The Warlock

by Warlock (lit)

  Frowning, she studied the accumulated wealth of the kingdom, trying to recall the scene as it had been that day when she’d arrived. When she was fairly certain she had a good picture of that which had remained in the room, she tried to calculate the number of bags and the amount each might have held. Moving around the room, she made a mental note of the things she recalled as opposed to the things she didn’t remember seeing.

  On her second circuit of the room an object caught her attention that rooted her to the spot. Her heart skipped a beat. Without thinking, she reached for the small pendant and picked it up.

  It had been her mother’s. As hazy as her memory was, she recalled her father telling her the story of the pendant’s history when he had given it to her. The pendant had been a wedding gift from her grandfather to her grandmother and meant to be passed down from daughter to daughter.

  Her uncle had told her the pendant had been buried with her father.

  What else had he lied to her about if he would lie about something that was so insignificant to him? It was of no great value. The beauty of the pendant lay in the cunning workmanship.

  Feeling a lump form in her throat for the mother she couldn’t even remember, Rhiannon carefully set the pendant down again and cleared her throat. She saw when she glanced at the warlock that he was watching her. “I can not say for certain because they had ransacked the room already when I arrived, but … I do not think it has all been recovered. There were six men with him. Each carried two bags filled quite full, and my uncle, as well. The gold is heavy, and would have been awkward to carry and to hide, but jewels would have been another matter.”

  Daigon’s lips tightened. Instead of commenting, however, he merely nodded, grasped her elbow and escorted her out once more. When he’d secured the room, he led her toward the receiving room. Rhiannon’s uneasiness increased with each step, becoming full blown fear long before they reached the chamber. “I am only guessing,” she said a little breathlessly, partly because her stride was so much shorter than his and she was having to race to keep up with him and partly from fear. “I was not in my uncle’s confidence and certainly not allowed to go into the treasure chamber. It might well all be there.”

  “And it might not,” Daigon said grimly.

  Rhiannon knew she was white faced with fear by the time he settled her in a chair near the throne for the simple reason that she was feeling distinctly lightheaded. It took all she could do to concentrate on not embarrassing herself further by fainting and sliding to the floor, but she heard Daigon’s sharp command that Captain Bryon be sent for. Nausea washed through her, adding to her distress. She hadn’t considered that someone’s life besides her own might hang in the balance.

  Captain Bryon looked distinctly uneasy when he arrived.

  “You sent for me, Sire?”

  “Princess Rhiannon tells me that there are jewels missing.”

  Rhiannon glanced at Daigon sharply at that, for she’d said nothing of the kind, merely that there was the possibility that some of the jewels were missing. When she glanced at the captain she saw that his face was no doubt as white as her own. His expression was carefully guarded but she felt accused because she felt as if she’d betrayed him. She might have leapt to her feet then except that Daigon’s hand came down over hers, pressing her hand tightly into the armrest of the chair in a silent command to remain seated.

  “I took what we found, Sire--all that they carried and returned it all to you. I swear it! Ask your own men if you do not believe me! We searched everyone, including Gerard.”

  “A few jewels would have been easy enough to conceal,” Daigon said pensively.

  Captain Bryon’s face reddened. “I am no thief to take that which does not belong to me!”

  Daigon’s eyes narrowed at the outburst, but instead of responding directly to Captain Bryon, he sent a messenger to bring the rest of the party before him. When they had assembled, Rhiannon was almost as frightened as they were, certain he was about to order them all summarily executed, and only because she had not adequately considered the consequences of trying to be as truthful as possible--to protect her own hide.

  When Daigon had finished questioning all of the men, he settled back in his throne, studying them thoughtfully. “You have failed me,” he said finally. “Your primary objective was to see to it that Gerard did not carry away what he would need to finance an army. You will try again. If you catch him, bring him back. If not, you are to search their trail for where they might have hidden the jewels.”

  The men glanced at each other in dismay. “Gerard and his men have had more than enough time to cross the border, Sire,” Captain Bryon said finally.

  “Then you will have to cross it, as well. Alternately, you may want to consider stationing men to watch them return. If they did hide the jewels and have not had the time to retrieve them, then they will want to do so as quickly as possible, don’t you think?”

  Captain Bryon looked shaken. He merely nodded, however, and took his leave.

  Rhiannon expelled a relieved breath, but she was still so shaken from the incident that it took an effort to fight her emotions into abeyance. “Thank you, my lord,” she managed finally.

  His dark brows rose.

  She bit her lip. “I would not like to think that I had cost those men their lives.”

  His face hardened. “This was a quest for the truth. If I had found that they had lied to me, their own lies would have cost them their lives, not your suppositions.”

  Rhiannon swallowed with an effort. “All the same....” Gerard, she realized abruptly, would have had them flayed alive if he’d even suspected they might have lied to him. As relieved as she was that Daigon had shown restraint, she realized she should have considered her answer to Daigon’s question more carefully. A thought occurred to her just then. “You knew it was not all there.”

  “Yes.”

  She felt her color fluctuate. “Did I pass the test?” she asked stiffly.

  “You surprised me,” he responded.

  It wasn’t until Rhiannon had returned to the apartments that she realized he hadn’t actually answered her question.

  Chapter Seven

  Rhiannon found that she was still in a state of nerves when she reached the apartments once more. Daigon had not condemned the men to death for failing him, but the realization that he might have was enough to throw her in a state of nerves and she had no way of knowing if they had merely been given a reprieve. She knew very well what her uncle would have done, that there would not even have been a reprieve, a chance to redeem themselves, but that didn’t make her feel one whit better.

  It would almost have been a relief if Daigon had been of the same ilk as her uncle. At least then she would have known what to expect. As it was he had kept her in a constant state of dread and hope from the moment he had appeared at the gates of Aradan Castle and she wasn’t certain she could endure a great deal of hovering on the brink of disaster without becoming a raving lunatic.

  After pacing the room for a time trying to ignore the chatter of her ladies, she sent them away. The moment they left the room, the manacles reappeared on her wrists and she stared at them blankly, not nearly as surprised and upset by their appearance as before, but confused that they appeared at any time she found herself alone in the King’s apartments.

  It was some sort of spell, she realized, and not actual manacles of the physical world, but she couldn’t seem to think what sort of spell would make them appear only when she was alone.

  After a moment, her thoughts turned from the manacles to the problem that had so disturbed her.

  The quiet, she discovered, did not aid contemplation as she’d hoped.

  All she could think was that she deeply regretted that she hadn’t simply struck off behind her uncle, whatever his orders. She could not have hoped to keep up on foot, but she would have been miles from the castle by now--alone in a frightening wilderness, of course, but the distant threat of wild animals, hunger a
nd thirst, did not seem nearly as unnerving as the game of cat and mouse the warlock was playing with her.

  Grudgingly, she admitted that he had every reason to distrust her and none to trust. She was the daughter of his father’s killer as far as he knew, the niece of the king he had deposed. If their positions had been reversed, she would not have trusted him either. She would have expected treachery of some kind behind every word and gesture.

  It did not help her that she could see to realize that, except to build a growing sense of futility.

  Dismissing that thought for the moment, she began to try to think where she might go if she could escape. There seemed little point in trying to think of a way to do so unless she had somewhere to go.

  King Linea popped into her mind. Shuddering, she dismissed the possibility, but her mind kept going back to that possibility over and over. As revolting as she found the notion of turning herself over to him, she knew he was the only one of all of her suitors who had had more interest in her person than her dowry. He was in desperate need of an heir and she was young, healthy, and a princess.

  She set that aside. It was a possibility--not a particularly pleasant one, but a place that she might go to seek shelter. His kingdom was many days’ ride and across the sea of Midae, and she had no idea what length of time it would take to walk such a distance, but she began to think she might catch a ride with travelers going that way. She might prevail upon some fisherman to carry her across the sea.

  Would her uncle have gone there? It seemed probable. Across the sea, he would be able to raise an army with the jewels he’d stolen. Those who ruled the kingdoms around Aradan were either his enemies or simply indifferent to Gerard, certainly not allies and it seemed doubtful he would be so misguided as to go to any of them.

  He would not be pleased that she had followed. More likely, he would be furious, particularly if he was hoping for help from King Linea.

  She decided she didn’t care. He wouldn’t dare do anything to her for fear of displeasing King Linea.

  Escape was the problem. In time, Daigon might cease to have her watched so closely, but she did not want to wait for some distant possibility that might never materialize. There had to be a way around the guards.

  It occurred to her in a blinding flash of insight that the tunnels below the castle might be more significant than she’d previously considered. The castle was centuries old. It had weathered many tumultuous reigns and there could be little doubt that the original ruler had had his hands full or he would not have seen the need for a subterranean escape route. And if he had seen that need, then he would almost certainly have devised some way to reach it if he found himself cornered in his keep.

  Rhiannon stopped pacing and looked around at the walls. As far as she knew, this suite of rooms had always been used as the royal chambers. That didn’t necessarily mean that it always had been, but there was at least a chance that there were hidden doors leading to secret passageways--for that matter, the very fact that someone had managed to murder Daigon’s parents while they slept seemed to indicate that there was a way into the suite besides the corridor.

  The warlock might know. She knew of no way to prevent him, however, and she decided to try anyway. If she found the secret way, and if she managed to do so without him discovering that she had, then she might have a chance to escape.

  There were a lot more ifs, but if she allowed herself to dwell on them she would loose her nerve.

  She spent days searching every inch of every wall and even the floor for signs of a trap door. A week passed and hope began to dim. If there was a secret passage it had begun to seem that she could search forever without finding it.

  The warlock had begun to watch her broodingly. She didn’t know if that was because he suspected, because he knew what she was up to, or if it was merely because he expected treachery from her. She slept fitfully at night if at all. She’d begun to have dreams she didn’t entirely understand--or perhaps didn’t want to understand. In those dreams Daigon touched her in ways that stirred the fire in her blood as he had the day he had fondled her breasts and kissed them until she’d felt faint. She often woke damp and excruciatingly sensitive, as if she had a fever of the blood, sometimes with the certainty that Daigon was actually there. At others, she knew that she was dreaming and almost allowed herself to follow where he led her to discover what it was she ached for.

  The dreams made her more self-conscious in his presence, so that even though she became accustomed to him on one level, on another she only became more leery. She more than half suspected he had had some hand in the dreams, that he’d placed some sort of spell on her, but he never indicated such a thing by word or deed. He always behaved toward her with utmost courtesy, but with a coolness that not only implied that he truly had no interest in her as a woman, but also underscored his distrust.

  Rhiannon was actually glad of it. If he had seemed to unbend toward her, if he had set out to try to charm her, she wasn’t confident she would have been able to resist. She was as drawn to him as she was distrustful of him and she was fairly certain that she could not trust herself to offer any resistance if he kissed her like that again.

  Not that resistance had been a possibility for her.

  And truthfully, she wasn’t even certain any of it had happened anymore. He had not seemed the least affected by it, and she found it very hard to accept that he could have had such an impact on her without experiencing something himself.

  It made it worse that she suspected she was fantasizing about him. Whether he had offered her any harm or not, he was still her enemy, most likely would always be. She could not change who she was, or whom he thought she was, and he wasn’t likely to believe her if she said she was not the daughter of his parents’ murderer. The worst thing she could possibly do would be to fall for a man who hated her and saw her only as a means to exact the revenge that had been denied him upon her father’s death.

  Those thoughts drove her to renew her search.

  She found the door almost by accident. It hadn’t occurred to her before to check the great fireplace, more because she knew that would be the worst possible place for a secret door than any other logic. She’d exhausted every other possibility, however, and finally began to go over the ornate carvings on the fireplace surround and mantel piece. She bumped the latch with her knee as she stretched upward to check the carvings above the mantel. Silently, the door slid open, as if it had been well maintained--which it no doubt had since her uncle was obviously very familiar with the castle’s secret passages.

  The whisper of sound alerted her just as a chilling breeze blew across her skin. Feeling the hair at the base of her skull prickle, Rhiannon leapt back. The opening was barely wide enough for a man to squeeze through sideways. It yawned into a blackness so profound it seemed almost solid.

  She stared at the opening, feeling nothing that she’d expected to feel, feeling fear more than anything else, as if, having found it, she no longer had an option but to try it. After a moment, she examined the fire place surround for the trigger. Even knowing the general area to look it took her nearly ten minutes to locate it and close the door. By the time she had closed it, she was trembling with reaction. Weak in the knees, she moved to the sofa nearby and sank down on it, trying to decide what she should do.

  She could escape.

  Should she though?

  Would she be better off? Or worse?

  If she was caught in the attempt she would almost certainly be worse off.

  Daigon, as he so often did, simply appeared while she was arguing her mental debate. Rhiannon nearly jumped out of her skin when she looked up to discover him watching her. Guilt, no doubt, was written all over her face. His brows descended, his eyes narrowing speculatively.

  “Now what, I wonder, have you been up to?”

  Rhiannon blinked several times, trying to think up a believable lie. Nothing came to mind. “Nothing.”

  A hint of amusement entered his eyes. “Why
, I wonder, don’t I believe that?”

  Rhiannon reddened. “I don’t know,” she said stiffly. “Because you don’t trust me?”

  “Have I reason to distrust you?”

  Rhiannon looked down at her hands. “No. Did you want something?” she added, trying to change the subject. She got to her feet abruptly, unable to sit still under that penetrating stare any longer.

  Daigon frowned. He ignored the question. She could not have more blatantly changed the subject if she had tried. Moreover, he had not really had a reason for coming beyond the desire to see her and he certainly had no intention of allowing her to know that.

  Uneasiness had set off alarms but he could not quite pinpoint the source beyond Rhiannon’s guilty expression and nervousness. He finally decided that she had done nothing--yet. She was planning something and he was fairly certain it wouldn’t be something he would like.

  Frustration surfaced as he watched her nervous pacing. He was becoming obsessed with her. If he had not known better, he would have suspected that she had placed some spell upon him. He did know better, though. He had not had to consult his own magic for that answer because as powerful as her affect upon him was he knew the difference between magic and the natural.

  It was incomprehensible to him that he could desire the seed of the murderer of his parents, a woman whom he would not have trusted even if that were not so, for she was the niece of the man whose throne he had taken even if not for the other. His dark side toyed with his mind, though, encouraging him to slake his lust, to consider it revenge, to consider it a means of meeting out his own brand of justice. His rational side argued that he was only seeking excuses to do what he wanted to do and that there was danger in it. He could not take what he desired without opening a door to her that he might not be willing, or able, to close once opened because he also found himself wanting to believe she was exactly as she seemed--an innocent caught in the webs of others.