Against the stone wall of the palace stairway, with witches at his back and a woman he did not understand wrapping herself around him, he gave Isadora what she asked for.
Isadora leaned over a particularly irate empress and checked the pregnant woman’s temperature. Liane did seem a little warm, but not alarmingly so. A special tea would calm the empress and lower her body temperature to a healthy level.
When she was finished here she’d go to Lucan’s room, via the hidden stairway. He would be waiting for her.
“You have changed,” Liane said softly.
“I have not.” Isadora sent Mahri to the kitchen for the ingredients for the tea that Liane needed, and then set about straightening pillows.
“You have,” Liane insisted. “Now and then I catch you smiling for no reason at all, and you are no longer so pale, and your mind wanders—”
“My mind never wanders.”
“In the past few days, it has wandered quite a bit.” Liane struggled into a straighter sitting position. “And you will share nothing with me. It’s so unfair. I should order you to tell me everything that man has done to you.”
“And what would you do when I refused?” Isadora asked, unafraid.
Liane relaxed against her pillows. “I’m bored. I grow weary of staying in this bed all day, of not being able to touch my husband, of coddling myself as if I were an old woman. I want to dance, and make love, and go where I please when I please.”
“Soon enough,” Isadora said, trying to ease the empress’ mind.
“How soon?”
Isadora placed her hands over Liane’s belly and closed her eyes. Her powers had grown stronger in the days Lucan had been her lover. Was he responsible for the changes in her? Perhaps. It seemed that every time she found pleasure in his embrace, her strength grew. She didn’t understand how or why, but she could not deny that it was true. “A week, give or take a day.”
“And the babies will be ready?” Liane asked, her voice hushed.
Isadora smiled. “Yes. They will be ready.” She sat on the bed and leaned closer to Liane, so no one could hear. “What are we going to do when they come?”
“I have been giving the matter some thought. No one can be in the room when the babies are born, but you.”
“The priests will insist on being here to verify that the baby who is presented to them as the next emperor is truly yours, and not a replacement for a son who died at birth.”
“They can insist all they want,” Liane interrupted sharply. “No one but you.” Her eyes met Isadora’s. “We will bar the doors, if we must.”
“After the babies are born, how will we explain—”
“We will explain nothing. You will take one of the babies and carry him, by way of the hidden stairs, to Ferghus.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Ferghus will take the baby to a safe place, to a couple who lives in the country. They can’t have children of their own, and the baby will be well cared for.”
A chill walked up Isadora’s spine. “You’re going to give the child away.”
Liane glared at Isadora. “If Sebestyen knows there are two, he will kill the weaker child.”
“He would not—”
“In his mind, he would have no choice. Such an act would save Columbyana from war in twenty, thirty, forty years. We will send the stronger child with Ferghus and keep the weaker here. A stronger child will have a better chance of surviving the trip and the separation from his mother.” If her lower lip didn’t tremble slightly, Isadora would think the empress completely cold about the decision to send one of her sons away.
“You have already made arrangements with Ferghus?”
“Yes,” Liane answered. “He is loyal to me, even above Sebestyen. He will do as I ask.”
Ferghus would do as Liane asked because he was in love with her. Isadora had realized that the first time she’d seen the two of them together. Liane seemed to be completely oblivious to the man’s infatuation.
“I will tell him to prepare for this event to take place in a week,” Liane said.
Mahri returned with the makings for tea, and Isadora prepared the empress one small, hot cup of the medicinal brew. There was no magic in the tea, just good common sense and useful herbs. The maid left, and once again Isadora and the empress were alone.
As Isadora handed the cup to Liane, the empress once again looked her in the eye. “It is not an easy thing, to send my child away knowing I will never see him again. We all do what we must.”
In that instant, Isadora realized that Liane’s heart was breaking for the child she would send to live with strangers. The empress did not display her feelings with abandon, so most would not have seen the heartbreak. But Isadora saw.
In true Liane fashion, the empress dismissed the unpleasant subject and turned to other things. “I can’t believe you won’t tell me anything about your trysts with Lucan Hern. You don’t have to share everything, but since I was such a diligent matchmaker, I don’t think a juicy tidbit or two is too much to ask for. Really, Isadora, what kind of friend are you?”
She had never been a friend, she had never had a friend. Her sisters did not count, as they shared blood and home and history. In truth, she and Liane were so dissimilar it was amazing that they could stand one another, much less become confidants.
Isadora sat on the side of the bed once more, and again she lowered her voice. “He is magnificent.”
In a scene she had never imagined possible, she and the empress erupted into peals of girlish laughter.
Sebestyen enjoyed surprising Isadora Fyne, so his brief visits to her were made at different times of the day. Today he chose to walk into her room as she was preparing for yet another evening with Lucan Hern.
The witch was half dressed. Or rather, half undressed.
Apparently Hern had been giving her lessons in how to fight each and every afternoon, and sweat clung to her skin and the unruly tendrils of dark hair that framed her face and the frock which was more off than on. Women should not know how to fight; it went against their natures. Liane was the exception, of course.
Isadora’s bath awaited her, steaming hot and sweetly scented. On Sebestyen’s abrupt arrival she’d twisted the bodice of the gown she had half removed, and held it before her, covering her breasts.
“I have seen women naked before,” Sebestyen said as he shooed the skittish maid out of the room and closed the door behind her. “There’s no reason to be timid.”
She did not drop the bodice. “What do you want, my lord?”
“A report,” he said succinctly. “Surely in the week that you have been sharing Lucan Hern’s bed, he has said something of consequence.”
“We do not talk very much, my lord,” she answered, blushing.
“No, I don’t imagine you do.” He had never found Isadora Fyne overly attractive, but since she’d become involved with Hern that had changed. She was prettier, somehow, more a woman...as well as a witch. He would do well to remember that fact. Gadhra looked like a proper witch, and he was never tempted to forget what she was when he looked at her.
Isadora, like her sister Sophie, was another matter entirely.
“Will he join me?”
“He is a man of his word, my lord, as I have told you. If he promised to ally with you in exchange for...”
“For you in his bed,” Sebestyen finished when she faltered.
“Yes,” she said softly. “If he promised, he will comply. It is not in his nature to deceive.”
“He has yet to sign the accord.” Until that was done, he could not be assured of anything.
“He will, my lord,” Isadora assured him.
Sebestyen took a step closer to Isadora. “Are the warriors of the Circle as talented as I have heard them to be? Will they strike fear into the hearts of my enemies?”
Her eyes darkened, and with this expression on her face...yes, he was reminded that she was a witch and not to be entirely trusted. “If they all fi
ght like Lucan, then they will win this war for you.”
“Spoken like a woman who’s fallen in love,” he teased.
“I am not in love,” she responded hotly. "Love is for foolish girls who know no better.”
Sebestyen smiled at the woman. In spite of the fact that she was mostly naked and barely covered by the bodice she held before her pale torso, she was fierce. She would make a mighty enemy, if she chose.
“I want a commitment from him. I want the men he promised me. Soon.”
“I can’t push Lucan, my lord.”
“Of course you can.”
For once, he could read her expression; she wanted him gone, the sooner the better. “I don’t have that kind of power over him. We do not discuss politics or matters of war, and it is too soon for me to broach the subject. Such a change would only make him suspicious of me. It would be best if we wait until he mentions the alliance you desire.”
“You underestimate yourself. Every man has a weakness, and you are Captain Hern’s.”
“I am no man’s weakness, my lord. I am just a woman.”
He took another step toward Isadora, unafraid of her witchcraft. Bors had told him she was dangerous, that she had killed, that she was powerful. But Sebestyen had seen none of that strength for himself. In fact, the witch Bors had delivered was often downright meek. Perhaps she was not a witch at all. Perhaps her sisters had all the power in the family, and Isadora had been gifted with nothing but a fearsome glare she called upon on occasion.
“Just yesterday I once again offered Captain Hern any woman in this palace, sure he would be tired of you by now and would welcome companionship of a different sort. Someone younger, prettier, more adventurous. Again he told me he is interested only in you. That is power of a mighty sort, Isadora. Use it wisely.”
Chapter Nine
“That is an unusual gown,” Lucan said as he studied Isadora. From head to toe, she was astoundingly beautiful. Her dark hair was loose, there was a flush to her cheeks, and a wry smile twisting her lips.
The lavender gown she wore was more revealing than anything he had seen her wear thus far. It draped over her flesh like a cloud, barely covering, barely touching. The sleeves were slit to show naked, strong arms, and the floating neckline plunged well past the valley of her firm breasts. Isadora was not a busty woman, but oh, that swell was tempting and feminine. She was such a contrast of angles and curves, he could study her all night in what could only be called awe.
It was clear there would be no binding undergarment to deal with tonight.
“Unusual? That’s all you have to say?” She placed a wooden wedge firmly in the crevice of the hidden door she had used to enter his room, so that no one else would be able to make use of it, and then she walked toward him, displaying that odd combination of strength and grace that he had never seen in any other woman’s walk. “I chose this ridiculous frock in order to elicit a response from you, and all you can say is it’s unusual.”
“I apologize. Apparently that ridiculous frock has robbed me of my ability to speak.”
“That’s nearer to what I had in mind.”
“I did not know you possessed such blatant feminine wiles.”
Her smile dimmed a little. “Neither did I.”
They had been lovers a week, now. Lucan had never been with any one woman for such a length of time. Women were provided for him, and he had enjoyed some more than others. But there had never been one who called to him the way Isadora did. There had never been one who felt so much like his own. He would have expected to be bored with her by now, but he was not.
She was no longer with him simply because she wore the Star of Bacwyr.
They kissed for a while, and as they kissed he gradually removed the lavender dress from Isadora’s body. There was no rush, not tonight. He was content to bare a shoulder, and then an arm. One breast and then the other. Each segment of her body received proper attention as it was bared.
Isadora possessed such wonderfully feminine muscles throughout her body, it was clear that she had not led a life of leisure, as her cousin the empress had. Lucan was accustomed to soft fleshy women chosen for their abundance of curves and their traditional beauty, women who had been trained to please as he had been trained to fight. He had never considered that the women provided for the warriors of the Circle were very much the same as the emperor’s concubines, but he saw now that it was true.
Some of those women he had chosen himself, while others had been chosen for him. None had been fierce and witty and headstrong like Isadora. None had ever touched him as she did, at the very pit of his soul.
He had never known a woman like her, and he wondered, as the lavender dress dropped to the floor at last, what she would think of living in Tryfyn. With him.
It was a jarring thought. When he became Prince of Swords, he would be expected to choose the daughter of a clan chieftain as his bride, or perhaps even a relation of the King who would come to them soon after the Star was returned to its rightful place. His bride, the mother of his sons, would be chosen for him, just as the women who warmed his bed had been chosen.
But that did not mean he had to set Isadora aside. He could have both. A bride picked and presented by the wizards; a mistress he selected himself. Would Isadora consent to be mistress to a married man? From what he knew of her it was highly unlikely that she would embrace such a station in life. But then again, she continued to surprise him. He could hope...
Naked at last, she began to undress him. She removed his leather vest first, which was easy enough to discard, then the knives he wore at his waist. Had he ever allowed a woman to touch those weapons before? No, she was quite sure he had not. Isadora discarded the knives with proper caution and even respect, and then she unfastened his trousers, easily working the ties and buttons that restrained him.
She had such capable and talented fingers, and if they trembled at all it was not with shyness or trepidation. Passion alone made Isadora quiver.
They fell onto the bed, arms and legs entwining, mouths mating, hearts beating fast and hard. Lucan rolled Isadora onto her back and spread her legs, and then he teased her with what was to come. She wore nothing but the ring, which infused her with an ever growing magic as if it shared their very passion.
Did Isadora sense the strength within her that grew with every encounter? Did she realize that what they shared each night went beyond physical pleasure? She had not been trained to recognize and harness power, as he had, but surely she felt the force they generated.
“Now do you like me?” he asked, his voice gruff.
Isadora’s dark eyes met his. “Perhaps a wee bit,” she responded. She did not seem at all happy about the confession.
He watched those eyes closely as he filled her. Whatever uncertainties she had about him vanished quickly, and they were left only with the desire that had brought them together.
Maybe he would not be able to keep her, but for this moment in time Isadora was his, completely.
Until she’d walked into Lucan’s room on that cold night days ago and offered herself to him, Isadora had not realized how much she’d missed the physical closeness that came with an intimate relationship. Lying in bed caught in Lucan’s arms—awake or asleep, it didn’t seem to matter—she felt different. Whole again. No longer alone.
Heaven help her, she did like him. Very much, in fact. If only they had met in another time and place, maybe things would be different.
Foolish thought. The curse remained and would always keep her from that different. If she had not been ordered to his bed, she never would have allowed herself to get close enough to fall in...
Like. Not love. She caught herself just in time, as the words teased her tongue. It was a truly foolish woman who confused the needs of the body with the workings of the heart. She was old enough and wise enough to know better.
“You’re going to fight with the emperor against the rebels, aren’t you?” she asked as she and Lucan held one another
long after the lovemaking was done. Two candles burned and one bowl of oil flickered, so that the room was lit with faint, dancing flames. The light made everything look unreal.
“I said that I would.”
Her heart leaped. Liane and Mahri and countless other innocents would be hurt, maybe even killed, if the rebels overtook the palace. And yet Kane was one of those rebels, and she knew his intentions were honorable. She also knew that he and his kind did not have a chance against the Circle warriors, men who had been trained from childhood to do battle.
“For me,” she whispered. “You promised yourself and your men to Sebestyen for me.”
One large, comforting hand raked up and down her back. “Sebestyen’s cause is just,” he reasoned. “As the only legitimate son of the late Emperor Nechtyn, he is the rightful ruler of this country and has been for nigh onto twenty years.”
“So, you would have agreed to take his side in the matter in any case?”
“Not necessarily. I might have walked away without taking any side at all.”
She raised up and looked down at Lucan. In candlelight, he looked younger than his thirty-six years, more vulnerable than she knew him to be. It was the curl of his hair and the dimple in his cheek, she imagined, that made him appear helpless. He was not. He was far from helpless.
“You still have not signed the accord,” she said gently. She had heard the emperor complaining about that fact, more than once.
“Not yet.”
Isadora licked her lips and leaned down so that her nose was close to Lucan’s. No one was listening, she knew that, and yet she felt it was necessary to speak as privately as possible. “Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t fight for him. Walk away, while you still can. Run, as fast as you can, from this terrible place. Go back to Tryfyn and keep your Circle warriors there.”
“You side with the rebels who wish to overthrow Sebestyen?” He sounded surprised but also intrigued.
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