“It can’t be that simple,” he said.
“Murder never is,” Sebastian said.
Edward met Sebastian’s gaze and locked onto it. He didn’t like that word, murder. He didn’t like the dishonor it suggested.
“It is not murder,” the witch insisted. “It’s politics. You’re standing within reach of your true birthright. You were born to be king, you were bred for it. The sea brat is common, and will never be more than common. You cannot deny you would make the stronger king.”
Edward heard her words ring true his heart, but how could he murder his own brother in cold blood?
“He is angry. I can see it,” the witch said, as if reading his thoughts. “He will not stand there defenseless if you attack. He will defend himself. He will fight.”
And if he will not? Edward thought, knowing the witch would hear.
“The sea brat has tasted of blood. He will fight. What man who has known the heat of battle will stand unmoved when faced with an enemy charge?”
Looking at his half-brother, Edward could see signs of tension: the hands gripping his sword hilt were white knuckled, his stance was broad and steady, his face set with grim determination. Edward had to agree. He would fight.
Taking two steps forward, Edward raised his sword to ready position.
⇜⊂⊃⊂⊃⊂⊃⇝
Sebastian took an inadvertent step backward, then held his ground, steeling himself for what he knew he must do. In the moments since he had stepped outside the castle walls, his thinking had crystallized.
In the confusion and insanity of his mind since his father’s death, Sebastian had “forgotten” many things, one of which was the vow he had made nearly five years ago: he would not kill or directly cause the death of another human being. There had been no qualifications—no ifs, unlesses, or exceptions. In five days, he had forgotten the sadness and hopeless fear he’d held that such a violent act was the only way to resolve disputes. He had often wondered if killing that sailor on the slave ship was the only way he could have escaped.
Now, with the weight of his sword feeling heavy and foreign against the palm of his hand, it was clear to him that there was always a second option. Maybe it was more risky, or involved preparing for costly sacrifice, but there was always another choice. At this moment, he could see it, and had the strength to choose it.
“I will not fight you,” Sebastian repeated as Edward advanced another step.
“The more fool you should you believe it,” Edward said. “You will draw.”
Sebastian held his tongue. He could think of a dozen reasons that would convince Edward that killing him was a grave mistake, but the only one that counted was one Edward had to discover for himself. It was a test of sorts. If Edward failed, Sebastian’s life was forfeit—that was the awful risk Sebastian chose to take rather than fight his brother.
“You really are cocky bastard,” Edward said. “You expect me to simply bow down and hand you my sword. You don’t think I have the nerve to follow through. I’ve got news for you, brother, you have no power over me.”
Sebastian waited longer, refusing to respond to his brother’s anger. A kind of peace came over him as he waited. Without a doubt, he knew he had chosen the correct path.
Chapter Fifteen
Something in Sebastian’s manner changed. Edward saw it happen. Without moving, the stable brat relaxed, as though deciding Edward was not going to follow through. It incensed him, this failure to be taken seriously. The way no one had ever taken him seriously his entire life.
Scowling, he stalked right up to his half-brother and, bowmen be damned, placed the tip of his sword against his chest, right up against his heart cage. Sebastian did not move, didn’t even blink.
“You don’t think I’ll do it?” he said, grasping his half-brother’s shoulder with his left hand and pushing until he felt the tip enter skin.
Sebastian winced, but still did not move. “I have made my choice. You must make yours.”
“You stole my birthright,” he ground out. “You stole my life! Did you expect me to lie down and die without it?” He moved his sword so the blade rested against Sebastian’s throat, where the slightest move would cut through skin and the stable brat would bleed to death. “I was born to be king of the Bonnie Isles. You’re nothing but a thief! A thief who deserves to die.”
Even as he spoke the words, he heard the lie in them, and Edward knew he could not kill his brother. If he’d been able, he would have done so long before.
His blade dropped slightly, but before he could move away, the demon-witch spoke. “You must kill him, boy. You have no other option. You must kill him. I demand it.”
“You need not obey her,” Sebastian said, his voice calm and quiet despite the blade biting into his skin once more.
“You are mine,” the witch said. “You must.”
“I made a bargain,” Edward said in despair, realizing the demon-witch still had a claim of him. “She can make me king.”
“So can I,” Sebastian whispered. “Your pact with her is void.”
Looking into his brother’s sea-green eyes, Edward saw no guile, no mockery, no treachery. He lowered his sword. “You would abdicate to me?”
Sebastian nodded. “You are worthy, brother. Look to your heart, wherein lies the truth.”
“You fool!” the witch cried. “Don’t believe his lies!”
Edward knew Sebastian was speaking Truth. He would really step down in favor of Edward, and that meant Maudette had not provided the key element used in defeating him. In fact, there had been no defeat.
Edward turned to face the demon. “You can go now.”
She laughed, and the sound sent a chill down Edward’s spine. “Do not think I am dismissed so readily, boy.” She vanished, leaving her horse to shy into Edward’s riderless mount, but there was no doubt in his mind she would be back.
“She’ll be fetching her partner,” he said, resolved that the day was not over yet.
“Your mother,” Sebastian agreed.
Edward realized what he should have known all along: Tawnia was back.
⇜⊂⊃⊂⊃⊂⊃⇝
Tawnia felt Edward’s defection like a sword through her heart. She fell to her knees and howled in frustration and anger. The sound echoed in the small chapel, setting the stained-glass windows vibrating.
“Your golden boy turned traitor,” Maudette said, lounging in a pew that had been empty moments before. “All your carefully laid plans are ashes now.”
Tawnia snarled at Maudette, climbing to her feet and rushing the demon, fingernails extended like claws. Maudette simply disappeared and reappeared behind her, leaning against the broken altar.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” the dark one chided.
“I’m not finished yet,” Tawnia raged. “I’ll lay this island to waste, and leave it for skeletons and crows to haunt.”
“And your boy?”
“If he doesn’t want to fight on my side, he can pay with the rest. How dare he turn against me?”
Maudette chuckled. “He is his father’s son, too.”
“What do you have to laugh about? You lost possession of a soul today.”
“On a technicality,” she conceded. “It was a game well played. But the last move has yet to be made.”
“On whom do you wait?”
“You, Tawnia.”
“There will be nothing left for you to salvage when I’m through,” Tawnia said.
“Show me.”
Tawnia lifted the bowl of burned blood from the broken altar and threw it at the wall, which exploded outward in a shower of blocks and mortar dust to reveal a village street as it settled. Without another word, Tawnia strode for the breach, heading for the main castle gate.
Chuckling, Maudette followed.
⇜⊂⊃⊂⊃⊂⊃⇝
Katrona didn’t remember climbing to her feet, but she found herself staggering through the passages of the convent, heading for the entrance.
Everyw
here she looked, nuns were on their knees, praying, and she recognized where her strength came from. As she passed, each nun rose to her feet and followed. When she stumbled to her knees, two nuns came to bear her up.
Together, they left the convent, heading up the street toward the castle gate.
⇜⊂⊃⊂⊃⊂⊃⇝
Earl Hise spurred his horse forward a few paces, stepping around the two brothers to block their retreat to the gate. “There’s a small matter outstanding,” he said.
“And that would be?” the would-be usurper asked.
“Since I have the two of you close at hand, I’d like to remind you how the crown of the Bonnie Isles was stolen from my father by your grandfather. I think it is time to reclaim it in the Hise name.
“Why you—” the boy began, but the former crown prince held him back.
“Did you think I was helping you from the goodness of my heart, boy?”
“King Philip was a despot and a murderer,” the sea brat said. “Not to mention a pirate. His rule on land brought the kingdom to near ruin and his treachery on the high seas incurred international wrath. If Grandfather Andrew, a lowly Duke of Pelham, had not overthrown him, we might be an English colony right now.”
“Interesting history lesson, boy. But I fail to see its import. I have blood ties to the crown, and when you both are dead, it will fall to me.”
“I would not have taken you for such a fool,” Edward said. “You’re forgetting a few key players—”
“Your deaths are only the start,” Hise said, drawing his sword.
Immediately, every weapon in the tiny mercenary army was drawn, against Hise.
“You dare draw against me?” he exclaimed, turning to the man who had been Emery’s second in command. “It was I who armed you and supplied you for this job.”
“Aye, and we thank you,” Oatfeld said. “But our money is easier earned backing the man who is welcome inside, not the man who must fight his way in. Besides, you had us swear allegiance to him first, and you second.”
“Oh, and now you are all men of honor?” Hise sneered.
Oatfeld shrugged. “Today we are.”
Before anyone could say or do another thing, they felt the earth shaking as though a herd of horses stampeded. The quaking grew harder as everyone looked up to see a dark cloud massing over the village.
⇜⊂⊃⊂⊃⊂⊃⇝
Up on the rampart, Aslynn clutched Adam’s arms, and he held her close as they looked up into the darkened sky. “That’s not like any storm I’ve seen.”
“It’s Tawnia,” Aslynn said, tearing her gaze away from the sky to the street below, where Sebastian, Edward, and his army were looking and pointing down the street.
Behind her, Aslynn heard screams from the crowd of people gathered inside the castle walls. She commiserated with their fear. The black and red cloud seethed and billowed, but she thought she could make out a shape. A face, perhaps. It was not clear enough to her.
On the street, two figures emerged out of the cloud mass. Aslynn recognized Tawnia, and a spike of fear coursed through her. The other had been Edward’s former companion, who could only be the “soul-eater” Meedo had spoken of. As they approached, the mercenary army fell back in the suddenly crowded space, trying to keep their distance from the witches. The vibration increased in intensity, and the panicked horses reared and shied against each other.
In the sudden lull of sound when the vibration ceased, Aslynn could hear a crashing clamor in the village streets behind the witches. It took her moment to realize it was the sound of buildings falling. Then, even that sound ceased, and all that remained was a sibilant hissing emanating from the cloud.
Frantic barking broke the tableau, and Aslynn leaned out over the rampart, looking down to see Jared struggling to hold a wild Artemis. Lady Mari was there, too, looking up at the undulating cloud.
“It’s all right, Jared,” Sebastian said, and Jared let the huge mastiff loose. The dog ran to Sebastian’s side and stood at the ready, calming at the weight of her master’s hand on her head.
“What do you want?” Sebastian called, his voice carrying to all listeners despite the background hissing.
“You. Dead,” the witch Tawnia responded, flicking her wrist casually at a building off to one side of the gateway square. It crumbled, scattering the mercenaries yet again. Some of them broke ranks and bolted down alleys, fleeing the scene, but most stood their ground with the two princes.
“Seems to be a popular theme today,” Sebastian said, his tone light.
“But I will succeed where others have failed.” She clearly meant Edward, who stood up straight.
“I did not fail my goal, Mother.”
“Perhaps not, but you backed into it, like a crab into a trap. I had not thought to raise a coward or a fool for a son, but it seems I have raised both. The stable brat will not let you rule this kingdom.”
“You’re wrong,” Edward said. “I will rule.”
“Why not be certain of it, my son. Join me, and together we will bring this kingdom to its knees. Mother and beloved son.”
“Join you?” Edward said in disbelief. “My beloved mother? The same mother who let me bargain with my immortal soul for the sake of a circle of gold and a padded seat? The same mother who would have me kill a man of my own blood? If I am a fool, at least I am an honorable one.”
The witch hissed in fury, but the brothers faced her, shoulder to shoulder, with the remaining mercenaries ranged behind them.
Hise was nowhere to be seen.
Tawnia raised her hands. “Let your honor serve you when you are dead!” she said with a growl.
“No!”
All heads turned to see Katrona standing in an alleyway, a small army of nuns behind her. “Mother, you’ll not harm them.”
Tawnia sighed, the sound a mockery of parental patience. “The traitor has deigned to join the fray. Note then, Maudette, how all hands are raised against me. See how my own flesh and blood stand with my enemies. Yet I will not be defeated!”
⇜⊂⊃⊂⊃⊂⊃⇝
Katrona watched as her mother’s little speech turned into raging; she felt buildings crumble, heard the hissing in the red-black cloud. The cloud. Katrona lifted her gaze upward, knowing even as she did so what she would see. A face, dark and shadowy, loomed there in the billowing mass, a reflection of her mother’s face. Dark arms reached out, hovering above her. Katrona could see marionette strings stretching down, the twitching fingers mimicking Tawnia’s movements below.
“Oh, Mother,” Katrona said. “Can’t you see how it controls you?”
“Nothing controls me. I create my own destiny!”
“Of course you do. You hate, and look at the results of that hate. Look how it consumes you. You rage, and look how it lays waste to everything you once held dear. You fear, and look how—”
“I fear nothing!” Tawnia screamed, and Katrona heard more buildings crumble.
“Where is the woman I loved as my mother?” Katrona asked, holding her arms open in a welcoming gesture. “If she only knew she could still come home.”
Katrona dropped to her knees, head tipped up, arms open wide. The other nuns followed suit, heedless of the masonry falling behind them.
⇜⊂⊃⊂⊃⊂⊃⇝
In the courtyard behind the castle walls, Meedo stumbled through the crowd, feeling the fear the presence of the terrible cloud beyond the gate generated. No one in here knew what was going on outside. The strangeness of what they could see confused them and struck a chord of terror in their hearts.
Meedo knew the witch Tawnia and her cohort, the soul-eater, would feed on that fear, using it to help their power grow. He knew what needed to be done to counteract it, but he wasn’t sure he was strong enough. It was something he had not done before, a great challenge even for someone with a sound body. He had to trust that he could do it in the condition he was in.
Searching through the crowd, he found a young couple clinging to each other,
and through his special gift, he saw the strands of their love for each other. With his mind’s touch, he grasped the loose ends of their love and brought them together with the strands of another couple he spotted. As he made his way to the gate he gathered more and more strands together, finding the love of children, of parents, and grandparents, husbands and wives, of students and teachers. All this love he pulled to him, so that once he was up on the rampart, standing beside Princess Aslynn, he could look behind him and see hundreds of glowing strands gathered together in him. He turned to look down at the scene below.
The youngest princess was there, along with the Sisters of Charity, and Meedo could see the love streaming out from them. The witch Tawnia railed at them, but her words could not break their strength.
“We love you, Mother,” Princess Katrona said. “Come home.”
Prince Edward spoke, too. “Yes, Mother. Come home.” He hesitated, as though searching for just the right words. He seemed to settle for the simple, “I love you.”
Meedo staggered, feeling the strain of holding all the positive energy within him. He was vaguely aware of Princess Aslynn and her beloved husband helping him stand. Using the last of his strength, he fashioned an arrow out of the light he had gathered and cast it down upon the witch.
She looked up at him and screamed, a wordless shout of rage. Then, “Master! Help me destroy my enemies!”
Princess Katrona pointed up at the seething cloud. “Look, Mother. See your master, your devil, for what it is. It is your rage, your hate, and your fear. It is you. Let it go. Let us love you. Let us bring you home.”
⇜⊂⊃⊂⊃⊂⊃⇝
Aslynn watched what was happening, heard the words her sister spoke, and tried very hard to include her own thoughts and words of love. But she didn’t know if she could.
As her father’s queen, Tawnia had never had a kind word for Aslynn, had always shown preference for her own children, encouraging them to mimic her belittling attitude toward the king’s oldest child.
To Make a King Page 13