The Warrior's Heart

by Sable Grey

  “You see?” Cloelia turned to Adalbern. “He commands me as if I am one of his men and disrupts Jolan’s schedule. I have discovered he made her door to where she could bar it from the inside.”

  “I was commissioned to protect her, witch. Anyone with a mind to could lift the latch and enter her room. But it would take more men than I’ve got to break down that door to get to her were this castle attacked. I discussed this with her father beforehand and received his approval. Take your rattling somewhere else.” Raban glanced again at Jolan’s father but he did not interfere.

  “His disruptions could change the way…” Cloelia began and Raban laughed coldly.

  “My disruptions change nothing except your obsessions with his daughter and shall not make a difference once she is wed. Nothing I do here changes the future of Maethi. I grow weary of your screeching, woman, and the only reason you do not wear a muzzle is because Lovasz wishes your council. If you will not cease your noise, I will remove myself so that I am not tempted to return his coin and gag you despite my respect for him.” Raban turned and nodded to Alger to lead the way.

  Jolan heard Geld’s laughter and Cloelia’s shriek of outrage as she was led from the main hall. “You push her too far, guard,” she murmured. “I fear you will find yourself poisoned by nightfall.” At the time, Raban only responded with a grunt, but she noticed when they were served their midday meal in the courtyard where she trained that Alger stepped forward and tasted the food before it was set in front of Raban.

  “Do that again and you will be tending a severed arm,” Raban warned.

  “I will not take lightly the woman’s warning, brother.” Alger said in a low voice back to him. Jolan blinked but did not stop the swing of her sword. They were brothers. She had not realised, but it suddenly made sense. Her gaze darted to the others who were of larger build, feeling foolish for not having noticed the similarities also in their features.

  “I will deal with the witch myself.”

  “Father often said your pride would be the death of you, Viktor. I will not allow you to fall before we finish what we have come here to do.” Alger snapped. Again Jolan feigned deafness to their conversation. His name was not Raban. It was Viktor. Part of her felt betrayed even though it confirmed her suspicions that he was not what he seemed. But why would he hide his true name?

  “Nor would I see you poisoned.” Viktor said pointedly. “You are Ilona’s favourite and while I do not fear the witch, I do fear Ilona’s wrath.” Alger laughed at that, the tension between them gone.

  Jolan swung her sword, practicing the thrusts and blocks against an invisible enemy but her mind reeled. Ilona. Her throat closed. Dieter Kelemen was their father. The realisation hit her and she nearly dropped her sword. The story he’d told to them had been one of his own father. He had leather boots and spoke as if he commanded because he did command. She thought of how quickly his men had stepped forward at Geld’s insult, like men who were not bought by mere coin but those who had been led by him and were devoted to him.

  She let her sword lower, the tip resting on the ground. He’d spoken of Dieter’s sons seeking to avenge their father but did not know how it ended. If they sought revenge, why were they in Maethi? Her father was not capable of the cowardice they described in the stranger that killed Dieter. Her uncle? Had her father commissioned them and in exchange for their protection, they were to kill Ewan?

  She glanced behind her as Geld and his men joined them. “You train her to use a sword?”

  “If we are attacked and all struck down, she should know how to defend herself,” Viktor replied in a tight voice. “I imagine she would rather be killed in battle than taken as a slave.”

  “That crone is furious. She is still railing.”

  “Let her rail,” Viktor growled, then his voice rose and he called to Jolan. “Will you eat? If not, you will continue your training. I mean for you to be a wife capable of defending herself,” he called, but she didn’t turn to face him. If he would so easily kill her uncle, perhaps he could be convinced to allow her escape after Ewan was dead. Her heart pounded as she realised there was still a chance to escape her marriage.

  He was suddenly beside her. “You must eat, Prinţesă.”

  She looked up at him and smiled. “As you wish.” She sat and allowed the maid to bring her food. Alger’s sword stopped her from beginning her meal.

  “You are as suspicious as an old woman,” Viktor snapped but gave him a nod anyway. Before Alger could move one of the other men stepped forward and knelt beside Jolan. He smiled at her and reached forward to taste the stew. He looked up and shook his head so Alger withdrew his sword.

  “You think the woman would poison her?” Geld asked with clear astonishment.

  “To spite and blame me, she might,” Viktor conceded.

  “Then I shall sleep with one eye open and will run her through if she makes an attempt. The count would not stand for it were his betrothed to become ill.”

  Jolan did not look at Geld. She would not. Her stomach turned remembering Ishild’s face as his blade slid across her neck. He cared no more for her than the count. It was all a farce. Nothing around her was what it seemed.

  * * * *

  Viktor’s eyes opened and he reached for his sword as he sat up. But then he froze. Linza Lovasz stood at the foot of his bed. She wore only her sleeping gown, her hair uncovered.

  “You leave with my daughter tomorrow and I had not time today to speak with you. It must be now.” She moved around the bed to stand beside it. “I want you to know that it was I who sent Tibor to seek you out. It was I who sent the coin.”

  Viktor said nothing, her words surprising him. Tibor had found him in the village and approached him with the commission as if impressed with his size. When he told of what he would be charged to do, Viktor couldn’t believe his good fortune. Now he realised it had not been fortune at all.

  “I know you seek to kill the man that killed your father. I had heard of what happened and made the way for you to do it.” Her voice shook.

  “Then I am indebted to you.”

  “Yes.” She raised her chin, looking very much like her daughter when she did. “And you will pay your debt. When you leave tomorrow, my husband’s brother, Cloelia, and Tibor will travel with you. I want you to kill Cloelia.”

  Viktor’s brow rose with surprise at the violence in Linza’s soft voice. “Kill her?”

  “She poisons my husband’s ear with tales of prophecy. This marriage arrangement is her doing. She has abused my daughter and strikes fear in all those around her. But you do not fear her, though I must warn you that she is more dangerous than you suspect.”

  “Spells and curses. Your daughter has delivered the same warning. I do not believe in the illusions of the gypsy witch.” He waited for her to turn her back to him and reached for his leggings, pulling them on quickly and working the ties beneath his sleeping shift. Moving around her, he walked to the table where the maid had left the mead earlier and lifted the pitcher to his lips, drinking several swallows.

  “Sometimes…the villagers whisper of a demon summoned in the night and the next morning there is nothing left of the person…but their bloodied clothes,” Linza said jerkily. “I have seen the demon with my own eyes.”

  Viktor turned and looked back at her then reached to light the candle on the table. “When?”

  “Years ago, when I first became with child. There was a storm and I could not sleep. I saw Cloelia outside my window and she was not alone. They went into the stables.” Her voice shook but she continued, “I should have gone back to bed but Cloelia had just come to us. I suspected she was my husband’s lover and hoped that I was wrong, that she was indeed meeting a lover that night who was not my beloved.”

  “I went to the stables and watched them through the crack in the door,” Linza moved to the window looking out as if her memory was there below. “There was another woman there. I knew her from the village, a farmer’s wife. She appeared drun
ken and I wondered then if she’d not been subjected to one of Cloelia’s poisons. I felt uneasy but I was not prepared for what would happen next.”

  “What did happen next?” Viktor pressed.

  “The man, he just bent down and…bit into her. Then again and again. Devoured her.” Linza brought a hand to her mouth, shaking her head. “I could do nothing. I could not scream. I could not move.”

  “Cannibals,” Viktor whispered but she shook her head again.

  “Worse than that. When the woman was nearly dead, he climbed atop her and rutted her to her death.” Linza’s entire body shook. “Cloelia watched. It’s the only time I’ve ever seen her smile, as if she enjoyed what he did to that poor woman. Her blood was on his face as he defiled her body and Cloelia stood there whispering encouragements to him.”

  Viktor watched her when she faced him. “I have never been so terrified in my life because as he came into her lifeless body, he looked at me. He knew I was there and looked right at me.”

  Viktor started to step forward but she moved away, continuing. “When he was finished with the farmer’s wife, he climbed onto Cloelia, and she submitted to him as if he truly were her lover. And the whole time, his eyes were on me. When I could move, I ran. I was going to tell my husband of it but Cloelia met me in the corridor. She told me my child’s destiny was sealed and that if I interfered, the child would die and the wrath of darkness would fall upon Maethi. I knew what she meant. She would kill Jolan and she would summon her demon to devour the entire village.”

  “No one, not even a witch, has that much power,” Viktor argued.

  “I said nothing to Adalbern and never saw that demon again until three months ago.” She met his gaze.

  “It was Count Dragomir,” Viktor said suddenly understanding the situation.

  Linza’s eyes hardened. “I realised that had been the plan all along. Cloelia was here to ensure Jolan’s marriage to him. You owe me, Viktor Kelemen, and I want you to kill that evil bitch.”

  Chapter Seven

  Viktor groaned as he heaved again. Jolan stood at his side while his brother stood at the door. Alger had called for her and one of the maids and now stood watching with a frown.

  “I warned you, guard, that this might happen.” Jolan pressed the wet cloth to Viktor’s face as he straightened. The maid hurried to empty the chamber bucket.

  “How? We made certain you ate no contaminated food,” Alger reasoned then glanced at the pitcher of ale on the table. He walked forward and looked inside, then snatched it up and sniffed it deeply.

  “The ale,” Viktor nodded then groaned as the maid hurried to return the chamber bucket but he managed to push his nausea down. “I drank of it last night. It did have an odd smell.”

  “It does now.” Alger set the pitcher aside. “Shall I tell them there will be a delay in departure?”

  “No.” Viktor shook his head and forced himself to stand. “I will not give the witch the satisfaction.”

  “Be damned your pride! You cannot ride if you are ill,” Alger argued.

  “I have nothing left to empty. The poison has nearly run its course and I can feel my body fighting what’s left of it. We will ride.” Jolan could hear the strength returning to his voice.

  “You are as stupid as I first suspected. If I had hit you in the head harder I might have shaken you enough that you could use your sense. You cannot continue to speak to her as you do and expect she will do nothing in return. You are fortunate she only meant to send you a message this time.” Jolan set her cloth aside and tossed his leggings to the maid. “Help him dress, and try not to look so eager about it,” she added when the maid’s eyes glittered. The maid laughed but moved to do as Jolan told her.

  “Come with me,” she told Alger and he stepped into the corridor with her. “He will not hear me. He is your brother; I have heard you call him so. You must make him see that Cloelia is more dangerous than he wishes to believe.”

  Alger stared at her for only a moment then shook his head. “He will not listen. I have known him our whole lives to be as stubborn as our father was. He will not be bested by an old woman. He will step to her challenge.”

  “Take my sword and bash him in the head with it.” Jolan stamped.

  For a moment Alger had no expression then he threw his head back and laughed heartily. “I see why he likes you.”

  Jolan blinked. “He likes me? He said that?”

  Alger continued to chuckle as he shrugged. “He needn’t in those words. He spoke to me about wishing more time to teach you to hunt from horseback. Other than our sister, he has never wanted to do but one thing with a woman.”

  Jolan’s cheeks heated and she looked away but Alger laughed again. “I know my own brother. There is no way he could resist a woman like you.” Her cheeks grew warmer still.

  “A woman like me?”

  “He has a weakness for pretty women. It is no secret. There have never been any, though, who he meant to teach anything which required her to ride a horse. He likes you.” Alger’s voice softened. “I see your determination when we train. It is to be admired.”

  Alger’s words caused her chest to tighten. “I dread when we part. I wish that we could remain here and continue as we have this past week. I’ve learned much from you and feel more confident in myself than I ever have before.” She leaned up on her toes and pressed her lips to his bearded face. “Thank you for that.”

  Alger cleared his throat as she leaned back, but his eyes glittered as he held up a warning finger. “I am not as discreet as my brother. I should not care if the whole of your family saw our trundle. Do not give me too much affection for I am weaker than he.”

  Jolan grinned and turned to step back into the room. Her humour left when she saw the maid making more of a process of pulling on his tunic than it deserved. And Viktor was clearly enjoying the extra attention.

  “By the Gods, move aside lest you mean him to heave while inside of you!” She ignored the maid’s gasp and Alger’s chuckle from behind her. She roughly jerked the tunic over Viktor’s head and reached for the belt but he held up his hand, shaking his head. She realised his stomach must still feel unsteady if he wanted nothing binding around his middle.

  “Not a word of this to anyone.” She looked over her shoulder at the maid. “If he wishes to best her, then Cloelia must not know he was ill at all. Bring a piece of mint. It will help to settle the sick feeling in his stomach.” She watched the maid hurry from the room.

  “You will ready his horse so he will not be made to do more than what is required of him?” Jolan looked to Alger who inclined his head. “Attach his sword to his horse. They’ve not seen him ride and will not know it is not how he usually carries his weapon. Make it so it seems like easier access to the weapon and instruct the others to do the same so it appears commonplace.”

  Alger tilted his head. “You are a clever woman.”

  “If I were clever I would go to my father and tell him of Cloelia’s poison. I am as stupid as he perhaps.” She snapped but her irritation fled when Viktor caught her chin and turned her to look at him.

  “You are not stupid, Prinţesă, and had I not spent the last hour filling the chamber bucket I would kiss you for your quick thinking.” His eyes showed his gratitude.

  “Yes, well I thank you for the consideration.” She smiled. “Now lean back.” The maid returned with the mint leaf and he parted his lips so Jolan could place it against his tongue. His eyes glittered when his lips closed over her fingers momentarily.

  “He’s not overly ill if he can still think of his cock,” Alger growled, making Jolan gasp with mock outrage.

  Hours later, Jolan gasped again when Alger grasped her waist and set her atop her horse. He winked with a grin then held up a leather belt connected to her sword and sheath. He reached forward and secured it around her waist.

  “And I believe no one should have only one weapon,” he kept his voice low as the others readied to depart. He reached down and withdrew a
dagger and smaller sheath from his boot, concealing it behind his hand. He produced another length of leather and reached beneath her clothes to tie it just below her knee. Heat burned Jolan’s cheeks as he slipped the sheath beneath the strap.

  “If you must use it,” he spoke as he withdrew his hand, “do so with as much might as you can and bury it to the hilt, then twist. It matters not where you strike for the wound will not close.”

  She nodded that she understood and he turned from her to walk to his horse. Viktor rode his horse alongside hers while the others mounted.

  “Stay close, Prinţesă,” he told her. She saw Tibor look back at the guard, his gaze narrowing.

  “Why do you address her in that manner? She is not of royal blood.”

  Viktor slanted a smile that Jolan knew was not real. “Because she has a stubborn chin that she points at me when she commands me to do every little thing she can think of commanding me to do. Only a princess can look down her nose at someone so that he felt like a bug if he thought to disobey.”

  “I have never looked down my nose,” Jolan argued.

  Viktor only grunted in response before lifting his voice. “We ride.”

  Jolan turned and waved a last goodbye to her mother and father. Her father’s eyes were teary but her mother’s expression was stone. She gave Jolan a quick reassuring nod before turning to lead Adalbern back into their home.

  They rode for hours, stopping close to midday to water the horses and eat. But their break was short before Viktor called for them to push on. By late afternoon, her legs had begun to ache. She looked to Tibor and he seemed to realise how weary she was because he called out to Viktor.

  “Raban, we must stop.”

  Viktor didn’t look back, “We do not stop until dark.”

  “I demand we stop.” Tibor’s voice rang with finality and Viktor turned slowly to look back at him, a brow arched. “She will not be able to ride tomorrow if she is so weary she cannot sit atop her horse.”

  Viktor’s gaze darted to Jolan and she forced herself to straighten. “No, I can continue, Tibor.” She would not slow them. He had spent a week attempting to make her stronger because he thought her weak. She would prove she was not.