Honor's Price

by Alexis Morgan

  Not that she had any interest in watching men beat one another bloody with swords for the entertainment of Ifre and his cronies. She’d heard trials were being held in part to replace the late Captain Bayar, who’d died unmourned in an alley. As far as Theda was concerned, he’d met a fitting end.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I will check with the kitchen to make sure that the refreshments and drinks will be ready.”

  Ifre smiled as she backed away. “They’d better be, Theda. It wouldn’t do for my guests to be disappointed in any way.”

  “I understand.” All too well. With another curtsy, she made her escape.

  Although his tone was intended to convey concern for his friends, the implied threat was real. If anything went wrong with his plans, someone would suffer. Someone she cared about. As yet, Ifre had never raised a hand to her, but he barely kept a leash on those animals who served as his personal guard.

  She lived in constant fear that he’d tell them her ladies-in-waiting were fair game. If that ever happened, he would die. She spent long hours imagining all the ways that could happen.

  If it were up to her, Ifre wouldn’t have lived this long. However, he had one other weapon in his arsenal that served to keep her in line. He held her stepson in his thrall. She hadn’t seen him in weeks now, but Keirthan had made it clear that Theda had to do exactly as he ordered or her stepson would die.

  As she headed for the kitchen, she sent a prayer skyward that the gods would have mercy on her people and end Ifre’s tyranny once and for all.

  * * *

  The tent offered shade against the afternoon sun but also blocked what little breeze there was. Theda sipped her drink and pretended an interest in her companion’s endless prattle about his prowess with a sword.

  “If you will excuse me, I have to see to my duties as hostess.”

  She smiled and made a pretense of studying the crowd to make sure everyone had a drink and looked reasonably content. Her ladies were mingling in the crowd yet being careful to not single out any one man for very long. To do so ran the risk of encouraging unwanted attention.

  Everything was flowing along smoothly, which meant Ifre had nothing to complain about. Even knowing the potential risk that she’d miss something, Theda desperately needed to slip away for a few minutes’ respite from the crowd and heat. She wouldn’t go far.

  There was a small space between two of the tents that was currently unoccupied. What a relief to be alone even if all that separated her from the rest of the world was the thick fabric of the tent walls. A few minutes of stolen time away from her odious brother-in-law and his friends was truly a gift from the gods.

  The crowd’s constant cheering of the fighters taking part in the tournament had given her a headache. The noise formed a constant drone, punctuated occasionally with applause or catcalls when a fighter failed to live up to everyone’s expectations. Despite Ifre’s orders that no one was to die in the practice battles, that didn’t mean blood wasn’t shed when either a sword or a temper slipped out of control.

  She had dampened a handkerchief in water before escaping the tent. It served to cool her face and the back of her neck. Feeling slightly better, she wandered closer to the railing that separated the fighters from the spectators. The field was empty, but there was a sense of growing excitement in the crowd.

  A single fighter appeared at the closest end of the field. He had the build and coloring of the raiders from the far northern lands, with hair the color of fire and fair skin that would burn red in the sun. His weapon was an enormous broadsword, one that most men would have trouble drawing, much less wielding for the length of a battle.

  A movement at the other end of the field caught Theda’s attention. The second combatant had arrived. She watched as the two men met in the middle and then turned to approach the fence in front of Keirthan’s tent. Where the redhead was mammoth, all muscle and power, this warrior moved with a lethal grace. He was nearly as tall, but built along much leaner lines. If the other man’s hair sparked hot in the sun, this one’s was an unrelenting black, a shadow too powerful for mere sunlight to overcome.

  In contrast, his eyes were surprisingly pale, an odd shade of gray or perhaps light blue. His face wasn’t handsome, not in the superficial way that Ifre’s was, but it was compelling. There wasn’t even a hint of softness about the warrior, as if life had carved it all away, leaving nothing but the bedrock of grim strength. He would never go unnoticed in a crowd. Men would step aside while women would be tempted to get all too close.

  Theda couldn’t tear her eyes away from him.

  If he was taken aback by the size of his opponent, he gave no sign of it as both men had stripped off their tunics. Then they held their swords aloft in salute to the duke, bowing first to him and then to each other before moving farther away to face each other with their weapons ready. Normally, Theda had little interest in the dangerous games men played, but for some inexplicable reason, she was riveted.

  She watched in utter fascination as Sergeant Markus barked the order to begin. This time the crowd remained strangely silent as the two men put on a display unlike anything she’d ever seen before. It was brute force facing off against speed and grace, with neither man willing to give an inch.

  If their fighting styles were at all hampered by the duke’s order to avoid serious injuries, it didn’t show. In fact, the dark warrior was grinning now, clearly enjoying facing off against another talented fighter. If she had to predict the victor, her first instinct would be that size and overwhelming power would win the day.

  And she would’ve been wrong. After a sudden flurry of blows, the pale-eyed fighter had his huge opponent in full retreat. Realizing that defeat was upon him, the redhead bellowed in challenge and charged forward. The two men came together in a clash of weapons that echoed across the silent field.

  How was Ifre reacting to the display? It wasn’t hard to spot him leaning forward over the fence, his hands holding on to the top railing with a white-knuckled grip. The expression on his face was greed, pure and simple. But which of the two warriors was he so interested in?

  Sergeant Markus had made his way to the fence, as always, trailing after Ifre, watching his back and keeping an eye on the crowd. She approached slowly, careful not to startle him. He glanced down at her, the expression in his dark eyes flat and suspicious. She didn’t take it personally. He didn’t trust anyone who got too close to Ifre.

  “Lady Theda.”

  “Sergeant, who are those two men?”

  “The redhead is Johan. He normally rides guard for one of the caravans but lost his position when he got caught with one of the trader’s daughters. He’s hoping to get a job with the troops who ride patrol, but the duke is considering him for his personal guard.”

  “And the other?”

  Markus glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She was known for actively avoiding the guardsmen as much as possible. Her curiosity must seem out of place to him.

  A little bit of honesty might go a long way toward assuaging his concern. “I often watched the weapons practice when my late husband was the duke, but I’ve never seen anything like his style of fighting.”

  Markus grunted. “Neither have I. Johan is a talented swordsman, but Kane is just playing with him. If this were a real fight, Johan would have been dead seconds after they drew steel.”

  As if his words were prophetic, a shout went up. They both looked to see what had caused the uproar. Just as Markus had predicted, the one called Kane stood over Johan, the tip of his sword at Johan’s throat. A single thrust would have ended the big man’s life right there in the dust.

  Her brother-in-law had joined them. “Markus, send Johan to the troops.”

  “And Kane?”

  Ifre smiled with obvious glee. “I shall be keeping a close eye on him. Keep me apprised of how he does.”

  “As you wish, Sire.”

  Markus bowed and backed away. Neither man paid any attention to Theda, but that was f
ine with her. She was too busy staring at the dark-haired warrior as he helped Johan back to his feet. What about him drew her attention? She normally had little use for the men who served Ifre.

  As if sensing her interest, the dark warrior turned to stare right at her. The power of his cold gaze swept over her, leaving her chilled in the hot summer sun. When he abruptly looked away, she stumbled away from the fence. Deciding she should resume her hostess duties, she lifted her skirts and all but ran toward the questionable safety of Ifre’s tent.

  Chapter 4

  Kane tugged at the collar of his uniform. The cursed thing wasn’t tight, but still it choked him. Both the fit and fabric of the tunic were fine; it was what the uniform represented that chaffed. He was a Warrior of the Mist and sworn to serve the Lord and Lady of the River, not a corrupt blood mage like Ifre Keirthan.

  He left the barracks to head for the stone building that served as Keirthan’s home as well as the center of government for Agathia and its people. According to Markus, servants and tradesmen used the side doors, which were never left unattended. The guard on duty nodded to Kane. “Saw you fight Johan yesterday. That was something.”

  “I got lucky. It’s been a while since I’ve faced off against someone that good.”

  Another lie, but he had to play the part. “Sergeant Markus told me to find him so he can show me the layout of the duke’s keep. Have you seen him?”

  “Not recently, but the men on duty at the front entrance will likely know where he is. You can either go through the building or walk along the edge of the garden to the front.”

  A little more time spent outside and away from the stench of Keirthan’s magic held a great deal of appeal. It was also gave Kane an excuse to explore the area on his own. “I’ll go around.”

  He walked away without thanking the man. Knowing he would face the guards in battle, he had no desire to make friends with them. He strolled along the side of the building and studied his surroundings. The garden on his right was quite elaborate. The morning breeze carried the scent of flowers as well as the sound of women’s laughter in the distance.

  Instantly, the memory of that dark-haired woman who’d watched his bout yesterday flashed through his mind. He hadn’t noticed her until after the fight was over; he’d been too busy trying to keep from being knocked senseless by the flat of Johan’s sword. But the moment their eyes had connected, everything else faded away completely, as if the entire world had narrowed down to just the two of them.

  The whole encounter had lasted but a heartbeat, but she’d felt the impact, too. It was there in the way she drew a sharp breath and froze like a deer trying not to draw the attention of a wolf. Her reaction had made him mad then, and the memory stirred his temper even now. He was no threat to her.

  Yet she’d fled into the duke’s private tent, which also meant she was part of Keirthan’s household. She lived with that monster and yet feared Kane at first sight? He should be used to it by now, but he grew weary of being feared by the very people he was sworn to protect.

  Some things never changed. For now he would hunt down Markus and get to work. He rounded the front of the building, where two guards flanked each side of the huge wooden door. He approached slowly, making sure they saw him coming. Even then, they looked suspicious. After all, if an assassin were planning to kill the duke, wearing the uniform of his personal guard would be a logical way to slip inside the hall.

  Sergeant Markus’s honor might be called into question because of his choice of employers, but Kane couldn’t fault him on how he did the job. At least these men were alert and constantly scanning the area for anyone who looked out of place. When they spotted Kane, the closest pair stared at him in suspicion until one of the guards on the other side said something.

  They all relaxed but only a little. “You’re not on the duty roster. What’s your business here?”

  Kane kept his hands away from his weapons. “Sergeant Markus asked me to meet him this morning.”

  The closest guard jerked his head toward the door. “The sergeant usually stands near the staircase so the duke can find him easily if he wants him. If he’s not there, try the practice field.”

  “If you see him, tell him that I’m looking for him.” Kane injected enough authority in his voice to have all four guards standing at attention.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Kane crossed the threshold of the duke’s stronghold for the first time. Once inside, his eyes, always sensitive to the light, took longer than usual to adapt from the bright sunshine outside to the dark interior of the building. He blinked several times only to realize that the enormous room wasn’t actually poorly lit.

  No, what he was sensing was the shadow cast by Keirthan’s blood magic. Everyone else in the room was going about business as if nothing were wrong. Either they were completely blind to magic or else they’d grown accustomed to its taint.

  The air was thick with it, and Kane could feel the pulsing of Keirthan’s blood magic coming from beneath his feet. Logically, that meant the mage’s private workroom was located immediately below the great hall, not that he had any desire to find out for certain. If he ever ended up down there, it would mean Keirthan had discovered the real reason Kane had sought a position with his personal guard.

  Right now he needed to do something besides standing there and blocking the doorway. He aimed toward the side of the room, taking time to study the ebb and flow of the people around him. Interesting that only the servants had a furtive air about their movements, clearly trying to avoid drawing attention to themselves.

  In sharp contrast were the courtiers, mostly nobles and wealthy merchants, judging by the style and quality of their clothing. The lot of them strutted through the room as if they owned the very air they breathed. How did Keirthan hide his true nature from these people? Did they suspect but believe they were immune from his predations?

  If so, they were fools.

  Right now, while Keirthan was still building his power, he would limit his victims to those who wouldn’t be missed by anyone other than their families. But once he unleashed his full fury upon Agathia, no one would be safe. If these people didn’t wake up soon, it would be too late to make an organized stand against the mage. They’d be dead before they could lift a sword.

  He spotted Markus standing in the shadow of the staircase exactly where the guards said he would be. The sergeant would find it odd if Kane continued to meander through the room, so he cut straight through the crowd to where Markus stood waiting.

  “I wondered if you’d gotten lost. The duke doesn’t tolerate tardiness.” Then he raked Kane with a cold-eyed look. “Neither do I. Understand?”

  Kane shrugged. “I wasn’t aware we’d agreed upon a specific time.”

  “If it were just me waiting to talk to you, that wouldn’t be a problem. However, Duke Keirthan wants to see you after he finishes hearing petitions. Luckily, the line is long today. Otherwise you’d be explaining to him why you dawdled along the way. And if I had been the one having to make excuses for your absence, well, let’s just say that I have ways of making my displeasure known.”

  Right now Kane cared less about incurring Markus’s wrath than he did about why Keirthan was singling him out for attention. From the way Markus was staring at him, he was wondering the same thing.

  There was no use in worrying about it overmuch. They’d both find out soon enough. Meanwhile, Kane continued to study the people in the hall. As he watched, two men got in a heated discussion, but they seemed to be a threat only to each other. As they argued, the doors opened again and a trio of women filed in, including the one who had watched Kane’s fight with such interest.

  From her demeanor, he had to think that she was a noblewoman surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting. He cast about for a way to learn her identity without singling her out of the group.

  Did she remember him, and would she admit it if she did? He noticed Markus also had his attention on the women as they cut across the room,
heading directly for the staircase at Kane’s back. Finally, he nodded in the direction of the approaching women.

  “I hadn’t heard the duke was married.”

  Markus looked disgusted. “He’s not. The woman in blue is Lady Theda, the widow of the duke’s older brother. She does serve as Keirthan’s hostess when he needs one, which is why she and her ladies-in-waiting attended the trials yesterday. Ordinarily, she acts as the chatelaine and oversees the servants and the kitchen.”

  Interesting. By all reports, Keirthan had been jealous of his late brother. Maybe he was just petty enough to take it out on the man’s widow.

  The women were now but a few feet away. At the last second, Markus moved to stand in front of the staircase, partially blocking their way and forcing them to squeeze past him. Obviously, part of Keirthan’s lack of regard for his sister-in-law included letting his men treat her shabbily.

  Kane wanted to shove Markus out of the way and teach him some manners. But that would be out of character, especially for a new hire who was looking to fit in. Lady Theda waited until the other women made it safely past the sergeant before following after them. When she reached the third step, she paused to shoot Kane a sideways look before continuing on up the stairs.

  “Lady Theda thinks she and those others are too good for the likes of us, but her day is coming.”

  Markus’s sly smile revealed much about what he thought would happen then. Kane sincerely hoped that the women slept behind locked doors. It reminded him of the terror Lady Merewen had lived with while her uncle had been alive. If Fagan hadn’t promised her to Duke Keirthan for his blood magic, she would have suffered greatly at the hands of the captain of Fagan’s guard.

  There were obvious reasons why Fagan had been a favorite of the duke’s. The two men had much in common, all traits that had led to Fagan’s death and, with the goddess’s blessing, would lead to Keirthan’s downfall as well.

  While they watched the women disappear upstairs, a servant had joined them. Markus glared at him. “What do you want?”