Destiny

by Fiona McIntosh

  Gyl looked aghast at all these suggestions. She was not unlike a battle commander herself, firing off instructions. Could this really be that gentle, funny, almost girlish mother of his?

  He nodded. ‘All right. I will take all the precautions you suggest. And then we shall see.’ He must do this much for her or make a mockery of all her warnings. ‘Will you wait until after the coronation to leave? No one will believe it if you are not here for it,’ he added hopefully.

  ‘I cannot. I must make haste immediately. I will think of something for you to say.’

  ‘I see.’ He did not see but he realised his mother was far more determined than he initially appreciated and guessed that she had made her mind up even before the revelation of his bloodline—perhaps even as soon as she learned of the King’s passing.

  ‘And Tallinor is safe until this Themesius person you spoke of falls?’ Gyl worked hard at making this sound very reasonable and as though he fully believed it.

  ‘Tallinor is no longer safe.’

  His expression creased in puzzlement. ‘Why?’

  She turned sad green eyes towards him. ‘Themesius has already fallen. Orlac is free.’

  8

  Orlac’s Lover

  Orlac stared at the woman called Juno who stood before him. His leisurely bath and massage from two extremely nervous women had brought him great pleasure. Even their jittery silence did not spoil their careful, exquisite ministrations. Orlac felt extraordinarily relaxed as he sat in his suite of magnificent rooms.

  Juno was fully robed.

  ‘I thought I mentioned I would like you naked when I arrived,’ he said, no trace of threat in his voice.

  ‘My lord,’ she bowed low, once again. ‘My grandmother always said I possessed a special talent. I am something of a seer, you might say.’

  ‘Really?’ he replied, stepping closer and wondering what this could possibly have to do with his wanting to feel her skin against his.

  Juno hurried on, resisting the temptation to step backwards at his advance. ‘Yes, indeed. When I met you, my lord, I could sense straight away that your taste stretched beyond my plain looks.’

  ‘Oh come now, Juno. You do yourself a disservice,’ he said, and meant it too, for she was lovely. A little too angular perhaps, possibly not enough flesh on those bones, but nonetheless, an attractive woman. He took another casual step forward.

  ‘Thank you for the compliment, my lord, but may I be so presumptuous as to present you with something more in keeping with your taste for this very special first night of yours in our palace?’

  He liked Juno’s defiance. She was intelligent too. He could see it in those dark and depthless eyes of hers which seemed to possess wisdom beyond the years of the young woman before him.

  ‘I knew a Juno once,’ he said, startling her with this change in direction of their conversation.

  The woman watched him carefully. ‘Oh?’

  ‘Mmm, yes—may I?’ Orlac asked pointing towards a small table where wine had been laid out.

  ‘Oh, of course. Allow me,’ she said, cautious but moving to pour him a glass. ‘You said you were hungry, my lord. May I summon the food we have prepared?’

  ‘Is it poisoned?’ He displayed his brilliantly broad, white smile.

  ‘No, sire. We would not do such a thing.’

  ‘I jest with you. I would know anyway,’ he said, sitting and leaning back in his chair.

  ‘You look tired,’ Juno admitted, despite her discomfort at being in the room with him. She moved to pull a cord which would sound a bell outside the chamber.

  ‘I am. But not too tired for what I have promised myself this night.’ He stretched languidly and was glad to see she did not flinch.

  Orlac watched her let two servants into the room who nervously approached his table.

  ‘May we lay out your supper, sire?’ one of them asked, a tremble in her voice giving away her anxiety at being so close to this murderer of Cipreans.

  ‘Thank you. Juno?’ She arrived at his side. ‘You must convey to the palace household that they are not to be afraid of me. I will not harm anyone who obeys me.’

  Juno nodded and then dismissed the servants, who left quietly.

  ‘Please eat, my lord.’

  ‘Won’t you join me?’

  ‘I shall sit with you, if you like.’

  He gestured to a chair opposite.

  ‘You were saying that you knew a Juno once, my lord?’ she asked carefully.

  ‘That’s right,’ he replied, eyes scanning the array of delectable dishes as he hungrily chewed on some cheese. He spoke but seemed distracted by his need for food. ‘She was old, ancient in fact. I rather liked her, though. Her hair was silvered grey, not at all lush and shiny like yours. Her face was wrinkled and spotted; her voice croaky.’ He took another heaped ladle from a dish he was enjoying. ‘But apart from sharing the same name, the only similarity I see with you is in the eyes. Hers were rheumy, turning white with the affliction of blindness, but there is something there,’ he continued and then lost his thread of thought. ‘This supper is delightful, thank you.’

  Juno inclined her head. ‘We have a wonderful young chef at the palace. His name is Ryk Savyl and he is descended from the famous culinary family of Ildagarth.’ She watched Orlac’s eyebrows raise in acknowledgement.

  ‘Well, your Ryk possesses a rare talent. Please convey my appreciation of this meal to him.’

  She nodded once again. He was charming. Not at all how she remembered him from when she did battle in her mind to keep his powers at bay. She cast a silent thank you to the Heartwood for returning her in this particular era of her life. Orlac had never known her as a young woman. He only remembered the Esian crone. Clever Lys. Did she know Juno might have to face him so closely again?

  ‘You seem far away?’ she heard him ask, which brought her thoughts back to the present and the dangerous pathway she now trod.

  ‘My apologies. It sounded like you were describing my grandmother earlier. It made me think of her.’

  He swallowed some wine, violet eyes sparkling above the goblet. ‘The one who called you a seer?’

  She nodded.

  ‘And you were about to tell me how you have used this talent tonight, I believe,’ he said, dabbing at his lips with a napkin.

  ‘This is true, sire. I have taken the liberty of selecting someone whom I believe might please you greatly.’

  ‘Why do you believe that you would not?’

  Once again, the politeness and charm of the previous moments had almost made her overlook the god with whom she was dealing. She must not forget again. His mind was razor sharp; it moved swiftly and adeptly and she was not prepared for this direct question.

  ‘Why…I, well, I mentioned to you that I have the “sense”, as the old ones say. And when I met you I saw the woman in my mind’s eye who might make a perfect match for you, my lord. We wish to please you, not vex you.’

  He surprised her by laughing. ‘I’m not sure whether to be insulted by you, Juno. So tell me about my ideal companion?’

  ‘Actually, my lord, the woman I wish to present now is not your own idea of perfection but she will be a wonderful bedmate for you tonight.’ She knew she should never have spoken of anyone other than the woman she had chosen. It was a mistake.

  Orlac was intrigued. He drained his cup. ‘Oh? Tell me what your mind’s eye saw would be my idea of the perfect woman.’

  Juno felt her colour rise. The woman she did see was almost the opposite of the woman chosen for him. What a fool. Her nervousness had made her mouth loose.

  ‘Come, don’t be coy now, Juno. It is clear you do not wish to spend the night with me, so I would hear about whom it is your skills would scry out for me.’

  She knew she must answer him. ‘Well, sire, in truth I see the opposite of me. I see a woman who is golden-haired like yourself, my lord, but not tall like you—petite in fact; slim, delicately boned. I believe I noticed her eyes were a greyish green, l
ike the sea on a stormy day.’

  ‘Go on,’ he encouraged, listening carefully but not looking at Juno.

  Juno did not want to continue but Orlac was intimidating in his suddenly quiet demeanour. ‘Er…I saw she possessed high cheekbones, my lord. Her complexion is creamy; though there are a few freckles around her nose which crinkles when she smiles—she has a beautiful smile and is quick to use it, as she is her temper, I believe.’

  She watched the dazzling smile break across his face now. It was curious that she had never appreciated how incredibly beautiful he was during all of those centuries they did battle in the Bleak. Perhaps as the very ancient Juno the Esian—descended from a distinguished line of famous seers of Esia—fighting to save a world, she did not notice such trivial things.

  ‘Then I must say you are the most talented of seers. This woman in your head sounds irresistible to me.’ He stood, again abruptly changing the conversation. ‘Why don’t you introduce me to the woman who is going to make this first night in Cipres memorable?’

  Juno felt her entire body relax with the relief that she had diverted his attention from herself. She wondered what she would have done had Orlac insisted she be the one he chose to bed tonight. As she bowed to him carefully, she reminded herself this was only for this one night that she had wriggled out of such duty. She would have to survive many more before the individual she waited for—the one Lys said was coming— actually arrived.

  She stepped beyond the chamber, her heart still slowing from relief, and motioned to a cloaked figure who had waited patiently in a small room to be called. The person stood, her face shrouded by the hood.

  ‘It is time,’ Juno said.

  The stranger nodded and followed her back into the chamber where Orlac had been. They noticed he had walked out onto the balcony to enjoy the night air. The city looked particularly beautiful beneath the full moon. He had removed his shirt and stood arms stretched wide to the silver light; his body like a perfect piece of sculpture; the muscles superbly outlined on the broad framework of his flawless torso.

  Juno caught her breath. Here stood a god. Proud, defiant, magnificent. Only she truly understood the terror of his powers and the darkness of the mind which fuelled hatred. She hoped he would not hurt the girl. This one beside her had readily agreed to the task though, had begged for it in fact. Whilst Orlac had privately met with the hateful Goth, Juno had given orders to make up these rooms and then personally made a hasty visit to the most sophisticated and expensive brothel in the city to choose a woman. She knew what she wanted and she had found this woman. And yet Juno had nearly decided against awarding her this special duty for there was something about the young woman’s arrogance, coupled with her desperation to be the one, which almost put Juno off. Mind you, there were few others who put up their hand. Too many had heard what had occurred in the square. No amount of gold could tempt most—there were always a few, though, for whom money talked loudly, but the chosen one needed to be special. And Juno knew a poor performance tonight might incur wrath towards the Cipreans tomorrow. No, this woman had the confidence needed to face him. She had seemed uninterested in the purse on offer and showed no fear when she learned the identity of her client. Even now there seemed no anxiety as she stood here awaiting his pleasure.

  Juno had told her to come naked, sheathed only in the satin cloak provided. The woman had not batted an eyelid at the suggestion; in fact Juno believed she saw a smile twitch at the corner of the whore’s mouth. This one was experienced; would know how to pleasure Orlac and satisfy him.

  Enough procrastination. She cleared her throat and he lowered his arms, turned slowly towards them. Juno cast a wish to the gods that she had chosen well. She reached for the thin cord at the woman’s neck and pulled on the bow which held the cloak together. It slipped from her shoulders soundlessly revealing the naked woman. She was tall and voluptuous with perfectly proportioned limbs and full high breasts. The woman whose head had been bowed now threw it back defiantly and a mass of raven hair fell around her. Dark eyes regarded the god while a full mouth turned up at the corners in a sensuous smile. She was exotic and arresting with a certain mystery, accentuated by the curious pale blue disk which glinted in the moonlight at her forehead.

  Orlac drew a breath. She was ravishing and he could imagine this one on her knees pleasuring him as Dorgryl had promised. In fact he felt the pulse of the intruder within—a red shimmer—as it entertained a similar thought.

  Juno felt relief course through her for the second time that night. The choice was perfect.

  ‘My lord, Orlac, may I present Xantia.’

  9

  The Pursuit Begins

  Goth had wasted no time since his audience with Orlac. He had been given freedom to assemble a dozen or so men and money was plentiful in his purse from the royal coffers. He told the soldiers that, at Orlac’s bidding, he was leading a raiding party into Tallinor to track down the killer of their Queen Sylven. More than enough men volunteered their services and he was careful to take one of the officers who would command these soldiers.

  He explained that someone had left the palace in a hurry—a servant called Hela—who had information leading to the Queen’s murderer, a man called Torkyn Gynt. Some of the men knew Hela and he noticed their look of surprise at the mention of her name. He quickly quashed any doubts they had, suggesting that it was she who had first encouraged the Queen to meet with this Tallinese physic. It did not help that one of the officers expressed his shock, saying that he knew Hela very well and that she was the most loyal of all of her majesty’s confidantes. Goth swiftly laid his most damning accusation, announcing that Hela had captured the Princess Sarel and had taken her prisoner with her into Tallinor to meet up with Gynt, holding the heir to the throne of Cipres to ransom. He was making it up as he went along, his mind sliding this way and that around every objection—if only he had known that Hela was indeed fleeing to the safety of Torkyn Gynt it would have amused him.

  When questioned about the fearful stranger he reassured the men that Orlac had every intention of putting Sarel on her rightful throne and that he was their only hope against the conspiracy which had been uncovered —that Tallinor had designs on Cipres. Killing the Queen and imprisoning her heir was the first step towards the Tallinese success. He was rather pleased with himself that all of this fakery had been contrived as he stood there in front of these men. His fabrication was thin: Orlac had killed so many. When further objections ensued, he reminded them of what they were dealing with—magic beyond understanding; powers they could not fight. Better to have him on their side, he reasoned, as he played on the Cipreans’ shock for their dead Queen and now their stolen Queen. He knew he was clutching at straws and needed more time to come up with a better rationale for them, but he had his own pressing mission and that was to track down the heir to the throne. Beyond that task he envisioned unimaginable riches but mostly power, which was what he craved more than anything.

  The men were readied; they would begin to sweep the city for news —any clues at all which might lead to Sarel’s whereabouts.

  A man was dragged up in front of Goth. He had been beaten badly and was favouring one side of his body. The soldiers who held him upright threw the man down in front of Goth.

  ‘He knows, sir,’ one of the soldiers said.

  Goth gestured for the injured man to be lifted up again. When he faced him, he could see his lips were so badly wounded, they were almost shredded. Someone had either worked him over very well in anger or the man was too courageous for his own good.

  ‘If you have information on the maid, Hela, it is best you tell us now,’ Goth said in a pleasant voice.

  The man spat the blood running freely into his mouth at Goth’s face. The former chief inquisitor did not react predictably. Instead, he pulled his horrible sneer-like smile and motioned for silence.

  ‘Who knows this man?’

  A soldier stepped forward. ‘I do, sir. His name is Garth; a good man, just
a lowly guard.’

  ‘I see,’ Goth said, turning back to the soldiers who held the man. ‘What makes you think he knows something?’

  ‘He was boasting at the guardhouse that Hela owed him a roll between the sheets because of a favour, sir.’

  ‘Ah, good.’ Goth returned his attention to the soldier who knew Garth and whispered something to him. The man nodded and disappeared with another soldier.

  ‘At ease, men,’ Goth said, ‘we have a little while to wait.’

  Puzzled, the men dropped their cargo to the dust, where Garth now lay in silence, bleeding.

  A short time later the soldiers returned; this time they carried a child with them; a little girl of around six or so summers. She was crying. The mother had come too and was wailing. Both men looked uncomfortable and frightened.

  ‘Get him up,’ Goth said and watched Garth being heaved back to his shaky feet.

  Garth immediately recognised his sister and his niece. The woman was screaming at her brother and the child’s crying grew louder. Goth could not help but enjoy this pathetic scene. He wished he had a branding iron handy because this so reminded him of the good old days in Tallinor.

  He finally spoke above the din. ‘Now, Garth. As you can see, I care not for your suffering—as indeed neither do you, it seems. But if you do not tell me what you know of Hela’s disappearance, then I will cut off the finger of your sister’s child here and I will continue to cut off fingers until she is left with two stumps at the ends of her arms.’

  He could sense the horror of the men around him at such a suggestion. Cowards, he thought. The Cipreans, like the Tallinese, had grown soft. He continued. ‘And then I will start on her toes, Garth. But you can save her becoming a cripple and no small amount of pain if you offer up immediately what you know. It’s really very simple.’ He even tried to grin although his twitch had become extremely pronounced and frequent now…it always did when he was excited like this.