled and he sagged with dismay. “Blessed Lady! Where is she? What did he do with her?”
“I don’t know, other than she suffers great pain and is in the gravest danger imaginable. She’s somewhere north of here.”
“North? He must have taken her to Shanhasson.” Valche ran a trembling hand through his hair. “Not yet, not yet. Damnation. I don’t have enough allies yet! Not enough troops!”
“I ride north with all speed. Do you ride with me or against me?”
“Didn’t you hear me? We don’t have enough troops to take Shanhasson! We can’t— ”
Rhaekhar contemplating shaking some sense into the outlander. “I don’t need troops. I don’t need you. I simply thought Shannari would like to see you again.”
“Why are you doing this? What do you hope to gain?”
He smiled and mounted Khan. “I do this for na’lanna, my beloved, my heart. I do this for my future Khul’lanna. I do this for a love like no other. I do this so Shannari might live. Now get your outlanders out of my way before I kill them all.”
“Khul’lanna? Like your queen?”
“Her wish will be second only to mine on the Plains.”
Valche arched an eyebrow, a gleam of interest— or greed— in his eyes. “How many warriors can you raise for her?”
Rhaekhar gave him a hard, vicious smile. “Thousands.”
Valche brightened. “Like these?”
Rhaekhar nodded.
“Theo and Stephan will try to kill her.”
“I shall kill them first.” A sudden wash of terror made him growl. Drawing his rahke, he stared northward. Shannari. Danger approached once more, such dire danger she thought she would surely die. Fly, my Shadowed Blood!
* * * *
Fighting back her terror, Shannari stood to the right of the cell door. Her back pressed tight against the dank stone, and she gripped a femur in both hands over her head. It was the only weapon she could find here in the darkness.
Deep in the bowels of the earth. No light except a flickering torch down the hall. Damp, foul air, chill and musty as the grave. Muck and slime on the floor, dusted with moldering straw. And now someone— or something— was coming.
The dream. This was that horrible nightmare of Shadow that had tormented her all these years.
Her heart hammered as the heavy door rattled. At least the guards had removed the chains before shoving her into the tiny cell. She must strike hard and fast. In her weakened condition, she wasn’t going to be able to put up much of a fight. Was this Theo’s assassin? Or the nightmare coming true at last?
Her stomach heaved with the memory of shadows writhing down her throat.
The door creaked open. Tightening her grip, she gathered her waning strength. I must strike first.
“Your Majesty?”
Startled, she jerked the bone aside, barely missing the elderly priest. “Father Aran!”
“Hurry, there’s not much time.” Strong and sure, the High Priest pushed a coarse monk’s robe over her head and pulled the cowl up to hide her face. “Come with me and speak to no one.”
She let the bone club fall from her numb fingers and crept after him. The dream… The forgotten cell deep in the earth, Heart of Darkness, waiting for her… She’d never expected Our Blessed Lady’s own priest to come for her. Perhaps the Lady truly had heard her prayers.
A guard led the way down a dark passage that tunneled even deeper beneath the castle.
“How much farther?” The High Priest’s soft voice barely reached her.
“The maps are very old, Father, but we should be almost be there. Yes, here it is.”
They paused before an offshoot tunnel to the rig
ht. Listening intently, she could hear water dripping somewhere. Wet and slick, the clay floor hinted at an underground spring or river nearby. The heat had risen so high that she swiped sweat out of her eyes.
“This tunnel bypasses the mineral springs that supply the Palace’s hot water and should take you outside the inner walls. Keep going straight and don’t take any of the branches.”
“Very good, Ilko. May Our Lady bless you for your help tonight.”
The guard bowed respectfully to them both and then turned back the way they had come. “I must return to duty before I’m missed. Goodbye, Father, Princess.”
The escape tunnel made for slow going. Treacherously slick, the clay floor sucked at her feet until her calves ached. She slipped several times and almost fell flat on her back in the mud and muck. The heat worsened, as did the smell of something rotten.
Retching, she resorted to clamping her nose shut. “I heard about the mineral springs beneath the Palace of Shanhasson, but I never dreamed they smelled so bad.”
Father Aran halted in the middle of the tunnel. With his eyes closed, he listened intently, turning his head back and forth.
She listened but didn’t hear anything but the occasional plop of water. “Father?”
“The mineral springs don’t smell like this.”
Then she felt it, too. Her skin itched and crawled with urgency as something slithered down a side branch toward them. The odor of decay intensified and her ears rang with the clamor of her internal alarms. Thick, oppressive shadows congealed in the tunnel like a huge blob of oily night.
“Keep your feet on the chosen path, Shannari dal’Dainari, Daughter of Leesha, destined High Queen of the Lady’s Green and Beautiful Lands.” His voice hummed with growing power. Opalescent moonlight danced around him, soft and pure and so sweet it hurt her heart. A beautiful, piercing of sweetness like the faint, haunting strain of flute or harp. “Run, Your Majesty.”
Automatically, she dropped her hand to her sword, but it was gone. “No, I can’t leave you here to fight this alone!”
“This is my choice, my willing sacrifice, for you, Your Majesty. I do this with Our Blessed Lady’s love in my heart. I give my life that you may live. Run, Child of Leesha, and Shine against the Shadow!”
Rooted with dread, she watched as the light flared brighter in the tunnel, illuminating the creature of Shadow that approached. When it hesitated at the ring of silvery light, her eyes couldn’t make sense of it. As tall and wide as the tunnel, the shapeless mass had arms and legs and snouts and heads too many to count. Too many… .
“Run toward the Moon that shines in your eyes. Run to your beloved Evening Stars. Run!”
Unable to tear her stricken gaze away, she stood there trembling. Paralyzed. The monster’s faceted eyes glinted at her, the whole multitude, black and hungry and empty. Mouths gaped, opening and closing on a garbled string of grunts and wails she didn’t want to understand.
“Sha… RI… Nnar… SHA… Ri… .”
She screamed soundlessly in her head. A rumbling roar rolled and crashed inside her, breaking whatever invisible bonds held her immobile. Flinching as shards of glass splintered inside her head, she jerked away from the advancing creature.
A flash of brilliant light shot from Father Aran into the shapeless horror of melted bodies. The gentle rainbow light became a blinding weapon of pain. Both the creature and the High Priest began to scream.
Galloping toward her with all speed, Rhaekhar gripped her through his bond, dragging her step by shaking step away from the magical battle, his will an iron fist about her heart. :Run! Run as you’ve never done before, na’lanna. Run!:
Gregar filled her mind, deliberately using his bond to stroke velvet and seductive shadow through her thoughts. :Run to me.:
The Blood was close, so close. She could almost smell him over the rotten stench of death clogging her nose. Stumbling, slipping, sobbing, she ran with her right hand on the slimy wall of the tunnel and her left wavering at head level to make sure she didn’t crash into something. She ran toward the light that must exist somewhere outside this tunnel. She ran toward the beloved barbarian galloping toward her with all speed. She ran toward the wicked laughing Blood who swore no blade would ever touch her. She ran… .
It was coming behind her. She could hear it, the slurping sound of slime oozing through the tunnel. The horrible legion of voices howling her name in pain and hate. Suffocating shadow of Death stealing her breath, choking on rotten flesh and offal… .
Arms snaked around her, holding her fast to a muscled, bare chest. Silken skin against her cheek, satiny heat warming her cold and numb limbs as powerful, gentle hands gathered her close.
With her face pressed into that warm haven, she took a deep, blessedly clean breath. The sweet hay of the Plains mixed with strong and distinctive caffe. She sank into the Blood’s embrace and wrapped her arms around his neck.
* * * *
Enfolded in Gregar’s gifts of Shadow and Death, Shannari heard only the steady, comforting beat of his heart. He ran effortlessly through the twisting, slippery tunnel without a single misplaced step, taking her further and further away from madness and hate. She could feel the sweet promise of the light growing, growing, until he burst out of the tunnel into a moonlit clearing.
Breathing rapidly but not winded, he knelt in the circle of dappled moonlight. She fisted her hands in the long fall of hair about his shoulders, trembling, teeth chattering. “Oh, Lady! Monsters! The High Court is full of monsters!”
“You’re safe, Shannari.”
“The monster in the tunnel knew my name! And Theo… . “Just remembering the perverted pleasure in the High King’s eyes made her stomach heave.
Grabbing the back of her head, Gregar pressed her face deep into the hollow of his neck and shoulder beneath his sable velvet hair. His strong, distinctive scent enveloped her, driving away the horrors. He smelled so good and strong and familiar, her heart hurt.
Run to your beloved Evening Stars.
Even Father Aran knew the truth she struggled to deny.
With a low cry, she lifted her mouth to Gregar’s. He froze, barely breathing, his hands still on her back. She caressed his lips, tracing them with her tongue, enjoying the fine trembling spreading through his body. When she slid her tongue deeper, tasting the darkest recesses of his mouth, the dam broke.
Rumbling against her mouth, he clutched her hard. He took possession of her mouth, tugging her bottom lip with his teeth, nipping, stroking his tongue against hers, the roof of her mouth.
Now they both panted as though they had run on foot all the way to Dalden Bay. Laughing softly, he pressed his forehead to hers and simply held her. “This is not the day of my death, na’lanna.”
“I thought it might be the day of mine.” Hearing him call her beloved made her heart hurt all the more. Rhaekhar. She loved him; at last, she could admit it. How could she do this with his nearest Blood?
:I know your heart, na’lanna.: Despite the miles between them, Rhaekhar’s heat pressed against her back, his big arms wrapping around her in a hug that blended with the Blood’s. :I’ve been waiting for you to realize the truth. You had to admit your love for me before you could admit your love for Gregar.:
She felt like weeping. :I’m sorry.:
“Why?” Gregar found the slice on her cheek. His fingers dug into her back and he growled and rumbled with pleasure. He licked the dried blood from her skin, carefully cleaning the wound without reopening it. “Love comes as it wills, na’lanna. Think you Khul longed to fall in love with an outlander with no understanding of the Sha’Kae al’Dan, when the Nine Camps are slipping further apart day by day? Think you I ached to fall in love with my greatest mark, to face the constant temptation that I would commit such an atrocity, violating the sacred gift Vulkar gave me?”
Swallowing hard, she fought back the tears, the fears. “You know how I feel about… love. About trust. I can’t— ” How could she say she couldn’t love them
both when she did, so very, very much? How could she choose?
Rhaekhar whispered through the bond. :I never asked you to choose. You may have us both. I am warrior enough to allow it.:
Confusion swept through her. How could he be so… so… calm? About sharing her heart with another man? If Gregar didn’t anger him, what would push him over the edge into a jealous rage?
His answer— a dark rage— rumbled through her body. :Stephan and Theo push me over that edge, na’lanna. They die as soon as my eyes behold them.:
She couldn’t argue with that oath.
Gregar tensed and drew his ivory knife, shielding her with his body.
A stranger trotted up on a sturdy mount, a priest by the look of his scarlet robes. Tears dampened his cheeks, but he smiled at her shyly. “I’m Josef. Father Aran charged me to see you safely out of Shanhasson. Leesha weeps with joy as She welcomes him home.”
Such a sacrifice. She heard again the High Priest’s screams. While she ran. Shame and regret spilled from her eyes like scalding rain. For the first time in her life, she had run from a fight, and someone else had died.
It should have been me.
Gregar’s fingers settled on her chin and forced her face up to his. His shadowed eyes flickered with flames. “Even you cannot fight every kae’don, let alone single-handedly and unarmed.”
She pointedly stared at his vicious knife. “Not single-handedly— I have you.”
When the Blood’s hand tightened on her chin and tilted her mouth up toward him even more, her breath caught in her throat. Need swirled in her abdomen. Longing. And danger.
“Aye, you have me forever. The question is will you actually take me. Will you take all that I offer?”
Staring up into his eyes, she felt heat curling in the pit of her stomach, tightening, desire rising. Forbidden desire.
“Not forbidden,” he whispered against her mouth. He didn’t kiss her, merely let his breath mingle with hers. Letting her desire escalate until she groaned out loud. “Ask him.”
The Rose of Shanhasson Page 26