The Devil's Fire

by Sara Bell

  Gareth slanted a glance at Tristam, who was sitting at the table deeply engrossed in his wine. “Why, indeed?” Silently vowing to have a private word with his brother-in-law later, Gareth held out his arm to Maris. “May I escort you back to the table, my queen?"

  Maris shook her head. “I believe I'll retire for the night. I've a feeling you and Tristam have a long talk ahead of you, and that calls for privacy. Besides, the sooner the two of you get this situation under control, the sooner Tristam and I can return to Drystan. I absolutely must be home before the babe arrives, for I want mine to be the first face he sees.” She leaned up on her toes and kissed Gareth's cheek. “Good night, brother.” Turning to blow Tristam a kiss, she said, “You, I'll see upstairs in a bit."

  Tristam gave her a lovesick smile. Once Maris was out of sight, Gareth sat down at the table across from Tristam. “So Alric and I are anxious to start a family, are we?"

  "Worked, did it not?” Tristam wasn't the least contrite over his lie. “Maris and I are going to have the child we've always longed for, and unless I miss my guess, you and Alric are beginning to develop feelings for one another. That makes my story not quite such a lie, after all."

  Gareth thought of Alric's cool dismissal of him with a grimace before forcing the thoughts away. The sooner he heard what Tristam had to say, the sooner he could get back to Alric. “You said you come bearing news. I'll hear it now if ‘tis all the same to you."

  Tristam nodded. “I'll tell you, though I vow you'll be as dumbfounded by the news as I. Gareth ... Holden of Stiles is dead."

  Gareth could scarcely believe what he was hearing. “How?"

  "Holden fell from a horse, or so I was lead to believe."

  For all his faults, Holden was a superior horseman. Gareth shook his head. “Holden was too skilled to simply fall from his mount."

  Tristam shrugged. “It happens."

  "Maybe, but I'd wager all I own that Denmar had a hand in Holden's death,” Gareth said. “The question remains, why? With Holden dead, so dies Denmar's alliance with the house of Stiles."

  "Ah, but Denmar knows an alliance with Stiles wouldn't make him half as powerful as a marriage bond with the kingdom of Vale."

  At the mention of his late father's kingdom, Gareth's entire body went rigid. He knew Nadar bore him no love, but he couldn't believe his own brother would willingly bind himself to Gareth's mortal enemy “Are you saying Denmar has formed some sort of unholy alliance with my brother?"

  "I'm afraid so.” Tristam's face was grim. “According to my spies, Nadar has agreed to a marriage between Denmar and one of your sisters. Stiles, of course, was incensed that Denmar would pledge his troth to another before Holden's body was even cold, but there was nothing he could do about it. There's no law regarding a fiancé's period of mourning."

  "Which of my sisters is Denmar claiming?” Gareth's voice was little more than a harsh rasp in the quiet of the hall.

  "Sonya, I believe.” Tristam's words were soft and filled with pity.

  Gareth closed his eyes. Sonya. The baby. Gareth was several years older than she, but he remembered her as a lively child, always free with her smiles and laughter. Gareth bit the inside of his cheek until his mouth flooded with the raw taste of blood. He'd kill Denmar with his bare hands before he'd allow him to hurt Sonya as he'd hurt Alric and Kiel.

  "We have to stop this marriage, Tristam. I'll die before I let Denmar get my sister in his clutches."

  "I agree the man's a monster, but there's nothing we can do to stop the union.” Tristam threw up his hands in defeat. “Nadar has already made his bargain."

  "Tristam ... there's something you don't understand. Something about Alric.” Taking a deep breath for strength, Gareth spent the next half-hour recounting the truth about his husband.

  He spared no detail, recounting both the evil bargain Denmar had struck with Adela and the torture Denmar had visited upon Alric. Gareth ended his tale with the attack by Winthrop's men, leaving Tristam no doubt as to the extent of Alric's powers.

  "No wonder Denmar wants Alric back.” Tristam set his jaw. “Hearing this makes me more certain of Denmar's plans than ever. The blackguard will use his alliance with Vale to wage war against the combined forces of Kray and Drystan, hoping to fell us both and once again gain control of Alric.” He sighed. “In light of what you've told me about King Winthrop's hatred towards Kray, he'll no doubt join his forces to the cause. Even with Hume's armies backing us, we could find ourselves hard pressed to win."

  "The Creator be my witness, I will stop that marriage from happening, my brother be damned.” Gareth slammed his fist against the table. “This isn't just about war, Tristam. This is about my sister's very life."

  Tristam stayed silent for a moment, then said, “You're older than Nadar, are you not?"

  "By a couple of years, but what has that—” Gareth broke off, following Tristam's line of thought. “It doesn't matter that I'm Nadar's elder. He is Jarric's legitimate heir, while I am only the son of Jarric's mistress. Not even the High Council and King Elwin can go against the rules of our birth."

  "Not so far as inheritance goes, maybe, but there's nothing to stop Elwin from entertaining a petition on your behalf. As Sonya's eldest brother, you have a right to express your dissatisfaction with her marriage contract."

  "But Nadar is still her king. He is also her full-blood brother, while Sonya and I share a bond only through our father's line."

  "It doesn't matter,” Tristam said. “When Jarric left you Lachlan upon his death, he left it to you as his son, meaning he recognized you as one of his heirs. Regardless of the particulars of your birth, Jarric claimed you. The High Council has no choice but to recognize you as a member of Vale's royal family. As the eldest child, your objections carry substantial weight."

  Gareth was afraid to hope, but there was a certain merit to Tristam's plan. Even if the High Council denied his motion to break the betrothal between Denmar and Sonya, it might give him time to think up an alternate scheme. “When are the banns to be read?"

  "Three months. Denmar's only concession to Holden's death was to wait a full twelve weeks to announce his marriage to Sonya.” Tristam smiled. “'Tis only a three week journey from Kray to Banning if one travels north-east through the Zanderwald Plains. I'm certain we can find a messenger competent to make the trek. One of my own soldiers springs to mind."

  "I'll draft the missive myself and we'll send him out at first light.” Gareth paused. “We also need to send a messenger to Stiles."

  "Surely you don't mean to offer your condolences over Holden's death? Not after the way he and his father both disdained you.” Tristam sounded appalled at the thought.

  "Quite the contrary.” Gareth supposed he should feel sorry to hear of Holden's demise—considering he'd almost married the man—but a mild regret that Holden died so young was all Gareth could manage. “I'm going to spin for King Stiles a little story. It involves Denmar and his penchant for murdering anyone who gets in his way."

  "You plan to tell Stiles what Denmar did to Kiel.” It wasn't a question.

  "Yes.” Reliving Kiel's death—even on paper—was a pain Gareth would like nothing better than to avoid, but Stiles had to know the full truth. “With any luck, Stiles will prove smart enough to know Denmar capable of killing Holden same as he killed Kiel. And if I can prove to Stiles that Denmar wanted Holden out of the way so he could marry Sonya..."

  "Then perhaps Stiles would be willing to ally himself with our forces.” Tristam sounded delighted by the prospect. “As far as I'm concerned, the messengers can't travel fast enough."

  "There's a good chance that all our efforts will be for naught, but we've nothing to lose by pleading our case.” Gareth stood. “I'll see to it at once. After that, I'm going to join Alric at Declan's bedside."

  "No doubt he needs your support."

  Gareth nodded. Alric did need his support, and whether he liked it or not, Gareth was going to be with him every step of the way.


  * * * *

  Sweat dripped into Gareth's eyes despite the bracing chill in the air as he blocked Wycaster's thrust and struck the captain's sword with a forward blow of his own. Again and again Gareth put the man through his paces until Wycaster held up his hands and pleaded for a reprieve.

  "Please, my prince, a moment's rest. I beg you.” Wycaster removed his helm and propped himself against the side of the arsenal shed, the sun dappling his sweat-soaked hair with dancing red lights. “I swear I haven't trained this hard since I was a green lad new to King Declan's army."

  Gareth knew he'd been hard on the man, but Wycaster was the only one of Kray's soldiers who evenly matched Gareth's skill with a sword. Gareth had found himself in desperate need of a release from the worry and frustration churning inside him over the past six weeks.

  Six weeks. Gareth re-sheathed his sword with a grimace. Had it only been a month and a half since their return to Kray? To Gareth, it seemed so much longer. One endless, lonely day rolling into the next. Tristam and Maris did their best to be company enough, but it was Alric whom Gareth missed.

  The time they'd had together at Hume—the long walks, the rambling conversations—had given Gareth a glimpse of what life with Alric could be like. He wanted more—much more—especially since the taste of Alric still burned on his lips. The brief kiss they'd shared wasn't near enough to assuage Gareth's newly kindled longing.

  Wycaster pushed himself away from the wall and rounded on the water bucket hanging from the back side of the shed. After taking a hearty gulp, he refilled the ladle and offered it to Gareth.

  The frigid water was a boon to Gareth's parched throat, and he drank deeply before handing it back to Wycaster with much appreciation. “Thank you, though after the savage exercise I put you through, I wouldn't blame you if you'd served me a decent helping of horse piss, instead."

  Wycaster grinned. “I admit the thought crossed my mind, but I understand why you're pushing yourself.” His smile faded. “Prince Alric still refuses to leave the king's side?"

  "The only time he leaves that blasted sickroom is to see to his private needs, and then ‘tis never for more than a few moments.” Gareth sighed. “Alric even bathes in the antechamber of Declan's rooms for fear his father will take a turn while he's gone."

  The worst part for Gareth, though, was Alric's refusal to talk to him. In spite of his boast to stand by his husband's side no matter what, Gareth was rendered powerless by Alric's stoic silence. A vast chasm lay between the two of them, and there wasn't a damn thing Gareth could do to breach the gap.

  At a loss for words, Wycaster changed the subject. “I've sent huntsmen out after the men who abandoned you and Prince Alric the day Winthrop attacked. King Tristam tells me he dealt with Drystan's deserters, but I'm still trying to find the varlets from Kray."

  "'Twill not matter if you do. Alric will never allow us to exact vengeance on his behalf.” A fact Gareth couldn't reconcile himself to. “He'd be furious if he knew Tristam executed the men from Drystan."

  Wycaster shook his head. “You misunderstand me, my lord. ‘Tis not vengeance I seek, but answers."

  Gareth crossed his arms over his chest. “I'm afraid I don't follow you."

  Wycaster stood in silence for a moment, as if taking Gareth's measure. Finally, he said, “How much do you know of King Declan's second marriage?"

  "Enough to know Adela was a cold-hearted bitch."

  Wycaster nodded. “On that, you and I are in perfect agreement. I'm assuming you know, then, how Adela tried to poison the king."

  "Tried and failed."

  "The Creator be praised for that, but I'm wondering how Queen Adela managed to slip from the keep and purchase poison from that old crone without one of the guards seeing her."

  Gareth got Wycaster's meaning. “You're thinking Adela had help from someone inside the keep."

  "Yes, and the duplicity doesn't stop there. Denmar and his allies always seem to be one step ahead of us.” Wycaster cast the ladle back into the water bucket with more force than necessary. “Haven't you wondered how Winthrop's men knew where to find you that day? No one knew the wedding ceremony had been pushed forward save for those inside the castle. By all outside accounts, you and the prince should have had days yet to stay here before setting out for Hume."

  Gareth had asked himself the same questions more times than he could count, but he knew he wouldn't find the answers among the wayward soldiers. For all their gut-twisting cowardice, those men had been just as caught up in Winthrop's maelstrom as Gareth and Alric. “You may as well call your huntsmen home."

  Wycaster blinked as the mid-day sun once again peered from behind a cloud. “You think I'm wrong, then?"

  Gareth shook his head. “I'm certain there's indeed a traitor in our midst. May The Creator have mercy on him when I roust the scoundrel out, but I doubt those soldiers know any more about it than you or I."

  Wycaster was just about to comment when a commotion sounded from the other end of the training yard. Gareth turned to see Maris coming towards them at a full run. She stopped at Gareth's side, one small hand grasping his arm to steady herself, the other braced over her racing heart. “Tristam bade ... me ... fetch you."

  Gareth put his hands on her shoulders, holding her up for fear she'd collapse. “Calm yourself, Maris. Where's Tristam?"

  "Upstairs with Balthazar. King Declan ... he...” Maris's eyes shone with regret. “He's taken a turn."

  * * * *

  Bertrand dabbed tears from his eyes as Father Arden administered the passage rites, but Alric watched in silence, detached from the spectacle by the sure belief that none of this was really happening. He couldn't lose his father. Fate wouldn't be so cruel, even to a cursed beast such as himself.

  The priest's fingers wove the required patterns over Declan's laboring chest. “May The Creator guide and keep you as you travel to the highest realms of Ascenscia, oh great and noble king."

  As if by design, Declan's breathing began to slow. Alric's heart caught in his throat, certain his father was as good as gone. At the last possible second, Declan's cloudy eyes opened and focused on Alric's face. Alric took a step forward only to watch as Declan's eyes once again closed and his breathing stopped all together.

  With no more ceremony than that, Alric's father was dead.

  Balthazar stepped from his place in the corner and pulled the linen sheet over Declan's body. Kneeling beside the bed, he paid his final respects before rising and leaving the chamber.

  Tristam, who'd been sitting off to the side, rose and gave Declan a similar showing before turning back to Alric. “My deepest sympathies, Alric. Please know that, should you need anything, I am at your disposal."

  It was a generous offer coming for a king of Tristam's rank, but Alric could do little more than nod. As Tristam left, Bertrand approached from Alric's left.

  "Majesty, if ‘tis all right by you, I'll see to your father's arrangements. I'll also send a messenger to Hume so your dear sister can learn of her father's passing."

  Majesty. Hearing himself called by Declan's title was such a jest, Alric almost laughed. He was no king, just a little boy playing dress-up with his father's boots. Rather than voice the sentiment, Alric simply looked at Bertrand and said, “As you wish."

  Father Arden came around the death bed to follow Bertrand out. “I'll help you organize Declan's ceremony, Bertrand. ‘Tis the least I can do to honor our good King's memory."

  Bertrand murmured his agreement, but Alric paid him no heed. For one stark moment, he was alone.

  The solitude didn't last. The door burst open and Gareth was at his side.

  "I got up here as fast as I could. Maris tells me Declan has taken—” Gareth broke off as he caught sight of the shrouded form on the bed. “I arrived too late."

  For all his sudden exhaustion, Alric managed a slight shrug. “There's nothing you could have done."

  "I could have been here when it happened.” Gareth's voice took on a tender
quality. “I could have held your hand.” Adding truth to his words, he reached for Alric.

  Alric jumped back as if scalded. Gareth's compassion was too much to take on the heels of Declan's loss. “What are you playing at?"

  The outburst took Gareth by surprise. “I don't know what you mean."

  "Don't you?” Alric made a move to walk past him, but Gareth put out his arm, blocking Alric's exit.

  "Let me pass."

  "No.” Gareth used no force, but his intentions were clear. “I won't let you by until you explain yourself.” He narrowed his eyes. “Just what type of game are you accusing me of playing?"

  "Come now, Gareth. Do you really think me that much a fool? You've been different towards me since the moment you saw my scars. Don't you think I recognize pity when I see it?"

  "I'm sure you do, but Alric...” Gareth faltered, searching for the words. “'Tis not pity I feel for you.” When Alric's snort revealed his disbelief, Gareth took a deep breath. “I admit I was saddened when first I saw your scars, but how did you expect me to feel? I'm your husband. Your welfare is to be my primary concern."

  "A husband in name only, a situation easily remedied now that my father is gone."

  Gareth went still. “What are you saying?"

  Alric swallowed, then gave voice to the thoughts plaguing him since his return to Kray. “We both know the only reason you went through with the marriage was because my father threatened war.” He pointed one finger in the direction of Declan's deathbed. “Now that his threats no longer bear weight, there's nothing holding you here.” Alric locked eyes with Gareth. “Tomorrow I will lay my father to rest. As soon as the last ember fades from his pyre, I'll send a messenger to Banning with a petition for annulment."