“You have always insisted that you didn’t care for magic,” Isadora said sullenly.
“I don’t want magic to touch me, that’s true. But if making use of your sister’s talents is what it takes to satisfy you, then that is what we will do.” He did not release her hand. “I have always taken the counsel of wizards, love. Asking Juliet for guidance will be no different. Now, come. We can put an end to this battle with the news that Emperor Sebestyen is dead.”
“Good.” Isadora threaded her fingers through his.
“And once we learn of the empress’ whereabouts from your sister, I will ask you to marry me once again. I never thought I’d have to all but beg a woman to marry me.” “Yes, your ego is quite healthy in those respects.”
They moved toward the exit hand in hand, and before they walked outside, where the din of battle reached their ears much more clearly, Isadora said, “I do not wish to return to this place, ever.”
“Done,” he said, happy to grant her this one simple desire.
“And I hope I never have to wield a sword again.”
“I will protect you with my sword, and you will have need of no other.”
He climbed up onto a stone wall that surrounded and protected the palace entrance and surveyed the scene before him. In all directions, soldiers fought. Juliet’s Anwyn and their spears, Arik’s rebels, sentinels who had turned against their leader. Circle warriors and representatives from three clans of Tryfyn had already moved from the west to the center of the battle, and they were very swiftly making their way forward. Soldiers had fallen in all directions...Sebestyen’s soldiers and Arik’s.
Lucan lifted his hands to his mouth and shouted, “Emperor Sebestyen is dead!” At first, there was no reaction to his announcement, so he shouted again, more loudly this time. A few heads turned, but not enough. What was he to do? Running into the fray, he could reach some of the soldiers, but it would take much too long to get word to all the combatants in that fashion.
“Darling,” Isadora called, and he realized this was not the first time she had tried to catch his attention.
Lucan glanced down at her. With her head tipped back to look at him, and her hair and gown mussed from the excitement of the day, she was more beautiful than he had ever imagined any woman could be.
“I can help, if you will allow it,” she said, raising her hand slowly.
After a moment’s hesitation, he sat on the wall, leaned over, and reached down to her. When she laid her hand in his, he clasped it tightly and drew her up. When she was well balanced, she stood, and after standing there for a moment she cast an uncertain glance his way. “It will not touch you,” she said softly. “But it will help you.”
He nodded, and she turned to the battle scene spreading across the streets of Arthes and lifted her hands. She said, “Laleh antaga.” And then she looked at him and translated, in a softer voice, “Hear well.”
Again, Lucan shouted the news that Sebestyen was dead. This time, many heads turned his way. Swords fell. Weary men stopped fighting and faced Lucan as if they awaited more words. A few soldiers continued to fight, either because they had not heard or because they did not care. Lucan shouted the news once more, and a few more of those who continued to do battle stopped. Gradually, with the assistance of other soldiers in the bloody streets, the fighting ceased.
With the heat of battle fading, the soldiers began to see to the wounded among their friends and comrades, and they began to mourn the dead.
Lucan leaped down from the wall, landing gracefully on his feet. He reached for Isadora and assisted in her descent. He had never cared much for witchcraft, but today she had used hers in a powerful and simple way, and she had honored his wish that magic not touch him.
“You are a good woman, Isadora Fyne,” he said. “You are as noble and brave as any Circle warrior.”
In her dark eyes he saw a momentary flash of uncertainty. “We must go to Juliet.”
When all was settled with the empress and the children, there would be no more uncertainty. There would be nothing but love in her eyes and in her heart as soon as their obligations were done.
He led Isadora through the streets of the city, protecting her at all times not only from the men who had, moments earlier, been fighting here, but from the scenes of death that surrounded her. She was a gentle woman with no tolerance for such ugliness. He had never known a witch could be kindhearted, but then his opinions of such magical women had been influenced by a long ago prediction he had never understood.
Zebulyn should have been more specific.
They were a little more than halfway through the city when Isadora gasped, jerking her hand from his. She turned her back on him and ran frantically, and he followed, calling her name. She did not go far before dropping to her knees beside a fallen soldier. All he could see of the man was a tattered cape, a motionless hand, and a long twist of oddly streaked and bloody hair.
“No, no, no,” Isadora said softly as she rolled the man onto his back.
Kane Varden wasn’t dead, but neither was he far from departing this earth.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Isadora led the way into camp. Lucan—along with two rebels they had grabbed off the streets of Arthes—carried a quickly fashioned litter directly behind her. Kane had suffered a head injury, and while there were no life-threatening wounds that she could see, he had not stirred since she’d discovered him. Not a moan, not so much as a twitch.
There had been a time, not so long ago, when she’d hated this man. For touching Sophie, for leaving her, for coming back—for making the youngest Fyne sister love him. She couldn’t hate him anymore. A soldier who made room in his heart for love, for family, and for babies, had redeeming qualities that should be preserved.
Besides, it would break Sophie’s heart to lose him. Maybe Sophie had reasoned all along that the curse would make the time she had with her husband short, but it wouldn’t make losing the man she loved any easier.
Just as watching Lucan walk away from her would not be easy. If they could not break the curse quickly, then that’s what would happen. Kane would die, and Lucan would leave. What of Juliet’s Ryn? He was young, and had a few years before thirty—and to be completely honest, the man was not entirely human. Would that fact save him from the curse? Maybe, maybe not. If not, those years would go by quickly, and too soon Juliet would also be forced to bury the man she loved.
The youngest Fyne sister had held her impossibility in her hands, as Thayne had predicted, but that left two miracles to take place before the curse could be broken. Isadora suspected that might be two too many to hope for.
Sophie saw Isadora as the party entered the camp. She smiled widely, and stood with the new baby Duran caught in her arms. “Finally!” she said as she walked forward with long, anxious strides. “It’s so good to see you well. Did you find Liane and the babies? Did you see Kane? Myls said Sebestyen is dead. I know it’s wrong to wish anyone harm, but I can’t say I’m—” Sophie stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the litter and the man upon it. “No,” she said softly.
“He hasn’t lost much blood,” Isadora said calmly. “He took a blow to the head, but that’s all.”
“It isn’t the blow that will kill him. It’s the curse. Kane is just a few months from thirty, you know.” Sophie walked beside the litter, as it was carried toward her tent. She did not cry, and she did not scream. Instead, she was determined and rigid, and she remained dry-eyed. “We must end the curse. With all that has happened, with the new powers we’ve discovered, surely we can accomplish what seemed impossible in the past.”
“It will take all three of us,” Isadora said. She might as well tell Sophie and Juliet together what Thayne said was required, so there would be no need to repeat herself. “Where’s Juliet?”
Sophie snorted in disgust, as she held back the tent flap for the men who carried the litter. “She and that husband of hers went into the woods shortly after you left this morning. Two of her sol
diers, the ones who stayed behind to act as her bodyguards, went with them.”
“Did they go to the battlefield?” Isadora experienced a moment of fear, as she imagined the gentle Juliet caught in the midst of battle.
Sophie shook her head. “I don’t think so. They were headed in the opposite direction.”
“And Juliet didn’t say where she was going?”
“No.”
The men carefully moved Kane to a pallet on the tent floor, and Sophie knelt beside her husband. “I will require warm water and clean rags,” she commanded without tears or panic. One of the soldiers nodded curtly, as if he were accustomed to taking orders from Sophie. Lucan nodded at Isadora as he left the tent, and she knew, without even a hint of doubt, that he would be waiting for her when she was done here.
Isadora helped Sophie as the new mother cleaned and bandaged her husband. She held Duran when Sophie needed both hands free, and then Sophie took the baby while Isadora performed a simple protection spell that might—or might not—keep Kane alive until the curse could be broken.
And then they waited. Kane still did not stir, and Juliet did not return. Soldiers returned to the camp, one at a time and in small groups. They were rightfully glad of victory, but they had all lost comrades on this long day, and many of them were worried about Kane and the others who had been wounded. One rebel or another checked on the wounded man often, and Sophie spoke to each of them in a calm, unwavering voice. Liane had been right when she’d told Isadora that her youngest sister possessed a new strength.
It was well after dark when Arik opened the tent flap, ducked down, and walked inside. He looked very much like his brother, just enough to give Isadora a start. But Arik was bigger, a tad taller, and larger of build. His skin was deeply tanned, and a small scar on his left cheek marked him as a fighting man. The day of battle had left him tired, but not exhausted in the way some of his soldiers were. In his own way, Arik was much harder than Sebestyen had ever been.
“We are moving to the palace,” Arik said, after taking a long, pained look at the wounded man. “I’m sure Varden will be more comfortable there.”
“No,” Sophie said sternly. “I will not ever again set foot in that terrible place, and neither will Kane.”
“Sophie,” the new emperor said in a gentle voice. “The palace is not a terrible place any longer.”
She looked up at him, and in that instant Isadora realized exactly how strong her sister had become. “Hatred and cruelty and pain linger long after the reasons for them are gone. They live in the fabric, and in the stone, and in the very air. Dark energies remain in that palace. Kane will not be taken there. I forbid it.”
Isadora wondered if her little sister realized that she was putting her foot down to the new emperor, and then she realized that Sophie had earned the right to speak her mind to any man. Even this one.
“Whatever you wish, my lady.” Arik nodded his head once, and backed out of the tent.
The camp did not break and disband at once. Emperor Arik and a few rebels left, while others remained. They took down tents that were no longer needed, and drank to excess in celebration or sorrow, and packed their belongings for their own journeys. Some would be joining Arik in the palace. Others would be going home. Quite a few had been ordered to stay in the camp as long as Sophie and Kane remained, bodyguards as dedicated to the Varden family as Juliet’s half-dressed, immense soldiers were to their Queen. No one would disturb them while they waited for Kane to heal—or to die.
Hours after Arik had left, they heard a familiar voice. A female voice. Isadora left the tent quickly, searching for Juliet among the returning soldiers. The Queen, red-haired and barely dressed and surrounded by men who stood a head taller than the tallest of the others, was not difficult to spot.
Sophie told an incredible tale of being kidnapped by Ryn on her journey to Arthes. Apparently, the Anwyn had been confused by Juliet’s scent on Sophie, but his confusion had not lasted long and he’d soon released her. Sophie obviously had a soft spot in her heart for the very large man—but she had not completely forgiven him.
“Where have you been?” Isadora cut around a knot of rebels to approach her sister. When she did, she had a much better view of the Anwyn party, and she came to a halt.
Juliet carried a bundle in her arms, and she was no longer pregnant. Gathering her senses, Isadora rushed to her sister. “You should not be walking around like this. Are you well? Is the baby well?”
“I am fine, and the baby is more than well. She is beyond amazing.” Isadora peeled back a section of the animal skin the baby was wrapped in to reveal a perfectly beautiful face and a tuft of red hair. The baby’s eyes were a striking gold, like those of her parents, and she seemed very aware for a newborn.
The Anwyn guards, who until this moment had been extremely attentive to Juliet, both watched the baby with undisguised awe. You would think they had never seen a baby before, the way they gawked. There was a stoic reverence in the way they watched the newborn.
The child reached up a small, perfectly shaped arm, and by the light of the half-moon the arm, from fingertips to elbow, transformed. Tiny fingernails turned into sharp claws, a little hand shifted until it was shaped like a paw, and red hair sprang thick and long from the hand and forearm. A moment later, like the receding of a wave, the limb became a normal baby’s arm once again.
“This should not be possible,” Juliet said in a lowered voice. “She should not be able to do that.”
“I should think not,” Isadora agreed. She glanced back toward the tent where Sophie and Kane waited, and saw Lucan standing nearby. He, too, waited, with a patience she had not thought him to possess.
“I knew Keelia would be special,” Juliet continued, “but I had no idea how special.” The new mother looked at Ryn with a loving censure. “You promised me I would not have to deal with unruly children who turned into wolves at the appearance of every full moon.”
Ryn looked up. The big man was in awe himself. “In case you have not noticed, vidana, not only are we too far away from the mountains to be affected by the cycles of the moon, there is no full moon on this night. Our daughter is powerful in a new and unexpected way, as you said she would be.” Across the camp, Isadora caught Lucan’s eye. Sophie and Juliet held miracles in their arms, just as Thayne had said they would. All that was left was for Isadora to hold her own. She knew very well that nothing in this world was impossible, that miracles happened every day. But what could compare to a Fyne son after all these years, and a baby girl who apparently had the power to shift into a wolf cub at will? Whatever her miracle might be, it needed to come quickly in order to be of any help to Kane.
Isadora shivered. If the miracle did not come soon, Sophie wasn’t the only one who would lose a loved one. At any moment, Lucan might look at her and see something that repulsed him. If he walked away from her in horror, he would not come back, and she would live the rest of her life alone. Her sisters had their families, they had bright futures ahead of them, as long as the curse could be ended.
But what of her own future? She had been given a glorious second chance at love. If this failed, she did not expect there would ever be a third chance.
The baby cooed and burrowed into her mother’s chest, and purred deep in her throat. Two.
Lucan Hern, First Captain of the Circle of Bacwyr, the man destined to be Prince of Swords, had little patience. Once again Isadora was testing his, as she had done so often. She and her sisters and the new babies and a wounded Kane Varden had been huddled together in one of the few remaining tents in this camp all night. There was work to be done before he could ask her, again, to marry him. Isadora would not rest easy until she knew what had become of Empress Liane and the babies. She would not plan for her own future until she knew theirs was secure.
Sunrise approached once again, and he had not slept all night. If he had known that Isadora would be occupied with her wounded brother-in-law and her sisters through the night, he would h
ave slept for a few hours. Instead, he had watched the tent and waited.
Myls, one of Arik’s most trusted soldiers and a sour man Lucan himself did not like, had arrived hours earlier with bound and beaten prisoners in tow. Since Sebestyen was dead, most of Arik’s men saw no reason to take prisoners. The sentinels who had been loyal to Sebestyen had laid down their weapons, after all. They were going home, or swearing allegiance to the new emperor.
But Myls swore these prisoners continued to present a danger. Lucan almost felt sorry for the men, whose only crime had been loyalty to their emperor. Perhaps that loyalty had been misplaced, but still...they were not criminals, and Myls had been treating them as such.
The prisoners were not his concern, however. The tasks he had immediately set before him were simple: find the empress and her children, ask Isadora to be his wife, and go home. Before he could do any of these things, she had to leave the blasted tent!
She did, finally, not long after sunrise. Like him, she had taken no time for sleep during the night, and she was obviously exhausted. There were dark circles under her eyes, and if it was possible she seemed to be thinner. He wanted nothing more than to carry her to a large, soft, warm bed, where he would make love to her and feed her and cherish her. Soon.
She walked toward him, and before he could make a move to meet her, one of the prisoners gasped. “Dear lord, the dark witch. Don’t let her touch me, please. Don’t let the dark witch touch me. I’ll do anything you want, just please...don’t let her touch me.”
Lucan turned his head and glanced down at the babbling prisoner. “What are you talking about, fool?”
“That one,” the man whispered in an obviously frightened voice. “The dark Fyne witch, she killed a man in our company with a single touch and a few evil words. I saw it happen. Weeks later she killed another with a knife, when he caught her stealing bread from the camp. I was not there when that murder happened, but that is what I heard.” Lucan shook his head. “Your brain has been addled, soldier. Isadora Fyne is a gentle woman who would not harm any man, even if she had cause.”
The Star Witch Page 27