The Crown of Stones: Magic-Scars

by C. L. Schneider

  Already running for the door, Patrice called, “Yes, Your Grace,” on her way out.

  “She’s what?” I looked at Jillyan. “Did you say Lirih is blind?”

  “You didn’t know?” Jillyan shook her head at my ignorance. “Did you not hear me? Take off your clothes.”

  “This isn’t going to work.” I slipped off my Kaelish boots and sword belt. Jillyan opened a trunk near the bed and threw them in. “Guidon knows me,” I said, unbuckling my coat and tossing it to her. I pulled my shirt off over my head and tossed it, too. “All he has to do is get one good look at my face, or the black in my hair. I’ve got magic-scars.”

  Jillyan stopped and stared at me. Her eyes roamed over the colored pattern that flowed off my left shoulder to curl over the muscles on my arm. She spun me around and caressed the streaks that continued down my back. “Yes,” she said with clear praise. “So you do.”

  “I don’t look like your other slaves.”

  “Thank the gods,” she breathed. Jillyan shook her head, refocusing. “But you will in this.” Jillyan reached behind her pillow and pulled out a black cowl. Fashioned to cover the entire head and both shoulders, it resembled an executioner’s hood. Holes had been cut for the mouth, nose, and eyes. A silver buckle had been sewn on to keep the material fastened tightly about the neck.

  I raised my eyes from the hood to her sober expression. “You make them wear this?”

  “I might sleep with my slaves, Ian, but that doesn’t mean I want to look at them.”

  “Can’t I have my sword back instead?”

  “If Guidon finds out you’re here, you’ll never make it out of the castle. This is the best chance you have of staying alive.” Jillyan slipped the hood over my head. “Now, stop arguing and give me your pants.”

  EIGHTEEN

  There were too many rules.

  Keep your reactions minimal. Don’t make noise. Don’t touch without a command. Don’t stop touching without a command. And most importantly, don’t finish first. How Jillyan expected me to follow even one of them I had no idea. With her sumptuous body bouncing and gyrating on top of me, I was aching to take hold of her. I wanted to feel her skin, her lips. I was dying to roll her over and hammer her into the bed as feverishly as she was riding me.

  Instead, I had to lie still and impassive as Jillyan used me, while her husband (a man who had threatened to kill me more than once) strolled about the room.

  “I see you’ve missed me,” Guidon said. He went over to the chairs Jillyan and I had previously occupied. Unconsciously, he put mine back in the right spot.

  “You weren’t gone long enough to miss,” Jillyan replied. “Were you that anxious to return to your den of depravity?”

  “Ha! You dare judge me, when that’s at least your fourth cock of the day?”

  “Perhaps,” she said, slightly out of breath. “But my taste is far less adventurous than yours, My Lord. And I sate my needs in private with one man at a time. Not with a sheep or a goat, or whatever else you keep tied up in your chamber.”

  “Oh,” he snickered, “how I do love your wit, dear wife. I sincerely hope it never dulls, or you might learn firsthand what’s tied up in my chamber.”

  “I was wrong.” Jillyan threw him a smile. “I have missed you.”

  Guidon laughed again. “I saw no reason to linger at Darkhorne.” He came closer. The curtains made his image fuzzy and indistinct. “Your brother was too busy to entertain. Reth’s disappearance has left him without a guarantee of any magical help, so he’s been forced to reformulate his entire invasion plan.”

  “I can see where he might be preoccupied.” Jillyan grabbed my hands and placed them on her hips. “Harder,” she commanded. As I complied, she glanced at Guidon. “Still no news on Reth?”

  “Nothing. Draken claims the freak is still alive. That he’s holed up somewhere, working on some new way to repair the crown. Frankly, I hope he never comes back. He slinks around with his blotched-up skin and crazy eyes. Can you believe his dirty band of witches will go to war with the King’s army, but my men are relegated to ferreting out his fucking reject runaways and apprehending ungrateful, malcontent peasants?” Guidon grumbled something I couldn’t hear. “The time and men it’s cost me is bad enough. But that Draken has put his pet Shinree above me is completely unacceptable.”

  “I’m not sure why he has you bothering with the villagers. It’s not uncommon for the weak hearted to flee under a harsh reign. That doesn’t mean they plot against him. In fact, it’s likely they’re in hiding.”

  “Then the scared little cunts better stay hidden, because if I catch them, I will painfully explain how much their fear has cost the realm of Kael.”

  Roughly, Jillyan gripped my jaw. “Did you hear me slave? I said, harder.” She let me go with a grunt of annoyance and started rocking. Leaning down, moving back and forth, she picked up speed. Each time her nipples came within reach of my mouth, my grip on her tightened.

  She moved faster.

  I wanted Guidon to go.

  “A seamstress from Langor will be arriving next week,” he said. “She’s coming to make you a new gown.”

  “How thoughtful,” Jillyan breathed. There was clear distraction in her voice now. “Is there an occasion?”

  “Next month we’ll be hosting a representative from Arulla. Aylagar’s son.”

  Son? I thought. I definitely didn’t remember that.

  Jillyan echoed my confusion. “She had a son?”

  “Are you that surprised? It was obvious the little tramp wasn’t a virgin before she married Raynan Arcana. Not with the way she carried on with her soldiers. It seems, however, that her brat failed to inherit any of his mother’s intelligence, as he’s come to represent the foolish half of the Arullan government—the one that declined to ally with Langor. Your brother expects us to entertain the heathen and win him over. Personally, I think it would be far less work to simply kill them all.”

  “Well, if he is indeed a heathen, dear husband, you’ll bond quite well.”

  I missed Guidon’s response. I was too far gone now to hear anything but the sounds of us; her body slapping against mine, the slight gasping of her quickening breath, the blood coursing through my veins, the grinding of my teeth as I crushed them together in a futile attempt to hide how badly I wanted to explode.

  Guidon inched up the side of the bed. “This one’s more energetic than most.”

  Jillyan’s body tensed. Her eyes on me were full of warning, but I was past listening. “Possibly, I gave him too much of the elixir,” she replied, quivering and raspy. “And I’m a bit late with his Kayn’l.”

  “Well, I’m sure you’ll enjoy your oversight.” His footsteps receded as he stepped away. “Just try not to be late for dinner as well.”

  Guidon left the room. I yanked off the hood as I sat up and we went after each other. Our bodies collided. Our hands touched everything. Her gorgeous lips consumed mine. The attentions of her tongue as she lapped at my neck and shoulders, biting at my nipples, were provocative and spirited.

  Slipping out of her, I took my turn. I tasted her skin, from neck to stomach. I went lower, and spent more than a moment enjoying the swell between her legs.

  “You,” she laughed breathlessly, “are definitely not lacking.”

  I sat up. “So, was this all some elaborate scheme to get me in your bed?”

  Joining me, she laughed. Her arms came around me. “Would you care if it was?”

  “At the moment? Not in the least.”

  Jillyan kissed me then, but I had other plans. Breaking from the embrace, I turned her around. I pressed her down onto her stomach, and Jillyan stretched out across the bed in the same manner as she had a short while ago on the table. Her legs and arms were slick with sweat. Her hair was a dark, shimmering blanket. I brushed it out of the way to reveal the stunning curves of her backside. Taking a moment, I admired the view; from the gentle hollow of her lower back, to the upward slope of smooth, firm flesh, t
o where it flowed downward again into the tight valley between her thighs.

  I started at the bottom.

  Caressing up, traveling the length of Jillyan’s healthy body, I stroked her hips, her sides, and the rounded edge of her breasts. Continuing over her shoulders, stroking her arms, I leaned down, reaching until our hands aligned. She had long, graceful fingers. I clasped them in mine as I kissed the nape of her neck. The smell of the oil was strong at the base of her hair. I breathed it in a moment before I lifted off her and sat back.

  I gripped her hips and gently lifted Jillyan up onto her hands and knees. She backed toward me. It was a clear invitation. And I took it. I shoved into her, rigid as all hell, and Jillyan responded with a winded scream of delight. Thinking fast (and more clearly than me), she pulled the pillows close to muffle the sounds coming out of her. Seizing the covers for leverage, visibly relishing in the way I thrust into her, Jillyan pushed back, meeting my brisk rhythm, endeavoring to match my vigor.

  The woman was tireless. Unrelenting. The danger I was in, with her husband in the castle, didn’t even enter my mind. Nothing did. Jillyan’s confident sensuality and exuberance was the perfect diversion.

  Still immersed in her warm succulence, I gathered a measure of her lengthy hair in my hand, used it like a rope, and pulled Jillyan with me as I sat back on my heels. My hands came around and seized her ample breasts. Hers reached behind and clutched the backs of my thighs. Holding her, delivering kisses up and down her neck, I slowed myself down. I shoved up deep into Jillyan, leisurely and deliberately

  Nuzzling against her ear, I whispered, “Go on. The reins are all yours.”

  She kept it easy-going at first. I took her direction as she shifted; trying different angles, adjusting the pace. Then, when the tip of me hit the end of her in the exact, perfect spot, Jillyan moved quicker. Speed turned to resolve and seconds later she was working me with unabashed determination. Hands kneading, fingers digging, her tattered breathing devolved into ragged gasps.

  I let out one of my own as Jillyan’s inner muscles clenched tight around my cock.

  Her walls throbbed and pulsed. She sucked in a breath; savoring it.

  The air escaped her with a shudder.

  I let her have a moment. Then I slammed Jillyan face first onto the bed and pumped out two years’ worth of frustration and need deep inside her.

  “It’s getting late.” I gave a kiss to Jillyan’s shoulder and scooted off the bed. “Lirih should be awake. And if you don’t hurry, you’ll miss dinner.”

  “Actually, I’m already quite satisfied.” Jillyan pulled the covers up and nestled down inside them. “At the end of my corridor, take the juncture to your right. Patrice’s room is the fifth door on the left. Don’t forget your helmet. Perhaps you can wear it next time…instead of the hood.”

  “You think there’s going to be a next time?”

  She gave me a lazy grin. “Most definitely.”

  Smiling to myself, I retrieved my set of Kaelish clothes from the trunk. I slipped on my trousers and sat back down on the edge of the bed to put my boots on. “Do you think it will work? What you told me about the crown?”

  “It will work.” Jillyan stretched a leg out of the blankets and rubbed her foot across my bare back. “When it does you can thank me. Or,” she sat up, slid across the bed and wrapped her legs around my waist. “You can thank me now.”

  The promise in her voice got my pulse going. “I can’t. I’ve been here too long already.” I tried to put my shirt on, but her hands were in the way. “Jillyan…”

  “It looks like you were inked. Like they do in Arulla.” Gently, she traced the edges of the stained skin on my shoulder. “Have you seen much of their work? Some of the images their people wear are amazing.” The dark, winding streaks extended down my arm. Black gave way to red; and she followed them. “It’s beautiful. But I suppose you don’t see that.”

  “What I see is the outline of my father’s hand when he pushed the magic of the Crown of Stones down inside me. I see where it bled out and sunk in.” I glanced at her. “It’s still there. I can’t feel it because of the Kayn’l. But it’s there.”

  “You’re afraid of looking like him.”

  “Yes.”

  She fingered the dark strands of hair that framed my face, ruffling them and mixing them with the white. “They’re just scars, Ian.”

  “They’re more than that. They’re the beginning of something.”

  “Of what?”

  “I’m not sure. But when my father played host to the crown’s magic, whatever it did to his skin, wasn’t just on the outside. I can remember seeing the auras squirming and crawling inside him. His body radiated with energy. He was barely a man.”

  “Your father carried the crown’s entire well of power inside for a long time. He abused it. Perhaps, it did the same to him.”

  “He said the crown could make us as we once were.” I gestured at the discoloration on my arm. “Did he mean like this? Like him?”

  “There are ancient texts that talk of a great change amongst your people. Whether it was physical, or simply an altering of their way of life, though, is unclear.”

  “Did these texts mention the crown?”

  “Yes. But, Ian, these are some of the oldest Shinree writings ever found. They’re torn, faded. Incomplete. Entire entries are missing. Some of the runes we couldn’t even identify.”

  “I’d like to take a look at them if I could.”

  “They aren’t here. I had Malaq take my collection to Kabri and put it in hiding. Since we’re living with the results of the last time Jem Reth got his hands on something pulled from the ruins of the old empire, I didn’t want to take the chance of him discovering anything new that might bolster his powers. Ask Malaq.” She planted a kiss on the side of my neck. “He’ll give you access.” Withdrawing her legs, Jillyan moved off the other side of the bed. She removed a silver gown from one of her many dressers, then retreated behind a carved wooden screen at the far end of the room.

  I slipped my shirt over my head and fastened on my sword belt. By the time I got my helmet on I heard splashing behind the screen. I toyed with waiting for her to get cleaned up and dressed so we could say goodbye. But the last few hours had been fun. I didn’t see a reason to spoil it with promises neither of us planned on keeping.

  Quietly, with a hand on my sword to keep it from rattling, I crossed the chamber and left. I jogged down the corridor. There were no doors. It was long, empty, and quiet.

  More relaxed than I’d been in a long time, my mind was on getting back to the camp and hatching a plan to rescue Jarryd. Even if he hadn’t been willing to risk it himself, Malaq had to know a way in.

  I reached the end of the hall. Thinking only of being gone, I took the fork to the right at a brisk pace—and ran smack into a squad of overzealous, castle guards.

  “Stay where you stand,” one of them bellowed. “By order of King Guidon, you are under arrest.”

  I drew my sword. It was one against twenty. I still had a chance.

  Twenty more ran down the corridor behind me, and I sighed. So much for Jillyan’s hiding place.

  NINETEEN

  Blood dripped from my mouth and about a dozen other places. I was upright, chained to a wall at my wrists and ankles, arms spread, barefoot and bare-chested, with a mountain range of lumps on my head. There was a stinging pull in my chest when I breathed, and something was very wrong with my left shoulder. At least one tooth was broken, possibly two; their fragments were in the lake of red on the floor.

  On the upside, I wasn’t in a dark, reeking, cold dungeon like I expected. The room was warm, well-lit, and smelling of herbs. The ceiling was high. The stone floor was covered in a swirling pattern of painted tiles. Fire raged in a nearby hearth, as well as several large braziers. Somewhere, out of view, musicians were playing a lively tune. There were fountains of wine, luxurious couches, brightly colored pillows all over the floor, tables teeming with food, and so many
naked people having sex that the room seemed alive with the sounds of their breathing.

  At the center of it all was King Guidon Roarke. Lounging shirtless atop a round, overstuffed bed, he had a bottle in one hand, a knife in the other, and a lascivious grin on his elongated face. He also had a blonde between his legs. Both men and women were sprawled on the floor in a ring around his bed. Covered only by the chains around their necks and the bruises on their bodies, they showed no noticeable reaction to what was going on around them.

  This isn’t Kayn’l, I decided. For one thing, they weren’t all Shinree. Even the ones that were lacked the usual, vacant, expression. It was more like a blissful, fuzzy, inebriated gaze.

  From what I recalled of Guidon’s errant character, the garish spectacle was right on point. His flagrant flaunting of it (now that he was King) didn’t surprise me either. From my first visit, the halls of the castle had whispered the tales of Prince Guidon’s depravity. And duplicity. While there had been no outright proof, I’d always believed Guidon had a hand in the brutal Langorian raid that killed his father, King Sarin.

  Noticing me stirring, Guidon corked his bottle and tossed it. He knocked the blonde off him with a heavy hand and shooed the others away from the bed. Getting up, he made an irked, hurried gesture, and the doe-eyed Kaelish girl who’d been slurping on his cock yanked up his breeches and fastened them shut. She buckled a sheath onto his right leg and he slid his knife in.

  Crossing the room, climbing over the panting, writhing bodies in various contorted positions on the floor, Guidon’s hands lingered on their flesh. But his eyes were on me. He sidled up close. Raking fingers through his oiled, yellow curls, his grin, as he spoke, couldn’t have been any wider. “This could quite possibly be the best day ever. Not only do I discover that Ian Troy is still alive, but you’re here. Here,” Guidon squealed, “slinking around my house, fucking my wife.” He let out a hoot and clapped his hands.

  The sound pierced my aching head. “How did you know?” I winced.

  “That it was you? I didn’t. But Jillyan was enjoying herself far too much to be getting it from one of her usual, mangy house-pets. When they dragged you in here and threw you at my feet, I admit, I was positively giddy.” He clapped again. “Even better, Jillyan tells me you have no magic. You’re completely defenseless.” After a shudder to compose himself, Guidon’s happy tone deepened. “What are you doing here, Troy? Why are you in my castle? I warned you never to come back.” He was trying to be threatening, but he sounded too much like a demanding, ill-mannered child. Especially when he stomped his foot and said again, “Tell me what you’re doing here.”