The palace artists and entertainers lived and worked here on this Level, and several rooms of paintings and sculpture had been put on display for palace residents and guests. When he’d invited Isadora to join him for a tour of this Level, he had not expected such a violent response. Of course, he should have.
“It is perfectly reasonable for a man to ask permission to call upon his mistress, even in the middle of the day.”
“I feel quite certain you have never asked permission to do anything,” she responded hotly. “You demand, you push, and you take.”
In two long strides, he caught up with her. He grabbed her arm and spun her around. There were residents of this Level in the corridor, all of them briskly on their way somewhere else, but they very blatantly ignored the scene.
“I did not take last night,” he said in a soft but stern voice.
She looked him in the eye, strong and unafraid. He had never before known a woman who was so incredibly unafraid. “Didn’t you?” she whispered.
In that instant, he saw something besides Isadora’s strength. Something he’d rather not see. Whether it was a touch of the wizards’ magic or simple instinct that struck him with the knowledge, he couldn’t be sure, but as he looked into her eyes he knew.
“You are still in love with your husband.”
Isadora was so fearless, he was unprepared for the tears that sprang to her eyes. “You don’t have the right to speak of him.”
He raked a thumb across her soft cheek. “I understand he’s been gone for several years. Is that not correct?”
“I told you, you have no right—”
“It’s you who concerns me, Isadora. Not him.”
Her lips thinned, and she was trying so very hard not to cry. “He’s been gone more than six years.”
“And how many lovers have you taken since his death?” He knew the answer before Isadora spoke, and it pained him more deeply than it should.
“None,” she whispered. The tears that had threatened were gone, forced away by a strong will and an even stronger heart. “I had planned to live the rest of my life faithful to him, but you had other plans for me, didn’t you?”
“If I had known—”
“You didn’t ask, so you could not possibly have known,” she snapped. “You have no concern for anyone’s feelings but your own. You want, you need, you desire...nothing else matters in your world.”
He leaned down and kissed her forehead. It was an undemanding and almost friendly kiss. “If you had passed into the land of the dead first, and your husband was fated to live many years without you, would you have wanted him to live the rest of his days without a woman in his life?”
Isadora twitched, startled by the question. “That’s not...it’s different. And I told you, you have no right to talk about Willym.”
Willym. A strong, common name, spoken with passion. “Fine. I will say one thing, and then we will not discuss him again.” He dipped down and placed his mouth near her ear. “If your Willym loved you, he would not want you to live the rest of your days without touch, without pleasure, without affection.”
“Perhaps not,” she conceded, her voice as low as his and just as bold. “But I doubt he would want me to partake of those precious things with a man I do not even like.”
Lucan drew away a little, so he could see her face well to discern if she was teasing or not. She was not. Women always liked him. Not that he’d had many dealings with females in his position in the Circle, but there were strong and beautiful women available for sexual relations, and there were cooks and seamstresses and maids. They all liked him. But he had never had anyone like Isadora in his life.
In spite of her strength and her stubbornness and her beauty, she was a woman like all others, and before he left this place she would like him, very well.
He took her right hand and raised it kissed the knuckles gently, and touched the ring...the Star of Bacwyr. “You always wear this stunning ring. Does it have some significance to you? Was it a gift from someone special?” From her husband, perhaps, who might not have been so ordinary after all?
She yanked her hand from his grasp. “The ring was a gift from Empress Liane, and I wear it always because it’s stuck on my finger.”
It was not the answer he had expected from her. He blinked quickly. “Stuck?”
She wiggled her fingers at him. “Stuck. I’ve tried soap, lotions, and sheer muscle, and the ring refuses to budge.”
“It’s a very interesting and unusual piece.”
Isadora scoffed at his admiration. “I’m so glad you like it. If you can work the blasted thing free without cutting off my finger, you can have it.”
Just like that, so very easily and nonchalantly, the ring was offered to him. The ring and all that came with it. Power. Responsibility. The position of Prince of Swords. He grasped the ring and tugged, and sure enough it was stubbornly wedged on Isadora’s slender finger. It did not move, but neither did it fit her finger so tightly it was binding. He would think the circumstance odd if he did not see the magic around the ring and the woman who wore it.
After a moment, he gave up the task. The Star of Bacwyr was not going to slip into his hand here and now, that much was clear. “Tonight, we will try again,” he said as he took Isadora’s arm and led her toward the room where a number of paintings of the Beckyt family, past and present, were on display.
They grew nearer the capital city of Arthes and the battles to come, but they moved too slowly. Sophie was anxious. The answers to her questions about Juliet and Isadora awaited in that city, and yet it seemed that everything and everyone hindered their progress as they made their way there.
The rebels grew more and stronger with every passing day, and she understood that until Arik believed with all his heart that his army could take the palace, they would not move quickly in that direction. She had been trying to convince him that a spring attack would be better than the summer siege he estimated. Her own powers would be much stronger before the new baby’s birth. After that...she would still possess magic, but it would not be so powerful.
She wanted to have every advantage when Kane went into the palace, as she was certain he would.
Sophie had almost given up on trying to end the curse that would take Kane’s life by the end of summer. She’d tried, again and again, but she could not do it on her own; she knew that without a doubt Juliet and Isadora would be necessary...if the curse could be broken at all. Some days, she wondered if she was kidding herself in believing that was possible.
This afternoon, she and Kane sat in Arik’s tent along with several of the leaders of the revolution. They were soldiers all, like her husband, but she did not sense goodness in each and every one of them, as she did in Kane. Some were ambitious, some bitter, some noble.
All of them were anxious to see this revolution done. Sebestyen would be ousted, and Arik would take his place. Then, maybe, she and her family would know peace once again.
Myls, a soldier who had been with Arik from the beginning, had recently rejoined the leader of the revolution—and their next emperor. He spoke in a solemn voice. “A highly placed representative of the Circle of Bacwyr is living in the imperial palace at this very moment. The First Captain,” he added solemnly. “Lucan Hern.”
“The warriors I met with have all but promised to support my cause,” Arik argued.
“But they have not pledged you anything, have they?” Myls argued. “The Circle will not divide its warriors. They will take one side or another—the First Captain will choose—and when that is done, the battle will be decided.”
“They might decide not to choose a side at all,” Sophie said.
All the men looked at her. Many of them did not like allowing a woman to have such a high place among them. Others respected who she was and what she could do.
Myls did not like her very much. “We will know soon enough.”
“How?” she asked, when no one else would. “How will we know when the decis
ion is made?”
Myls grinned at her. It was the first time she had ever seen him smile, and he did not do it well. “I have a spy in the palace.”
Chapter Six
Isadora almost expected to find Hern naked, waiting impatiently for her in his bed, when she was once more escorted to his room. Not that she would mind seeing him naked again, if she were to be completely honest with herself. No man could be as flawless as she remembered; no man could be built so perfectly. Lucan Hern was most definitely not perfect.
Tonight she had not even been served supper before the sentinels arrived at her small room to escort her to Level Four. As if it wasn’t difficult enough to face the infuriating man, now she had to do so on an empty stomach. Mahri had been there to help her dress in something more fitting for the evening, though she’d refused the initial offer of one of Liane’s castoffs. The simply cut pale gray gown she’d decided upon had a low neckline to which Isadora was not accustomed, but at least it didn’t plunge past the valley of her breasts as many of Liane’s frocks did. As it was, she kept tugging on the neckline, hoping to make it more suitable. Her efforts did not help matters at all. Isadora did not have Liane’s curves, but she didn’t care for displaying what little she did have...especially where Captain Hern was concerned.
As she made the too-short trip from her room to Hern’s, Isadora resolved not to respond to his touch in any way. She would not cry and beg him not to touch her, but neither would she allow herself to enjoy what he offered. No matter what that might be.
Again tonight, he seemed to know she was approaching before the sentinel knocked on his door. It opened almost immediately. In spite of her musings, he was not naked, but once again wore one of his purple robes. He took her hand and drew her into the room, and the guards took up their stations outside the door, where they would remain until Captain Hern was finished with her.
Because she was hungry, she immediately noted the aroma that filled the room. Not incense or scented candles or oils, not tonight. Tonight she smelled food.
“I thought we might dine together.” Hern took her arm and led her to the table for two that had been placed just a few feet from the end of the bed. Matching chairs faced one another, and the small table was laden with an abundance of food. Her stomach growled. So much for not enjoying anything he offered.
Even though he once again wore the purple robe, he did not insist that she change clothes, as he had last night. He held a chair out for her, and she sat. He took the chair across the table from her and poured them both a glass of wine.
Hungry as she was, Isadora studied the meal with suspicion. “Is it drugged?”
“No.”
She looked him squarely in the eye. “Why should I believe you?”
“Because I do not lie.”
“A man who does not lie.” Isadora grinned. “I did not think such a creature existed.”
He did not take offense. “I might not always tell you everything that’s in my mind, but I will never lie. Honesty is one of the teachings of the Circle of Bacwyr. It is expected of all warriors.” He lifted his own glass of wine. “What of you, Isadora?”
She lifted her own glass. “Deception is sometimes necessary in order to survive.”
“Deception is never necessary; it is just often easier than the truth.”
“I’ve never been one for taking the easy way out, but neither do I purposely choose the most difficult path.”
His grin was startling, the dimple in his manly cheek oddly appealing. “Most women would’ve simply agreed with me that honesty is always best.”
“And in doing so, they’d be telling you the first of many falsehoods.”
“So you do tell the truth?”
“When it suits me.”
It was unlikely that he would poison her when he was so obviously doing his best to impress. She ate, and so did he. She waited for the effects of some sort of potion— something to arouse or befuddle—but she remained clearheaded and determined not to enjoy anything this man had planned for her tonight. Except the fine meal, of course.
His manservant arrived to clear away the remains of the meal. Franco never looked at her, not directly, but if she was not mistaken, he did study her out of the corner of his eye in the brief time he was in the room.
Mahri found the young servant handsome and charming, but to Isadora he was just another man. If he toyed with Mahri, she would...Isadora glanced away from the servant. She’d do what? Kill him? She couldn’t do that, not unless she decided to embrace the dark side of her powers and leave the light behind. All she could do was warn Mahri that love was a curse for every woman, not just the Fyne witches, and she must always proceed with caution where the opposite sex was concerned.
She was quite sure the naive Mahri did not know caution, especially not where matters of the heart—or of the body—were concerned.
After Franco departed, Isadora straightened her spine and waited for Hern’s command. She didn’t have long to wait.
“Sit,” he said, leading her to a short sofa that was placed against one wall. Since it was a harmless command, she did as he asked. Of course, he sat beside her, and one long arm draped over her shoulder. Isadora stiffened, determined not to encourage him in any way. She did not want to enjoy any of this, but she did like the feel of his heavy arm across her shoulder and his warm body next to hers. There was a tightening response low in her belly, and she closed her eyes and did her best to chase it away.
He lifted her right hand, studied the ring on her middle finger, and then without warning slipped the tip of that finger into his mouth. That action did nothing to ease her discomfort, especially when he drew in his breath and tenderly sucked. Her heart lurched and her knees trembled, but she did not yank her hand away, as she could have. Hern eventually extracted her finger from his warm mouth. He kissed his way down the finger, kissed the base where her finger joined palm, and then he very gently tried to slip the ring off. As always, it remained solidly and steadfastly in place.
The failed attempt to remove the ring ended with a kiss on her palm, and Hern released her hand.
“Do you have any family other than the empress?” he asked, his tone conversational.
“What?”
“Family. Brothers, sisters, parents, children...”
“I know what family is,” she snapped. “I’m just not sure why you asked such a personal question.”
“I’m curious,” he said.
Conversation was not something she had prepared herself for this evening. “I have two sisters,” she said tersely.
“Are you close to them?”
Her heart reacted to the question with a lurch. “I once was. Lately, circumstances have torn us apart.”
“Where are they now?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
The hand in her hair was comforting and friendly, nothing more.
“What about you?” she asked, anxious to change the subject. “Do you have family other than your brother Esmun?”
“Parents, both living and healthy, two other brothers, and three sisters, all younger than I. There are a few nieces and nephews, as well.”
“Are you close to them?”
“No. I went to the Circle when I was six years old, and—”
“Six?” Isadora leaned forward slightly. “Your parents sent you away when you were six? That’s not right.” If she had given birth to Will’s child, she would never have sent her away. Sophie would certainly never allow Ariana to be given to strangers to be raised. It didn’t seem at all natural to send one’s child away from home at such a young age.
Hern gently pulled her back against the sofa and his arm. “There is no need to be indignant on my behalf.”
“I’m not indignant on your behalf,” Isadora said harshly.
“My parents did not send me away,” he explained. “I was chosen, as all Circle warriors are chosen.”
“Chosen how?” She should not be curious, but she was.
<
br /> “By wizards and warriors and instructors. They visit each of the clans every two years or so and choose those boys who are destined to be Circle warriors and wizards.” “At the age of six, they took you from your family in order to make you a soldier,” she said, horrified.
“The Circle became my family,” he countered.
“No wonder you and your brother Esmun are not close.” She found herself growing comfortable so close to Hern. His arm cradled her, and she could not make herself pull away. “You barely know one another.”
“I was allowed to visit my family every year.” He sounded as if he believed that sufficient.
“I have been apart from my sisters for a few months, and it feels like a lifetime. I can’t imagine only seeing them once a year.” She didn’t allow herself to think too often of how desperately she missed her sisters. She did not believe that Juliet was dead, no matter what Bors had told the emperor, and she knew Sophie’s Kane would protect her with his life.
But she also knew, deep inside, that nothing would ever be as it had once been, no matter how she wished it to be so. She was facing a life of loneliness, something she had never imagined for herself.
“Why are you wasting your time talking to me?” she asked sharply.
“I don’t feel that talking to you is a waste of my time.”
“You know what I mean, Captain Hern.”
He pulled her slightly closer, so that she was caught up tightly against his side.
“I would like for you to call me Lucan.”
“Why?”
“It is my name, Isadora.”
She already felt too close to this man. Anything more familiar would not be a good thing. Not for her. “I prefer to call you Captain Hern. It helps to remind me why I’m here.”
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