The Devil's Fire

by Sara Bell

  "I won't know the answer to that question,” Alric said, “until I've seen my father."

  Finn met them at the door leading to the guest chambers. “I've set the servants to packing your things. You should be ready for the road in a matter of moments."

  "Thank you, Finn.” Alric grasped Finn's hand, silently probing his shadow-laden eyes. “Did you see anything from the messenger?"

  Finn knew what he was asking. “No, but...” He broke off, but not before Alric saw the grim certainty on his face. “'Twould be best if you rode at top speed on your way back to Kray."

  Alric nodded and turned back to Gareth, who'd been watching the exchange with a guarded expression. “We must hurry."

  "Let's see about hastening the process, shall we?” To Finn, Gareth gave one curt bob of his head. “Until we meet again."

  Rather than acknowledge the remark, Finn walked past Gareth, paused to whisper something into his ear, and then strode back toward the great hall.

  Under normal circumstances, Alric would have insisted Gareth tell him what Finn had said, but not today. Right now his only thought was to get to Declan, to will his father to live. If The Creator proved merciful, Alric would succeed.

  * * * *

  The journey from Hume to Kray took four days instead of the usual six, but with the crazed pace Alric set, Gareth wasn't surprised. While Gareth understood Alric's need to reach his father, he was worried about Alric's single-minded determination to see that Declan live. If Balthazar proved no match for Declan's illness, Gareth feared Alric would break under his father's loss.

  Though he never thought to rejoice at the sight of Kray's gates, Gareth heaved a hearty sigh of relief on the evening of the fourth day as Castle Kray loomed proud in the light of the setting sun.

  Alric rode straight into the lower bailey. Gareth rode by his husband's side, half-expecting to see Balthazar waiting for them in the courtyard. The last person Gareth expected to see was Tristam, pacing like a madman.

  "What in all of Orielle took you so long?” Tristam cracked his knuckles in a gesture Gareth recognized as nervous agitation. “The watch commander spotted you near an hour ago."

  "Hello to you, too, Tristam.” Gareth dismounted, then handed Merrick off to a stable hand. “'Tis a pleasure to see you, as well."

  "I've not the time for pleasant exchanges,” Tristam said. “I come with news."

  Alric rode up behind them. “My father? Is he worse?"

  Tristam shook his head. “To my knowledge, his condition hasn't changed since we arrived here last evening."

  Gareth raised his brows. “We?"

  "Maris is with me. In light of all I've learned, I dared not leave her behind."

  That got Gareth's attention. “What's happened? Is it Denmar? Another attack?"

  Before Tristam could answer, Alric swung from his horse and said, “Pardon my rudeness, King Tristam, but I'll have to hear of this and greet your lady wife later. I must see to my father."

  "I understand.” Tristam paused. “Father Arden is up there now, assisting young Balthazar."

  Gareth watched as all the color drained from Alric's face. “The priest is with him?"

  "Only to offer comfort, I believe.” Tristam's reassurance came quick. “As far as I know, he hasn't administered the passage rites."

  "There will be no need for Arden to say the rites: my father is going to live.” Alric nodded to Tristam and Gareth both. “If you'll excuse me."

  Gareth grabbed Alric's arm as he turned to leave. “I'll join you upstairs as soon as I've spoken to Tristam. And I'll have one of the servants send up a hot meal for you."

  "I'm not hungry. I—"

  Gareth cut him off. “You've eaten next to nothing for days, Alric. You'll be of no use to Declan if you're swooning from hunger."

  At first Gareth thought Alric was going to argue, but in the end he muttered a hasty, “All right,” before quitting the courtyard at top speed. Gareth watched him go with a sense of impending dread. If Balthazar had called for the priest, Declan's chances of survival couldn't be good.

  Tristam broke into his thoughts. “Since when are you so concerned about your husband's welfare? Dare I to hope your feelings towards the young prince have changed?"

  Gareth scrubbed his hand across the heavy stubble marking his face. “I'm in no mood to discuss my relationship with Alric. Not now, at any rate.” He started towards the keep. “Besides, if this news you bear is dire enough to make you drag your wife all the way to Kray, I have a feeling ‘tis too important to wait."

  Tristam fell into step beside him. “You're right about the matter's importance.” He stopped at the door to the side hall of the castle. “Before I tell you the main reason for my visit, however, you should know the soldiers I sent with you to Hume returned to Drystan with some rather startling tales about your husband."

  Gareth sighed. “They weren't supposed to return to Drystan at all, much less tell you of Alric's gift."

  "Gift? Is that what you call it?” Tristam shook his head. “My men certainly didn't see it that way. All I got from them were wild stories about a demon prince who shoots fire from his fingertips."

  Gareth paused in the act of opening the door, letting the heavy oak fixture slam shut with a caustic shriek. “Alric is no demon, and any man who says so will answer to me."

  Tristam surprised Gareth by bursting into a wide grin. “So it's like that, is it?"

  "Tristam—"

  "I know, I know. You've no wish to discuss your relationship with your husband.” Another of those damned grins. “For some things, words aren't necessary, brother. My eyes tell me all I need to know.” He clapped Gareth on the back. “Go to your chambers and get cleaned up so you can give my wife a proper greeting. I'll deliver my news after that, and then you can tend to your Alric. I've a feeling he's going to need you.” Tristam's smile slid away. “I spoke to the healer just before you got here, and I have to tell you that Declan's outlook is grim at best."

  Gareth didn't want to waste time on something as trivial as bathing, but he knew he needed a few moments to himself, time to gather his wits for the battle to come. If Declan was dying, Gareth was determined to be there for Alric, to lend him his strength. Whether or not Alric would welcome his help was another matter entirely.

  * * * *

  Alric had long ago accustomed himself to the smell of sickness and decay that floated around his father like a veil. Declan had been ill for so long, Alric hardly noticed the odor most days. Now, though, as he pushed open the door to his father's chamber, he was forced to acknowledge a new scent in the air, one he remembered from his mother's last feverish hours: the menacing fragrance of death.

  Declan lay still as a stone save for the racking shudders that braced his body every time his wraith-thin form drew a breath. Father Arden, who'd been dozing in a chair by Declan's bedside, lifted his snow white head as Alric pushed his way into the room. Starting to rise, Arden gave a mid-body bow and said, “Greetings, my prince."

  "Please, sit back down, Father. How long have you been here, anyhow?"

  "A day? Two, mayhap?” The old priest shrugged. “When you get to be my age, the days have a way of rolling together."

  Alric swallowed the lump in his throat as he took the chair on the side of the bed opposite Arden. He stared down at his father's ashen face. “'Tis good of you to stay with him. I'm certain my father will thank you once he awakens."

  Arden's bushy brows came together. “My prince, have you spoken to the healer about your father's condition?"

  Alric shook his head. “I haven't seen Balthazar since my return to the keep."

  Arden rose. “I'll just be fetching him for you, then."

  Alric barely heard the man. He focused all his attention on Declan, silently willing his father to open his eyes and speak to him. His concentration was such, he didn't notice as Arden slid from the room.

  Sometime after—whether moments or hours had passed, he couldn't say—Alric felt a hand
on his shoulder. He looked up to see Gareth standing behind him.

  "I thought you were having a conference with Tristam."

  "I will, in time.” Gareth smoothed the fingers of his free hand over his freshly shaven cheek. “Tristam thought perhaps I was in need of a good cleaning before giving Maris a proper greeting.” He gave Alric a gentle squeeze. “Can I get you anything before I go downstairs?"

  "No, thank you. The priest left to fetch Balthazar. I'm waiting for him to update me on my father's progress."

  Gareth didn't have the chance to comment. Balthazar came skidding into the room, falling to his knees at first sight of Alric and Gareth.

  "Forgive me for not being here when you arrived.” He greeted them both before rising to his feet. “I was just beyond the castle, gathering some dusk blooming herbs."

  Alric took hope from that. “Something to aid my father's healing?"

  "Something to make him more comfortable, but—” Balthazar took a deep breath before continuing. “I'm afraid seeing to your father's comfort is all I can do for him now, Prince Alric. His Majesty's sickness is beyond my ability to heal."

  Alric shook his head. “I don't believe that. I've witnessed the miracles at your command. If anyone can heal my father, ‘tis you."

  Balthazar's voice was thick with sorrow. “My prince, I wish it were so. The plain truth of it is the king is beyond help. His body is poisoning itself, and there's nothing I—or anyone else—can do to stop it.” When Alric opened his mouth to argue again, Balthazar asked a question that stopped his protest. “Do you remember a time when your father was prone to strong drink?"

  Alric closed his eyes. Indeed, he did. Dark days just after his mother's death, when Declan's only solace seemed to be found at the bottom of an ale jug. But those days were long gone.

  Alric opened his eyes and focused them on the healer. “My father hasn't overindulged in nigh on three years."

  "So the servants told me, but there's something you have to understand.” Balthazar paused as if searching for the right words. “Sometimes, when a man has long periods of nothing but drink, his innards become diseased. Even if that man gives up the grape and sticks to a course of drinking nothing save pure water, the body remains weakened and unable to heal itself. I believe in King Declan's case, the strain of your mother's loss and months of drinking nothing but hard spirits have taken their toll.” Balthazar lowered his voice. “I'm sorry, Prince Alric, but I'm afraid there's nothing I can do to spare your father's life."

  Alric felt as if he were falling, the black pit he'd been exiled to during and after his time with Denmar threatening to pull him back in. “How long?"

  Balthazar glanced at the bed, not having to ask Alric's meaning. “A few days. Weeks, perhaps. ‘Tis hard to say. When I arrived at Kray, the king had already lapsed into a wake-less sleep. ‘Tis usually a sign the body is ready to quit its fight.” Balthazar turned back to Alric, his eyes wide and searching. “I swear to you, I did everything in my power for him, but if you wish to punish me, I understand."

  Even with the blackness of his own despair creeping forward, Alric felt for Balthazar, a boy who'd lost his own father and now feared for his life. Placing his hand on the healer's arm, Alric said, “You've nothing to fear from me, Balthazar. You did all I asked of you and more. If ‘tis truly my father's time, I'm grateful you were here to make his remaining days less painful."

  Alric could see the relief crossing Balthazar's features. The boy straightened and said, “To that end, I gathered some night blooming herka flowers. When crushed, the scent of the blossoms seems to comfort even the most restless of patients. If you'll excuse me, I'll go to the antechamber and prepare them now."

  "Thank you, Balthazar.” Gareth spoke for the first time since Balthazar entered. “Alric and I are grateful for all you've done on Declan's behalf."

  The healer bowed and made his exit. As soon as he was gone, Gareth knelt in front of Alric's chair and reached for his hand. “I'm sorry, Alric. I thought sure there was something Balthazar could do for your father."

  So had Alric, but he chided himself for foolishly hoping. Hadn't he learned that of all the people fate smiled upon, he wasn't included? Instead of voicing the sentiment to Gareth, Alric simply said, “I suppose there's nothing to do now but wait."

  Gareth reached for his hand. “I'll stay with you."

  "No.” Alric pulled away from Gareth's warm fingers. “King Tristam is waiting for you. There's nothing you can do here, anyway."

  Gareth didn't budge. “Tristam will understand that my place is with you. ‘Twill be time enough for what he has to tell me later."

  Gareth's compassion was the one thing Alric could least tolerate. Not now. Hardening his jaw and hoping his meaning would be made clear, he said, “I need to be alone with my father, Gareth. I don't want you here."

  Alric felt a stab of guilt at the hurt which flickered in his husband's eyes, but Gareth quickly blinked it away. “I understand.” He rose to his feet. “You're tired and in need of a quiet moment to deal with all Balthazar has told you.” He walked to the door but stopped just short of opening it. Turning back to Alric, he said, “I'll go downstairs to speak with Tristam, but rest assured, I'll be back. You're not alone in this, Alric. ‘Tis a fact you may as well get used to."

  Before Alric could reply, Gareth was gone.

  Long after Gareth left, his words rang in Alric's head. You're not alone in this. Pretty words, words of hope and comfort. Unfortunately, Alric knew the truth. His new relationship with Gareth was based on nothing save pity and had been since the moment Gareth laid eyes upon Alric's scars. Even that kiss they'd shared in the forests of Hume was nothing more than an attempt on Gareth's part to make the best of this marriage they'd been forced into.

  For a brief moment, Alric had allowed himself to hope he and Gareth could have something more, something deeper than a contract between two kingdoms. For the second time in a matter of minutes, Alric chided himself for being such a foolish dreamer. Declan's impending demise meant not only the death of his beloved parent, but the death of any childish fantasy he'd harbored for a normal life. Declan would die, Gareth would leave, and Alric would once again be at the mercy of the cruel and painful destiny of exile he was powerless to stop.

  * * * *

  Alric's rejection was still stinging as Gareth made his way to the stairs. He knew Alric was in pain—reeling over Balthazar's pronouncement—but damned if it didn't hurt to be pushed away. Even so, he hoped Alric had gleaned the true meaning of what he'd said. There was no way Gareth was going to allow Alric to suffer the loss of his father alone. Alric might as well accustom himself to that fact.

  Bertrand interrupted his thoughts as Gareth was edging his way down. “Prince Gareth, how good it is to have you and Prince Alric home."

  "Thank you, Bertrand."

  "I only wish ‘twas under different circumstances.” Bertrand dabbed at his eyes with the corner of his robe. “'Tis such a shame about the king. A better man than Declan of Kray you'd be hard pressed to find."

  Gareth only nodded, which seemed to be answer enough for Bertrand. Gareth was just about to bid the man farewell when Bertrand said, “'Tis good King Tristam is here to support you both. I'm on my way to see that the servants have properly prepared the guest chambers, but...” He lowered his voice. “Word has it King Tristam comes bearing news. Might I inquire as to the nature of his visit?"

  "You might, except I have no inkling as to why he's here, myself.” Gareth crossed his arms over his chest and studied the smaller man. “Is there a reason why you ask about the king's business?"

  "No reason save one. If, Creator forbid,” Bertrand wove a three-prong protective circle over his heart with his fingers, “King Declan should die, you and Prince Alric will be joint rulers of Kray. I was only wondering if King Tristam had heard the news of Declan's impending death and come to see you properly ensconced on the throne."

  Knowing what it would do to Alric, Gareth didn't eve
n want to think about what would happen if Declan should die. Nor did he have any desire to rule Kray. Rather than say so to Bertrand, however, Gareth put him off with, “We'll deal with that when the time comes. Now, I have business to attend. If you'd be so kind as to instruct Cook to send a trencher of food up to Declan's room for Alric, I'll be in your debt."

  Bertrand bowed. “Yes, my prince."

  Shrugging Bertrand's questions off as nothing more than pure curiosity, Gareth strode downstairs. As he descended the last step leading into the great hall, he was attacked by a tiny, green-eyed hellion.

  With a strength belying her slight frame and modest height, Maris hugged him to her in a tight embrace. “Tristam and I were so worried when we heard you'd been attacked.” She squeezed him hard. “And those awful lies Drystan's own soldiers were spreading against Prince Alric...” She leaned back to look up at him, her honey-blonde curls dancing around her shoulders. “Rest assured, Tristam dealt with the blackguards in swift fashion."

  Gareth couldn't help but smile down at his blood-thirsty imp of a sister-in-law. Rather than enlighten her on the near truth of the soldiers’ tales, he hugged her again, grateful to have someone on which to lavish his affections. “Maris, ‘tis good to see you, too.” He stepped back and held her at arms length, studying the picture she made in a silk kirtle the same color as her eyes. “If I didn't know better, I'd say there was something different about you. You've a glow that wasn't there before."

  Maris preened under his observations. “As a matter of fact, there is something different about me. You may as well congratulate me, Gareth. I'm going to be a mother."

  Gareth was stunned beyond speech. His eyes fell at once to her stomach. “You and Tristam are expecting?"

  "Yes, but not in the way you mean. One of my ladies in waiting is with child.” Maris made a face. “'Tis sad to say she doesn't want the babe, but Tristam and I ... well, you know how long we've waited for a child."

  Gareth was thrilled to the marrow for Maris and Tristam both, but he was surprised by Maris's change of heart. She must have guessed the direction of his thoughts for she said, “When Tristam first suggested we take the babe, I had my doubts, but once he told me that you and Alric had your hearts set on starting your own family, I began to wonder. Who am I to deny my husband and myself the same happiness? I ache to be a mother, and if you and Alric refuse to let a little thing like fate keep you from having a family, why then, should I?"