by Jane Godman
“Well, my father? Shall I finish him here and now?” Vashti gripped Cal’s hair and raised the sword higher.
“Ezra, please. You cannot allow this...” Stella encountered a venom-laden glare from Vashti.
Muttering rolled around the room as the guests began to voice their opinions on the matter. “Silence.” Moncoya held up a hand. “My bride wishes to speak.” He turned to Stella. “Well, my star? What will be the fate of he who was your captor?”
Could she look into those silver eyes and not betray her feelings to the hundreds of people who were watching her? She had to try. Stella drew in a deep breath and looked directly at Cal. Just when she thought she couldn’t possibly love him more, one corner of his mouth lifted slightly. Her heart expanded to a point just short of rupture.
“I do not wish for any blood to be shed during our wedding celebrations.” She could feel Cal willing her on. “Let him be imprisoned instead.”
“What nonsense is this?” Vashti’s voice rang out above the disgruntled rumbling all around them. “This is a trick. There is no prison cell that can hold one such as he. The only way to stop this sorcerer is to kill him.”
Moncoya raised a hand and the clamor stilled. He turned to Stella. “Vashti is right, of course. But, as my wedding gift to you, I will give you his life. If he breaks free of his cell, however, I will hunt him down and tear him apart with my bare hands.” He lifted his glass and dashed off the remaining liquid before speaking directly to Cal. “Besides, I have a little surprise for you. One which will ensure you cannot escape. You may wish Stella had chosen death for you by the time I am done.”
With an exclamation of disgust, Vashti sheathed her sword and stomped away. Cal’s sidhe captors made a move to drag him to his feet.
“Not so fast.” It was Jethro de Loix’s deep tones that halted them. “Why not allow him to stay and watch the entertainment, Your Majesty?”
Stella cast a swift sideways glance at Lorcan, who shrugged his own lack of understanding. “Ah, yes. In all the excitement, I had almost forgotten.” Moncoya turned his most charming smile on to Stella. “Jethro here has offered you a challenge, my star. His pride is hurt at the suggestion that there is one who might be a greater sorcerer than he. He wishes to pit his own skills against yours.”
Stella cast a swift glance around her. Every face seemed to be turned in her direction once more. Was it her imagination, or was there a distinctly feral look in each and every one of those eyes? She forced a laugh. “I’m being challenged to a fight? At my betrothal feast? Surely I am not obliged to accept this, Ezra?”
“Not obliged, no. But it occurs to me that none of us, not even I, have seen any true evidence of who you are and what you can do.” He lowered his voice slightly. “And you will not shame me in front of my guests with a refusal.” The words were light but the threat contained within them was heavyweight.
Stella stared defiantly back at him, her chin raised. “Refuse? Not a chance.”
He laughed. “A wise choice.” He clapped his hands. “Fetch a chair so that the prisoner may sit next to his friend.”
Stella risked a glance in Cal’s direction. “Don’t.” He mouthed the word and gave an infinitesimal shake of his head.
She shrugged, turning her palms upward in a gesture that indicated she had no choice. His look of resignation said it all. Taking no chances, six sidhes grabbed Cal and manhandled him into a chair to the left of Lorcan. He slumped into it with a show of reluctance. A small army of guards lined up behind him.
“Hold my wrap, would you?” Stella passed the garment to Lorcan, who seemed unmoved by the events unfolding before him.
He grinned up at her. “You can take this guy, me darlin’ girl. I’ve been hearing a rumor that he has a glass jaw.”
Stella swallowed hard as she watched Jethro take up a combative position in the center of the hall. “I’m not even sure I can reach his jaw.”
Lorcan’s face became serious. “Jethro doesn’t fight fair so don’t feel you have to. Use your size to your advantage, take him by surprise.”
Slipping off her heels, Stella stepped down from the dais and went to face her opponent.
* * *
Cal and Lorcan were both tall and muscular but there was something about the sheer width and power of Jethro de Loix that dwarfed everything and everyone around him. Stella didn’t just look small in comparison, she looked unbelievably fragile. As if one touch from Jethro would snap her delicate frame in two. It was obvious, by the way his eyes widened in disbelief as he looked down at her, that Jethro himself believed that would be the case.
Ignoring the disapproval of his captors, Cal turned to Lorcan. “I can’t keep up this pretense. There’s no way I can let her face him alone.”
“Look around you, my friend. Unless you want this war right here, right now, I don’t think you’ve much choice. And she’s something special, remember? Give her a chance to prove it on her own. If it looks like she’s in trouble, then we can step in, not before.”
It was sound advice. Nevertheless, it took all of Cal’s willpower to listen to his friend and not rush to Stella’s side.
Jethro looked Stella up and down once more as they faced each other a few feet apart, before calling across to Moncoya, “This is your star?”
Moncoya was lounging in his chair, clearly enjoying himself. “It is indeed.”
Jethro threw him a look of intense dislike. “Then the deal is off. I will not fight a girl, no matter how large the purse.”
“When and where did he dredge himself up a few morals? Last time I saw him he was running contraband between Otherworld and the mortal realm and the Dominion wanted his guts on a platter.” Cal’s nerves were stretched too tight to respond to his friend’s murmured question, and Lorcan subsided into silence.
“It seems the great Jethro is afraid of being worsted by a girl, my friends.” Moncoya’s voice was jeering.
Jethro, who had been about to stalk away, turned back to face Stella at that. “Sorry, but if you are stupid enough to marry that shit you deserve everything you get.” His face had darkened with anger.
“Do your worst.” She smiled sweetly up at him. “Or even your best.”
Cal almost groaned aloud. Don’t provoke him, Stella. He’s dangerous enough already.
Without warning, Jethro lifted one hand and sent a ball of fire flying through the air in her direction. Stella didn’t move. Cal could only watch nervously as the flames paused in midair mere inches before her face. Then, to a gasp of delight from the guests, the fireball began an intricate dance before returning the way it had come and exploding above Jethro’s head in a shimmer of sparks. Stella looked unconcerned, as though the mind control it took to perform a trick like that was simple. For her, of course, it was. She might have only recently discovered her powers, but magic came as easily to Stella as breathing. Until he got to know what she could do, Cal had never encountered anyone else who was his equal in that respect.
Jethro threw another, larger fireball at her and Stella batted it back as if she was playing a lazy summer’s day game of tennis. The rage on Jethro’s face intensified. Wave upon wave of fireballs rolled toward Stella and each was swatted back to him with the same unerring ease. Not once did she lift a finger. Her calm expression didn’t falter. Jethro was beginning to sweat. He tried to take a step closer to Stella and was brought up short, thwarted by an invisible barrier.
“Show my guests what you can do, my star.” Moncoya’s voice throbbed with pride. “Bring him to his knees.”
“Yon faerie feller is starting to seriously annoy me now,” Lorcan muttered.
From the glare Jethro gave his host, it seemed he was sharing Lorcan’s emotions toward Moncoya. Jethro muttered something that Cal couldn’t hear, but whatever it was brought a slight smile to Stella’s lips. Cal’s chest expanded
with pride. She was amazing! Even now, when she was facing such extreme danger, her undaunted spirit shone through.
“Aríse.” Stella spoke the Old English command quietly.
“What the hell is she doing?” Lorcan murmured.
“Exerting her power over the undead. Watch.”
All around the room, guests began to rise to their feet. Their expressions ranged from confusion through annoyance to fury. Vampires, werewolves and ghosts, unable to resist the call of the greatest necromancer the world had ever known, were powerless to resist Stella’s summons. Prince Tibor looked as though he wished to protest, but no words left his sensual lips. Jethro gazed around him. Although Jethro was not the sort of man to show nervousness, Cal decided it was fair to say the mercenary no longer looked confident.
“Hidercyme.”
Like puppets with Stella as their master, the gorgeously attired, undead group left their places and moved into the middle of the room, surrounding Stella and Jethro. Cal clenched his fist on his thigh. If Stella made one small mistake now, or if Jethro really was stronger than her, she would be torn apart.
“Oflinnan.” The group froze at the word, becoming statue-like in their instant stillness. Cal spared a brief glance around him at the other guests. Those who were alive or never living had not been affected by Stella’s commands. They remained in their seats, watching the scene unfolding before them with fascination. Stella could not have chosen a better way to demonstrate her powers and put to rest any lingering doubts about who she was.
Moncoya leaned forward in his chair, his expression orgasmic. “What are we waiting for? Finish this.”
The silence that followed his words was so absolute that Cal was able to hear Stella’s words as she spoke to Jethro. “What do you say? Shall we do as he says and finish it?”
He looked down at her in some bemusement, testing the barrier between them again with his hand. For a man facing certain death, he was surprisingly calm. “Your call. I seem to be yours to command.”
She smiled. “Swinsian. Play for us.” The ghostly musicians picked up their instruments and an appropriately eerie melody filled the air. “Fríce. Dance.”
In one single, concerted movement, the vampires, ghosts and werewolves unfroze and took up their places on the dance floor. Instantly the room became a whirl of brightly colored waltzing figures. The seated guests seemed to heave a collective sigh. All except Moncoya, who looked furious. Cal kept his gaze on Stella and Jethro, who were still in the center of the room, the dancers swirling around them. Perhaps because he was concentrating so hard, he could still hear what they were saying, even from a few feet away.
Jethro had begun to laugh. “Shall we join them?”
Stella stepped into the circle of his outstretched arms. They waltzed a few circuits of the room and, despite Jethro’s height, Cal had difficulty following their progress among the other dancers. Many of the seated guests had risen now and joined in the dance. The waiters who were attempting to serve the next course were seriously impeded in their efforts to cross the room.
Moncoya remained slumped in his seat, playing with the blade of his upended fish knife. His expression was murderous.
“I’d not want to be in Stella’s shoes right now.” Lorcan kept his voice low.
“Stella is too valuable to him for him to do her any harm. For now. She’s not the one who needs to take care,” Cal murmured. If he knew anything about Moncoya, it would be Jethro who would pay the price for what had just happened. His keen eyes scoured the room, locating Stella and Jethro again close to the door. He kept his gaze fixed on them. They were talking conspiratorially. Was he the only one who noticed the moment when Jethro slipped out of the room? He hoped so.
A few minutes later, Stella made her way through the dancers and back to her seat. “Looks like the party is getting started at last.”
Moncoya’s slow-burning scowl deepened. “Where is your new mercenary friend?”
“Jethro? He had to leave.” She gave Moncoya a bright smile, for all the world as if this was an everyday conversation, a normal party.
For a second, as he glared back at her, Moncoya made no attempt to hide the full force of his fury. The mask dropped to reveal his true nature. His eyes blazed pure sidhe fire and his lips were drawn back in a snarl. Cal saw Stella recoil slightly as she realized exactly what she was dealing with. Without speaking, Moncoya rose from his seat, brushing past the dancers as he stormed from the room.
“Was it something I said?” The words might have been flippant, but Stella’s voice wobbled slightly. “Should we be doing something to stop him? It wasn’t Jethro’s fault I turned the tables on him.”
“Jethro is an adventurer. And, even for a sorcerer, he leads a surprisingly charmed life,” Cal said. “He usually manages to keep himself out of trouble.”
One of the sidhes whose job it was to stand guard over him snapped at him to stop talking. With a slight shrug and a grin in Stella’s direction, Cal sat back in his seat, parodying acquiescence. His mind was racing. Had they fooled Moncoya at all? The faerie king would know better than anyone that Cal could not be contained by a prison cell. Only in Darnantes had he ever been confined, and then not by walls of stone or iron bars. Cal was not about to make the mistake of underestimating his greatest enemy at this late stage. If this was a double bluff, they could be in deep trouble. Moncoya had mentioned a surprise. Cal had a feeling any surprises planned by Moncoya were not going to be pleasant ones.
Something else occurred to him and he turned back to Stella. “When Moncoya told you to bring him to his knees, what did Jethro say to make you smile?”
“He asked me why I was throwing myself away on a simpering faerie.” Her green eyes sparkled as she leaned across Lorcan to speak softly to Cal. “He said I should find myself a real man. I didn’t tell him I already had.”
Cal’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. Unable to help himself, he ignored his guards and angled closer to her. Moncoya, entering the room again with his genial expression restored, could not have heard what they were saying. Pausing in the doorway, his eyes narrowed as he observed the exchange taking place between his bride-to-be and the man he hated more than any other. A smile that touched his lips but did not reach his eyes appeared and he clapped his hands together. The musicians halted their playing instantly.
“The mercenary has been captured. Take the bastard sorcerer to the dungeons to join him and see that he is guarded round-the-clock. Should he escape, it will be death to those who are on guard at the time.”
The sidhes converged on Cal’s chair, pulling him roughly to his feet. He kept his gaze fixed on Stella’s upturned countenance, trying desperately in those seconds before he was dragged away to convey the strength of his feelings to her. He didn’t know if he succeeded. As the crowd of dancers parted and he craned his neck for a final glimpse of her, he took his own measure of comfort from the answering glow in the green depths of her eyes.
Chapter 21
“Come, my friends. Let us continue our feast. There will be time enough for dancing later.” Moncoya’s voice rang out around the hall and his guests obediently returned to their seats.
Lorcan bent closer to Stella. “Don’t worry. He’ll sit quiet in his cell. Let them think they have him trapped. Then, when the time is right, he’ll come and join us.” The whispered words went some way toward restoring her composure.
“Is the food not to your liking, my star?” Moncoya leaned uncomfortably nearer to her, his shoulder almost touching hers. “You have eaten nothing. My cook will be most perturbed.”
“I’m not very hungry. I find being challenged to a gladiatorial contest in the middle of a meal tends to drive away my appetite.” Stella kept her gaze on his. No matter how much she wanted to look away. Actually, she wanted to run away. All the way to the dungeons below the palace and in
to Cal’s arms.
“The victory was yours.” His expression darkened. “Even if your method of achieving it was not my preference.”
“You’d rather I’d had your guests rip him limb from limb?”
“But of course. And, after tomorrow, you will do as I say. Always.” A smile—one that was really a warning—gleamed before he turned back to his plate.
Stella toyed with her own untouched food, consoling herself with the reminder that he was wrong. Tomorrow she would be free of Moncoya, the prophecy and the huge burden placed upon her. She just had to keep telling herself that instead of focusing on the members of this glittering gathering. There was Tanzi looking like a 1930s movie icon in floor-length, shimmering silver, Vashti combining elegance and functionality in a figure-hugging black catsuit, Prince Tibor and his faithful companion, Dimitar, sitting still and watchful with their food untouched. And, of course, there were the beautiful party people. The flaming eyes of Moncoya’s sidhes followed Stella’s every move. It was an oppressive feeling, as if their stares were driving the air from her lungs. How did we think we could do this and come out alive? She tried to tell herself fatalistic thoughts were crowding in on her because it was all so real, so close. In her heart she knew the real reason. It was because Cal wasn’t there.
“Will you do one small thing to perk up my Irish spirits, me darlin’ girl?” She turned to look at Lorcan, a question forming on her lips. She never got to ask it. Lorcan’s attention was fixed on the entrance to the banquet hall, his expression of incredulity almost comical.