“Go home. All of you.” He glared at each one in turn, hoping they’d take his advice. “Don’t make it worse for yourselves.”
No one answered him. Sanrev left the tavern, his boots scuffing along the empty road as darkness closed in around him.
He woke from a deep sleep later that night, falling to the floor from his bed and wondering what had disturbed him. A scream echoed outside, faint but clear. Groping in the dark for his pants and boots, Sanrev dressed quickly and bolted outside.
More screams cascaded through the air and he saw flames licking the night sky. A ball of fire erupted as he watched, its general direction being the tavern he’d left a few hours ago. He started running down the road, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. He passed a regiment of the King’s guards galloping away in the opposite direction. Their numbers looked to be fifty or more. They didn’t even glance his way and Sanrev felt the chill of prescience course through him.
The King was sending a message. He didn’t care who paid the price. Guilty and innocent alike would burn together.
The fire didn’t leave anything behind, confirming its magical origin. After the sun rose an accounting was taken—seventeen people missing and presumed dead, among them Pershak and the men whom Sanrev had spoken to the evening before.
He kept to himself in the days that followed. When the day came for Sanrev to meet with Lamisha once again, he found a note under his door telling him she was no longer allowed to leave the castle grounds because of the unrest amongst the peasants. The note wasn’t written by her hand but Sanrev believed it all the same. He went back to his old routine, worried about her future and that of the Kingdom, as well.
The fall harvest heaped more misery upon the peasants, adding to their discontent over the King and his ways. Sanrev knew many would go hungry this winter. Some would die. Helplessness tore at his soul, the taste of it bitter on his tongue.
An old woman brushed by him in the marketplace as he wandered from stall to stall, lost in thought. She shoved a crumpled slip of paper into his hands as he reached out to steady her. Sanrev caught a whiff of lilac and carefully pocketed the note, wondering if even now he was being watched. Stopping at the next stall he came to, he bought a few vegetables and hurried back home.
Only once safely tucked away from prying eyes did he dare to retrieve the note from his clothing, anxious to read what Lamisha had gone to such risk to tell him.
Chapter Ten
A Kidnapping
The splotchy handwriting scrawled across the paper, as if written in a hurry. Sanrev held it to his chest for a moment, dread hindering his ability to read the words. He slowly tilted the page back, forcing his eyes to see.
My heart,
I’m held prisoner in the castle, though no one knows it but me. My Ladies still attend me; the guards think I’m confined for my protection. I’m pregnant and Camon knows he isn’t the father. He’s furious and threatens to lock me in the tower after the child is born. I don’t believe he suspects you.
Please help me. I can’t allow our child to be raised by such a man. He visits the oracles daily and comes back in a foul mood. I can only pray they are withholding their visions from him.
He’s gone mad. I fear for us all. If you have news for me, focus your magic on the witch woman of Baylana. She will find you.
Sanrev smoothed the paper in his hand, his movements without conscious thought, the shock of her words coursing through him.
Pregnant? Her child…and his? His heart ran between elation and despair, not knowing which point to stop at on the spinning Wheel of Change.
How could he possibly get her out of such a heavily fortified castle? One filled with the magic of the highborn? The potent magic of the King?
Even if the magic of the land didn’t cooperate with Camon—and by his recent actions against the peasants that was possible, for a ruler must be as one with his people—he still had Lamisha’s magic for as long as she lived.
Think! There has to be a way.
Could she be smuggled out with her Ladies? As a servant? Anyone who tried to help in this mad scheme would be risking their lives. Sanrev had no right to ask that sacrifice of them.
But if he didn’t, they were all doomed. He could feel the darkness approaching, its clammy hands brushing over him in his dreams at night. It brought visions of the castle collapsing into dust, the fields withering and dying until not a single blade of grass remained. The people sick and running for their lives as the magic of the Kingdom fled.
Sanrev held his head in his hands and wept for the fall of Shaylar. He must try to prevent it, no matter the cost. It must not come to that.
The witch woman of Baylana…the name meant nothing to him at all. He dreaded pulling innocent people into any plan but what choice did he have? So much could go wrong…
But it already has. The murders and fire at the tavern were only the beginning. He closed his eyes and summoned the magic, bidding the witch to come to him.
The pink light of dawn still held the sky captive the next morning when someone beat at his door. Sanrev rose from his breakfast to answer, sword clutched in his hand. The well-dressed woman gave him a bland smile and entered the house, her hand pushing the sword aside as she walked past him.
“You called for me,” she said and sank gracefully into a chair. Her dark eyes held a hint of amusement as she gazed at him. “You may close the door now.”
Sanrev glanced at the cart and horse sitting outside with no one to tend it, giving himself time to regain his composure before shutting the door. He felt magic emanating from her. It traced over his skin with a vibration, raising the hairs along his forearms.
“You’re the—” He stopped, not daring to say the name in case he was mistaken.
“The witch of Baylana? Yes.” She remained calm and relaxed, only her eyes moved as she followed his progress from door to a chair opposite her.
“Not what you expected?” she said as he lowered himself into his seat.
“No. I suppose not.” He’d expected an old woman in ragged clothing, half-wild and shunned by others. Shame wrapped its tendrils around him for his pre-judgment. Sanrev forced his scattered thoughts back into some semblance of order and took a deep breath.
“I need you to get a message to Queen Lamisha. Will you be able to do that?”
She nodded but said nothing.
He’d gone over and over his plan during the long night. It was the best he could come up with but the great risk to others almost stopped him from considering it. Yet, what choice did he have? Lamisha’s life hung in the balance. Her unborn child’s, too. His unborn child…
“Lamisha needs to disguise herself as one of the servants next market day—two days hence. I’ll be waiting for her there. Tell her to leave her jewels behind so she can’t be traced through her magic.”
The woman rose from her seat, her face grave. “I’ll get the message to her.”
Sanrev stood as well. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking as she continued to stare, studying him as if questioning his determination. The energy he’d started out with this morning drained from his body, leaving him lethargic and muddled.
“Know this, Prince Sanrev.” Her voice carried a ring of authority and he squared his shoulders in response. “Your plan is sound. I see its success, but there is a clouded road ahead with many obstacles in your path.”
“Do you see what they are? You have the Sight?” Sanrev hadn’t expected that. His fingers twitched as he flexed his hands open and closed into fists.
“No. I see only a great darkness.” She shrugged and headed for the door.
Sanrev hurried after her, his mind reeling. The darkness still advanced, despite his plans. He couldn’t turn away, though. Only hope for the best. Hope was all he had left.
“Bring one of the oracles to me,” Camon shouted at the nearest guard. He paced across the length of his study as he waited for one of the retched seers to attend him.
Three days the
Queen had been missing, with no one having seen or heard from her. For the last two days, the oracles had told him no visions of her whereabouts had been received. Camon didn’t see how that was possible—unless the Old Ones were blocking their visions. A tremor of unease wormed its way through his veins, seeking an anchor.
Nonsense. The Old Ones weren’t displeased with him. The fault lie with his Queen…and whichever cur had taken her to bed. That whoreson would die by Camon’s own hand as soon as he discovered who he was. As for Lamisha, she would be locked in the tower for the rest of her days.
Why wasn’t his magic cooperating? Why hadn’t he been able to divine the identity of the man who’d done this unforgivable deed? Where was Lamisha?
Magic surged through him—not of Shaylar but Lamisha’s. Yet he couldn’t trace her, couldn’t follow its path. It was as if the magic had remained behind. As if she still walked these hallways, invisible to him.
The oracle arrived, interrupting his thoughts. Camon studied the small boy in silence. Took in the erect posture, though his limbs quaked with terror. A brave lad but foolish, if he didn’t give his King the answers he sought.
“Have you seen where the Queen’s abductor has taken her?” Camon held the boy’s eyes with a penetrating stare, trying to divine the answer for himself.
The oracle paled, his hands clutching his stomach. “No, Your Majesty. No vision has come about the Queen.”
Camon roared for the guard. “Enough of this! Take the child away to the dungeon. He’s no true oracle. Remove the others and their priest from the temple. I’ll not insult the Old Ones by giving succor to charlatans.”
The guard dragged the weeping boy away, leaving Camon alone once more. He crossed over to the window and gazed at the valley below. Someone down there had Lamisha hidden away but others would know of her whereabouts. He was sure of it. Gossip had no allegiance; it flowed freely, without restraint. He’d find her if the guards had to break down every door in the valley to accomplish it.
And then she’d pay for his humiliation. First, she’d be made to watch as her lover was drawn and quartered. Then he’d have her child cut from her belly.
Oh, yes. She’d pay dearly. With her life’s blood.
Perhaps she was the reason for the Old Ones’ displeasure. Camon tapped a finger against the cool pane of glass as he considered that. They channeled events for a reason—he’d always known that. They’d brought Darlena to him when he was sixteen with the purpose of exposing her for the wanton she was and to teach him about keeping himself above all others, not falling victim to tender feelings which could influence his decisions. Now this new scandal had arrived to test Camon’s ability to rule. Why hadn’t it occurred to him before?
These most recent events were forcing Camon to recognize the false priest and his followers. Forcing him to sweep the temple clean. Would force him to dispose of a wife who was never meant to be Queen.
His mother had chosen unwisely. Was she under the false priest’s spell? What of his Advisor, Lamisha’s father? Had he been whispering false advice to his King all this time?
He spun around, knowing what had to be done.
“Guard. You will arrest the Royal Advisor, the Queen’s Ladies, and the Dowager Queen on charges of high treason.” He glared at the guard when the man didn’t snap to. “Do you wish to join them?”
“N-no, Your Majesty. My loyalty is to my King, always.”
“Then you have your orders. Send the Captain of the guard to me. I have plans for the good peasants in the valley.” Camon permitted a dark smile to rest on his face after the man departed. The decisions were sound. He could feel it in his bones.
Sanrev walked through his house, the walls closing in on him as he paced. Was Lamisha safe where he’d left her?
Safer than if he’d stayed by her side, though he wanted that more than anything else in life.
Somebody banged on the door and he rushed to answer it, finding one of the men who did odd jobs for him on occasion. The man’s breath heaved in and out from his chest, his face blotchy and reddened from his exertions.
“Here. Sit down.” Sanrev tried to usher him in through the doorway.
“No time.” The man leaned his hands on his knees as he bent forward. “Guards…breaking doors. Searching.”
Fear took hold of Sanrev and shook him like a bundle of rags. “Get out of here. Now. Don’t come back…and thank you for the warning.”
“You needed…to know.” The man trotted off as fast as his wheezing allowed, leaving Sanrev to watch him go with a heavy heart. He never should have loved Lamisha, no matter how it would have pained him to walk away and forget her. She would have been safe—if unhappy—as the Queen of Shaylar. He’d delivered this latest nightmare on the people himself.
There was no way to undo his actions. All he could do now was move forward and work toward a peaceful conclusion…if one were even possible. Sanrev didn’t hold any hope for that but he had to try. He loaded what supplies he had onto his horse and headed south. Lamisha would have to leave what comforts she had and go on the run with him. It was the only way to keep their unborn child safe and perhaps spare the peasants from further misery.
Chapter Eleven
On the Run
495th year of the Celaka
Sanrev finished repairing the last of the larger cracks in the back wall of the abandoned farmhouse, giving the mud patch a final pat after smoothing it into the stone. He’d found the little house four months ago after a desperate search, at a time when Lamisha could no longer travel on horseback. It wasn’t in the valley but sat between two rolling hills, hidden from sight. They’d managed through the winter with only a fire at night to keep them warm, while Sanrev hunted and picked the wild vegetables from the overgrown garden in back to keep them fed.
Under different circumstances, he could have been content to live here with his lady. The repairs and foraging took up most of his time, not allowing him to dwell on what had happened in the valley.
Last month the witch of Baylana had appeared in the forest while he hunted. His shock at finding her there had him standing rigid, waiting to be arrested. She held up a hand and smiled at him.
“Be at peace, Prince Sanrev. I had a vision telling me you’d be here. No one followed me.”
He rubbed at the sudden, stabbing pain in his neck and tried to loosen the tenseness in muscles ready to fight.
“Why are you here? Do you have news?” He found his isolation unnerving, wanting very much to know what had transpired after he and Lamisha left the confines of the valley.
The smile left her face. “I thought you should know. The King’s guards continue to search the valley, randomly murdering such as those who dare to protest their treatment. The King now searches for you as well as the Queen.”
He’d expected that, of course. Someone would have reported him gone from his daily routine. “Do you—”
She stopped him with a hand held up once more. “There is more and my time here grows short. You should know that your brother arrested the Royal Advisor, the Dowager Queen, the Queen’s Ladies, and the priest—along with his oracles. They were all charged with high treason. Their heads line the great wall on pikes.”
Sanrev sank to his knees. His mother, Lamisha’s father…all those innocent people?
“All my fault,” he whispered.
“No. You are guilty of loving the wrong person perhaps, but the murders are a blight on the King’s soul.” Her voice held a chill, sucking the warmth from his body as she spoke. “A time will come when you are called to act. You must answer, though you will lose all.”
“To do what? When?” He asked, her words clawing at his tattered emotions.
“You will know. Be ready.”
Sanrev’s head bowed as he remembered the face of his mother and her tender smile. How could Camon have done such a thing?
He looked up but the witch was nowhere in sight. Had time passed for him while he mourned? Or had she been an appar
ition?
He rose slowly, stumbling as he stood, falling facedown into the decaying leaves. He stayed like that, wanting nothing more than to join the others in death. To be absolved of his actions which brought them such misery.
His horse nickered softly and Sanrev opened his eyes, seeing the long shadows of the trees. Lamisha and the baby were still his responsibility. His to protect through the uncertain days to come.
One thing was sure. He couldn’t tell Lamisha the news. Not in her condition. It would have to wait until after the birth.
A soft moan lifted him out of his memories back to the present. He turned around to find Lamisha leaning against a wall, her face covered in a sheen of sweat. Sanrev rushed over to support her, noting the glazed look in her eyes. She patted his hand and gave him a wan smile.
“I think the baby’s coming,” she said before another pain stole her breath away.
“How long have you been having pains?” Sanrev demanded. She shouldn’t be starting out with such agony.
“A few hours now,” she admitted. “I’ve had pains before in the last few weeks. It always went away so I didn’t want to mention it until I was sure.”
Her contractions were close together and Sanrev hurried Lamisha over to the bed before running to get the few supplies he’d laid out for the occasion. The bucket hadn’t been filled yet with water for the day so he wasted precious time filling it from the well. A kettle sat empty over cold ashes in the fireplace and he cursed his inattention to such details. He rebuilt the fire and poured water into the pot to heat. By the time he returned to Lamisha, she was in hard labor.
Sanrev whispered a prayer to the Old Ones for a safe delivery as he stroked her forehead with a damp cloth. His nerves threatened to shred his stomach as he watched her writhe in pain. He’d attended horses during labor before but this was entirely different. All he could do was whisper encouragement to her—a useless gesture as she cried out in distress.
The Fall of Shaylar Page 6