“Of course, my lord,” Gadhra said pleasantly. “Her milk is almost completely dried, and she is healing nicely. Two to three more weeks, perhaps, and then she will be as she once was.”
Sebestyen glanced at Liane again, but this time she did not look back. Instead, her eyes were focused on something only she could see. He turned from her and stalked away, wondering at his unwise decision to call upon her today.
After he left Liane, Sebestyen went directly to Level Two to visit with his firstborn son. The child was rather amazing; even the priests agreed that he was clever for a babe only one week old. Jahn had intelligent eyes and a healthy cry and was already growing stronger.
He adored the child more than he had imagined possible. How odd.
Lucan was surrounded by sentinels who had disarmed him. At least, they believed they had disarmed him. Two short but sharp blades were housed in sheaths against his body. They had tried to tell him that the emperor was not receiving visitors, but he refused to back down. If the information he had been given was correct, Isadora had been gone more than a week. Nine days, in fact.
She had the Star of Bacwyr, and so he was obliged to go after her. Only Sebestyen or his empress, who he heard had been confined to her bed, would know where to look for Isadora.
After pacing the hallway of Level One for well more than an hour, Lucan was summoned to the emperor. His patience was at an end, so he stormed into the imperial office with a ferocity that had the sentinels who guarded their emperor on alert.
Lucan dismissed them from his mind and strode to the desk the emperor sat behind. He placed his hands on the desk and leaned forward.
The sound of metal on metal singing as the sentinels drew their swords echoed through the room, but Lucan did not so much as flinch, much less turn his head to give them his attention.
“Where is she?”
Emperor Sebestyen looked completely innocent as he answered the question, though Lucan was quite sure he had not been innocent for a very long time. “Isadora? Did she not say good-bye before she left for home?”
“No, she did not,” Lucan said in a lowered voice.
The emperor leaned back in his chair. “I’m sorry to hear that. Apparently things did not progress as you had hoped, in that respect. It’s just as well. Isadora can be very difficult when it suits her.”
“Where did she go?” Lucan asked again.
“Home.”
“And where is her home?” he asked through clenched teeth.
“I imagine if she wanted you to know that detail, she would have—”
Lucan slammed his fist against the desk. “Where?”
The tip of a sword touched his neck; another was poised to strike at his back. And still he did not move.
Sebestyen ordered his sentinels back with a wave of his hand, and that’s when Lucan saw the ring.
The emperor wore the Star of Bacwyr on the little finger of his right hand. It did not sparkle wildly with magic, as it had when Isadora had worn it, but instead lay almost dormant on the powerful hand. The magic he sensed there was weak. Did the power Lucan sought sleep in the emperor’s possession?
Lucan did not stare at the ring, even though its significance was not lost on him. Isadora had not left the palace; and if she had, it had not been of her own free will. The emperor had done something with her...something to her. A realization struck his heart with an unexpected force. What if she was dead?
“I would very much like one last chance to see Isadora.”
“She’s been gone more than a week,” the emperor argued. “It’s unlikely that you can catch up with her. There are other women available—”
“I don’t care for your other women. I wish to speak with Isadora.”
The emperor’s eyes hardened, and he leaned forward. “That is the second time today that you have interrupted me,” he said in a soft but strong voice. “Do not do it again.”
He would have to play the game with this man, at least until he found Isadora. Dead or alive, he would find her. And if she was dead, he’d make the emperor and all his sentinels pay dearly.
“I have not yet signed our accord,” Lucan said calmly. “I will not sign until I speak with Isadora.”
Sebestyen’s lips thinned, and his jaw twitched. “I will see what I can do in that regard,” he said coldly.
“Thank you.”
“I expect you will sign, however,” the emperor said with confidence. “Isadora informed me that you are a man of your word, that you would not promise your allegiance in battle unless you were prepared to fight. She also said you are a fine warrior, and that if your men fight like you, you’ll win this war for me.”
“I did not know I was a subject of discussion between you and your wife’s cousin,” Lucan said tightly.
“Now that she’s gone, I don’t suppose it matters that you know the true nature of her part in your relationship,” the emperor said coldly, again with a casual wave of his right hand. “While you were sleeping with her, Isadora filed a report with me, personally, every day. You look disappointed, Captain. Did you truly believe my wife’s cousin cared for you? If I had known she’d make such a good spy, I would have called upon her talents in the past.”
“Isadora was not spying on me.”
“Actually, she was, and I don’t mind telling you so now. You passed the test magnificently, so there’s no reason to be irked by my caution. Isadora reported that you are noble, loyal, and trustworthy, a man of your word who fulfills his bargains. You should be pleased.”
Lucan studied the emperor with eyes that had been taught to see. The man before him was unnatural in so many ways, it was difficult to discern truth from lie, goodness from evil. But at the moment Lucan saw what he did not wish to see: truth.
“Isadora had a friend who was maid to your wife. Mahri, I believe. Would it be possible for me to speak to her?”
“They did become good friends,” the emperor answered. “That’s why Mahri went with Isadora when she left for home.”
This time the lie was evident, easier to see.
Lucan left the emperor’s offices and Level One for his own quarters. Inside the safety of the chamber, he began to gather and prepare his weapons. What had the emperor done with Isadora and Mahri? He had done something, but why?
When his weapons were sharp and close at hand, Lucan sat on the floor surrounded on all sides by candles and began a deep meditation. This meditation was the way in which he prepared for the hroryk elde, but it was also the way to reach deep inside himself for what he had learned at Zebulyn’s side.
Lucan did not have the power of a wizard, but Zebulyn and the wizards who had followed had taught him to use some small measure of magic, when necessary. It was necessary now. Where was Isadora? Was she alive? His heart thudded hard, and his mind spun wildly. He had a difficult time reaching the place inside himself where truth could be found.
Zebulyn had taught him that the truth lived inside all beings, but that humans had forgotten how to access that truth. Lucan fought for it now, as he fought for guidance. He reached for a fragment of knowing that would ease his worry...or else take away all hope. He shut off the rest of the world and thought only of Isadora.
He thought of the way she had called to him from the first moment he’d seen her, the way she’d fought their feelings for one another, the way she laughed in his arms, the sensation of her body wrapped around his in all ways. He did not care that she had reported to the emperor. Maybe she had spoken of him to her cousin’s husband, but if that was so, then she’d had no choice. Even though she had spied upon him, he trusted her. They had shared bodies and spirit, laughter and immeasurable pleasure in this room, and together they had grown stronger in all ways. In a soul-deep way, they remained linked.
And the knowing came.
Isadora was alive. Scared, hurt, and confused...but alive. She was close, but not close enough, and wherever she was being kept all was dark. Completely, totally dark...until a tinge of purple c
rept into his vision. He knew that shade of purple and the strangeness of the illumination.
Wizards’ light.
Isadora had asked him not to fight for either side, but this afternoon’s confrontation with the emperor had decided the matter for Lucan. Sebestyen was an evil man, and he should not be allowed to rule.
As soon as he found Isadora and then confronted the emperor one last time to retrieve the Star of Bacwyr, he would join the rebels and see Sebestyen dethroned.
Chapter Thirteen
Isadora opened her eyes slowly, to find the old man she had been dreaming about hovering over her. His eyes were dark, his hair white and silky, his face deeply wrinkled. And there was that purple glow...
Apparently he was not a dream at all.
She sat up slowly. Her head pounded, and every muscle in her body ached. The fall, of course. Emperor Sebestyen.
Nelyk.
A deep shudder worked through her body, and she grasped her arms to her chest as if to warm herself.
“You are awake at last,” the old man said. “That is good.”
She looked at him as bravely as she dared, given that her body continued to shake. “Who are you?”
“My name is Thayne.”
Thayne. She had heard of him. He was the wizard who had foretold Sebestyen’s fall. Isadora had no love for wizards; none of the Fyne women did. But it seemed she was indebted to this one, like it or not.
“What are you doing down here?”
“This is my home, and has been for a very long time. Approximately eighteen years, I believe.”
Isadora looked around the cell-like cave. How could anyone live here for such a long time? How did the old man call this cave home? “You saved me,” she said.
“Yes, I did. That’s why I’m here, you see. I protect the innocent from the injustice of the emperor.”
Isadora cut her eyes away from Thayne’s cutting glare.
“There’s no need to worry,” he said softly, “I have seen that you are not entirely innocent. I smell the aroma of death on you. That aroma gave me a moment’s pause, when you were first delivered to me.” He took her chin in his hand and made her look at him once again. “But the light of goodness is much stronger on and in you than the touch of death. I did not make a mistake in saving you. What is your name, child?”
“Isadora.”
“You have magic, Isadora.”
“Yes.” She studied the purple light around him. “So do you.”
Thayne smiled.
“But not enough to get you out of this place,” she added.
He shrugged, as if it didn’t matter. “I am here because I was meant to be here. If not for me, many who are innocent would have perished in a most horrible way. I could not save everyone who came to me,” he said, sadness in his voice. “But I saved those who were strong enough to fight their way past the Panwyr and the loss of hope.” He leaned close to her. “That is the worst,” he whispered, “the loss of hope.”
“I know,” she whispered. She’d lost hope such a long time ago. After her mother’s death, after Will’s passing, after the soldiers had burned her home.
Did she really have even a grain of hope that Lucan would find her?
“How long have I been here?” she asked.
“Ten days,” Thayne said. “You are healing well. It often takes those under the influence of Panwyr more than twice that time to become as lucid as you are now. You have a strength about you, Isadora. Still, you must fight the need for the drug that will come to you. A second dose would be much more harmful to you than the first.”
She didn’t pay attention to what the old man was saying, past a certain point. “Ten days,” she repeated, and with those words the last of her hope died once again. Sebestyen had surely spun a believable tale for Lucan to cover her disappearance. He would be angry that she’d left him without saying good-bye. So angry he was probably in Tryfyn by now, comforting himself with another woman, or two.
It didn’t matter, she told herself as she struggled to her feet. It wasn’t as if they had a future of any kind awaiting them beyond these palace walls, no matter what he said about the days to come.
“You said there were others,” she said, dismissing Lucan from her mind.
“Yes.” Thayne offered his hand, but she declined to take it. She wasn’t yet sure that she trusted him entirely. “Come along, and I will introduce you.”
Thayne led the way beyond the cave opening and into a hallway of sorts. The stone halls were narrow but sturdy, and they snaked down and down and up again. It wasn’t long before Isadora saw a new light. It was warmer than the light that surrounded Thayne, more natural.
He turned a comer, and Isadora followed. She stopped when she found herself in a large underground cavern. There was natural and magical flame to light the place, a spring of fresh water, a garden of fungus-like plants...and at quick count, twelve people besides herself and the wizard.
There were three women in the crowd, all of them dressed in gowns that had once been fine and which were now filthy and torn. Among the men there were varying styles of clothing, and a few wore what had once been imperial uniforms. She also noticed the blue kilt of a Level Three Master.
They all looked at her with a kind of awe, and some of them even seemed to hold their breath.
“Three empresses,” Thayne said with a wave of his old hand. The women he indicated each gave a quick but regal curtsy. “Four empresses were sent here, but only these three were innocent.”
Isadora glanced at the seemingly harmless man. “You left the other one to...to those...those monsters?”
“She had evil in her heart, and she had done many wicked things,” he said without remorse. “She survived among the other monsters for a good long while. They were more her kind than we could ever be.”
Isadora shuddered at the thought of surviving in the pit where those men had clawed at her dress.
Thayne introduced the others. They were, as she had judged by their dress, former ministers, soldiers, and servants, as well as the Level Three Master. All of them had offended Emperor Sebestyen in some way.
“You all live here?”
“Yes. We live here, and we wait.”
“What are you waiting for?”
Thayne smiled, creating a mass of deep wrinkles on his face. “We have been waiting for you, Isadora.”
Franco swept into the room, still dressed as a servant...perhaps for the last time. “Mahri has been seen,” he said, sounding relieved.
“Where?”
“Level Three,” Franco said, the evident happiness of his relief fading quickly. “Mahri is not a concubine; she has no business on Level Three.”
“Her presence there proves that Sebestyen lied to me. He said she left with Isadora.” He wondered if Isadora was there, on Level Three, forced to participate in yet another form of servitude.
His worries did not last very long. Isadora would not make a compliant concubine. In fact, she was anything but compliant. It was one of the traits he most liked about her, oddly enough.
Lucan closed his eyes and concentrated on Isadora, as he had two days ago when he’d determined to his own satisfaction that she was alive and still in the palace. Level Three was above his head; Isadora was below. He knew that without fail; he felt it in a tug of energy as if she called to him.
Mahri might be kept quiet and obedient on Level Three, but Isadora was a different sort of woman. In order to keep her restrained, she would have to be physically confined.
“Where does the emperor keep his prisoners?”
“Level Twelve, I hear,” Franco said. “Two Levels beneath the ground floor. Surely the emperor would not imprison a woman.”
“I wouldn’t put anything past Emperor Sebestyen,” Lucan said. He strapped on two swords and three knives, and checked to make sure they were well-seated in their sheaths. They were a part of him, and in his time here he had hidden the weapons or abandoned them altogether. No more. Any senti
nel who tried to stop him as he made his way to Isadora would die. He laid his eyes on Franco. “Get ready. It’s time.”
Isadora sat with the youngest of the three empresses. Rikka was a pretty girl who was only a little worse for wear for her time in Level Thirteen. Like the other empresses, she was dressed in a once-fine crimson gown that designated her former station. She was not as worn down as the others, but then she had only been here a few months.
Everyone was anxious for news of what was going on above, but only Rikka had been outraged by the news that Emperor Sebestyen had married his concubine Liane. The fact that they’d produced twins together—news the others found fascinating—was apparently unimportant to Rikka.
“He actually married her?” The petite woman shouted as she scrambled to her feet to glare down at Isadora. Her hands formed small, tight fists at her sides, and when she stood it was evident that she’d lost many pounds since that frock had been fitted. “He threw me in this awful place, and then he married that...that whore?”
“Yes,” Isadora answered. “Because she was carrying his child, of course,” she added. She had come to like Liane well enough, but she could imagine well why Rikka did not. After all, Liane had been Rikka’s husband’s mistress for the entire time she’d been married to Sebestyen.
“I thought he must be unable to father children,” she said petulantly.
“He was. A witch’s spell made conception possible.”
Rikka sat again, yet still she pouted. “If I had called upon a witch’s spell, I would be mother to the heir and still living above, in a fine room with lots of good food and clothes and—”
“Stop it!” The eldest and tallest of the empresses laughed lightly as she ordered Rikka to be quiet. Ghita was perhaps a few years older than Sebestyen—mid-thirties, Isadora would guess. The dust and dirt of Level Thirteen enhanced every small wrinkle on her handsome face. As his first wife, was she the true empress, still? That fact might matter to some of the more proper ministers and priests, but if the emperor had declared her dead...then she might as well be dead.
The Star Witch Page 17