Cethe

by Becca Abbott

  “I’m going to be ill,” Michael said.

  It was late when the small party broke up. Outside, the rain had stopped, but the air was heavy with damp.

  “Can I give you a ride?” asked Auron as his carriage pulled up to the steps.

  Michael shook his head, pulling on his gloves. “Thanks, but my hotel isn’t far from here. I could use a good walk to clear the cobwebs.”

  With a wave, his friend was off. Michael watched him go, then turned and started home.

  He should at least send another note to the castle, informing Severyn of his intentions. It was only courteous. Most likely, the prince would be relieved to have him on the other side of Tanyrin.

  Loth! It was scalding, the memory of that kiss, and it had torn up his peace badly. He’d dreamed of just such a moment since his early adolescence, but he’d never once expected it, never imagined it to come true.

  Maybe Severyn just needed time to come to terms with what happened. Time and distance would do them both good.

  “Lord Arranz?”

  Startled, Michael looked around. A trio of horsemen emerged from the fog, Hunters and among them, none other than Captain Remy. The captain pulled away from his companions, trotting over to the sidewalk. Michael stopped, waiting curiously for him to dismount.

  “I thought it was you,” Remy greeted him.

  Michael inclined his head slightly. “On patrol, captain?”

  “Returning from a musical,” the captain replied. “And yourself?”

  “Cards.”

  “I hope it was a successful evening. Do you have rooms nearby? It’s dangerous to be walking about the city at this hour, alone.” The captain looked up and down the empty street. “But then, I suppose one would have to be foolhardy indeed to attack you.”

  “I would hope to give a good account of myself, should anyone be so foolhardy. Fortunately, this is a peaceful neighborhood and I’ve had no trouble.”

  “Then you are fortunate, sir. Not a week ago a man was robbed on this very corner! Allow us to accompany you to your door, my lord.”

  Michael could think of no good reason to refuse. It was less than a quarter mile on anyway. He asked, “What news do you have of His Eminence?”

  “The Archbishop is traveling, visiting his Cathedrals and Abbeys as he does every spring. What of yourself, Lord Arranz? Do you plan to spend much longer in Lothmont or will you retire to your estate once the warm weather arrives?”

  Michael gave him a noncommittal answer and they made idle conversation until they reached the hotel. Bidding him a pleasant evening, Remy and his companions rode off. A sleepy doorman opened the doors at Michael’s pull of the bell, then locked them carefully after him. Michael remained there, watching through the lace curtains until the Hunters were swallowed up by the misty night. Then, inexplicably unsettled by the encounter, he went upstairs.

  He had no more time than to open the door to his suite before bodies hit him from three directions. He went down hard, banging his head against the floor. For precious moments, he was insensible. When his wits returned, he was on his belly, hands bound behind him. His first impulse was to use a spell to free himself, but something stayed his words. There was a buzzing in the back of his head. The next moment, he was hauled roughly to his feet and he saw why.

  Someone uncovered a lantern. Men in rough, nondescript clothing pressed all around him, but in the far corner of the room, one of their number stared at Michael with a fixed, blank gaze, his lips moving ceaselessly, as if praying. Around his neck was held the distinctive amulet of a knightmage.

  One of the strangers suddenly lifted a hand and everyone went still. Outside his door, Michael heard voices, then someone knocked. “Lord Arranz? Lord Arranz? What’s going on in there? Are you all right, my lord?”

  Michael threw himself back, trying to pull free of the hands gripping him.

  “Get him out of here,” snarled one of the men, looking toward the glass doors leading to the suite’s small balcony.

  These were no ordinary robbers; not with a mage! Michael struggled wildly, digging in his heels and throwing himself this way and that, fighting to keep from being pulled from the room. Without the ability to articulate Words, what little k’na he still possessed remained out of reach.

  On the balcony, rain hit Michael in the face. There were horsemen waiting on the street beneath. One of his captors dragged his head back and forced open his jaws, shoving in a wad of cloth. The gag was tied fast with a strip of cloth. They lifted Michael off his feet and tossed him out into the dark.

  Invisible hands caught him before he could hit the ground. A short distance away, the shadowy bulk of a carriage waited. Still resisting, Michael was hustled to it. The door opened. They threw him in, uncaring that he was sent sprawling the length of the wet, dirty floor. The door slammed and, a moment later, the carriage lurched and started forward at a good clip. A hand reached down, helping him as he struggled to sit up. Furious and more than a little frightened, Michael shook hair from his eyes as they adjusted to the cabin’s gloom. When the voice came, he recognized the voice at once.

  “My apologies for the rough handling, my lord.” Adrian Remy leaned across the aisle and tugged at Michael’s gag, testing it. Michael jerked his head back, furious. “One hears rumors about the Dukes of Arranz and their witcheries. I, personally, don’t think you would be so depraved, but my superiors insisted I take precautions, so I — Now, now, my lord!”

  Remy’s sword appeared, the tip resting lightly on Michael’s chest, stopping him from lunging at the Hunter. “Please! The Church of Loth has no intention of doing you harm. Just do as we ask and this will all be over before you know it.”

  Bound and gagged, Michael could do nothing except take Remy’s advice. He sat, rigid, working at his gag whenever the Hunter wasn’t looking.

  When the carriage finally stopped, Michael was dragged back out into the rain. Hunters were all around him. They didn’t give him long to get his bearings, but shoved him across littered, broken pavement and into a place smelling of mold, urine, and wood-rot.

  The tenement had been long abandoned: plaster crumbled, ceilings collapsed, floors creaked ominously underfoot. Only squatters came here now, leaving behind heaps of filth and rubbish. At the back of the building, well away from the street, more Hunters waited. Michael was forced through their jeers and shoving, down a stinking corridor and into another of the filthy, crumbling rooms. The door slammed behind him, muffling raucous laughter.

  There were others in this room, too, but Michael did not notice them at first. His attention was drawn immediately to the enormous bed. It was a magnificent piece of furniture with elaborately carved posters taller than a man. The deep mattress was heaped high with furs, pillows and coverlets of rich, shimmering fabrics. Heavy silver candlesticks held wax tapers on small night stands to either side of it. Such an incongruous sight in this wretched place left Michael momentarily stunned.

  It was several moments before he noticed a slip of a girl, scarcely older than sixteen, who waited beside the bed. She was dressed in a frothy nightgown of gauze and lace, the sheer fabrics giving hints of the slim, gently curved figure beneath. Hair almost as pale as his tumbled over her shoulders, held back from her thin, pretty face by a delicate circlet of gold.

  The room had two other pieces of quality furniture, a pair of satin-upholstered, wing-backed chairs. In one sat a young Dragon cadet, floridly handsome, who regarded Michael with disdain. He wore a conspicuous mage’s amulet on a chain around his neck which he fingered constantly as he stared. Michael turned on Remy, glaring his incredulity.

  Remy laughed. He reached into his coat and pulled out a long envelope. It contained a piece of heavy, folded paper. Flattening it out, the captain obligingly held it up so Michael could see it. Ornate lettering spelled out what he had already suspected. It was a marriage license.

  “Behold your bride,” said Remy, jerking a thumb toward the silent child in the negligee. “I think her name
is Piety.”

  Michael, stunned, looked from her still face to Remy’s mocking smile.

  “Once you’ve consummated your union,” the Hunter continued, “you and your lovely lady may depart.”

  Perversely, laughter bubbled up behind the gag, choking Michael. He shook his head in disbelief. Remy’s own smile didn’t waver, but his gaze hardened. Raising his voice slightly, he said, “I’m going to remove the gag, Merriweather. Are you ready?”

  The youth in the chair shifted to alertness. “Yes, sir!”

  “He is one of our best acolytes,” Remy said to Michael. “This is something of an end-of-term examination for him.” He strolled around to untie the gag. With a shake of his head, Michael spat out the cloth. Even as he did so, he felt his throat go numb. His mouth was dry as dust.

  “Girl!” Remy beckoned and she came at once. Her gaze darted to Michael and away, but not before he saw loathing and misery. Tears trembled on her long, thick eyelashes.

  The muscles in Michael’s throat strained, but nothing came out. Something held them frozen and his gaze flew to the youth with the amulet. Merriweather’s lips moved rapidly and he clutched his amulet in both hands.

  “I’d leave you two alone,” Remy said with false regret, “but His Eminence wishes witnesses to the consummation.”

  At a motion from him, the girl approached Michael and took his arm. To her, Remy said, “Don’t untie him.”

  “My lord,” she whispered obediently.

  Remy paused and took her chin in her hand. “It’s all right, Piety. Your sacrifice has been noticed by the Archbishop himself. Do your duty and be blessed in the eyes of both Loth and His Eminence.”

  There was nothing pious in the look she turned on Michael. “Come, my lord,” she said to him. “Let us to bed.”

  Michael pulled free. This was ludicrous! Did they really expect him to lie with this child while they watched? When she tried again to take his arm, he refused, his look so fierce, she shrank in real apprehension.

  Finally, Remy threatened to have the guards brought in to forcibly strip him. “Do not make this harder than it needs to be, my lord,” he snarled. “I am no more enamored of this foul place than you! Surely you’ve bedded whores often enough. Just think of her as another such.”

  Michael had no other choice then but to let her guide him to the bed and sit down upon it. He tugged at the chains binding him, but they were good steel and impossible to break. Quickly, she set to undressing him. His brief stir of amusement earlier was long gone. Furious and humiliated, he tried not to look at the two men watching in the far corner of the room. Instead, he fought to find some flicker of desire for the pretty, but unsettling girl who quickly shed her own frothy garments and climbed on top of him.

  Alas, all her caresses, her writhing and moaning had no effect on him. Even when she bent and took his cock in her mouth, his desire refused to stir. In desperation, Michael tried to imagine she was Stefn, but nothing helped. Her attentions grew rougher as she began to realize she could not arouse him. Finally, he swore, twisting and rolling away from her.

  Bursting into tears, the girl crawled across the mattress after him. He shook her off again, lurching from the bed, determined to end this idiocy.

  “Enough!” Remy’s voice made her flinch back. The captain rose from his chair and strode across the room to them. Grabbing her slender arm, he pulled her away. “This is getting us nowhere. Go back to your place and stay there. No! Don’t say a word, bitch, or I’ll kill you.”

  Sobbing into her hands, the girl withdrew to the other side of the mattress. Remy pulled a dagger from his belt and walked around the bed. Michael had never felt so vulnerable, bound and dressed only in his unbuttoned shirt.

  The Hunter captain stood inches from him. Lifting his blade, he held it to Michael’s throat. “Is it possible women have no attraction for you, my lord? Do you truly have the blood of the naragi in your cursed veins? If so, we are just in time.”

  The tip of the blade scratched Michael’s neck. Remy’s mouth was inches from his. “Shall we see if we can bring you to the point another way?” he whispered.

  Michael gasped at the fingers wrapping around his cock, sliding knowingly between his balls. The caress was skillful, but it wasn’t skill that made Michael’s body leap in response or made him suddenly lean forward to capture the startled captain’s lips with his own!

  Adrian Remy had the Blood!

  Michael thrust his tongue deep into the other man’s mouth, vibrantly aware of the power kept maddening just beyond his reach. The captain, caught by surprise, took a moment to react. He broke away, laughing nervously and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes were stark with shock and disbelief. Beneath the tight breeches of his uniform his own response was evident. Then, like a man hypnotized, he leaned forward again.

  Suddenly, the force holding Michael silent was gone. From the corner of his eye, he saw the young knightmage, open-mouthed, leaning forward in his chair, spell-casting forgotten. Remy, flushed and breathing hard, turned away to look at the girl. “Now,” he called hoarsely to her. “He’s ready.”

  The Words came automatically to Michael, binding the remnants of k’na lingering within him, focusing them into one brief, desperate spell. His manacles shattered like glass. Michael threw himself forward, no longer driven by reason. The captain swore, but not even his Hunter reflexes were fast enough for a naragi in heat. Michael was on him in a heartbeat, bringing him to the ground. Remy fought like a tiger, but Michael didn’t notice. He slammed Remy’s face against the floor with brutal strength and, while the captain lay dazed, tore his breeches down around his ankles.

  The girl was screaming. Michael heard it as if from a vast distance, his focus on the man writhing beneath him. He drove deep into the Hunter captain, Remy’s exquisite tightness nearly distracting him from the great, euphoric waves of k’na pouring from their point of joining.

  Hands tore at him, at his hair, at his arms, scratching and pulling. Something heavy struck him from behind. Shouting and curses echoed in his skull, deafening.

  Hurts! Stop! Stop it!

  He spoke more Words, different this time, less familiar. A dreadful sound, not unlike the roar of the stormwave, filled his head. The brilliance of a thousand suns exploded behind his eyes, blinding him.

  It was only afterwards, when his head cleared and his thoughts steadied, that he looked around and knew he had taken one step closer to the abyss.

  Erich Dore arrived at Shia a week after Forry’s departure for Withwillow. He heard the news about the spies with a grim scowl, but saw no reason to linger.

  “Forry’s man, Lake, has everything under control. Anyway, Auron will be along soon. He’s to stay and take up responsibility for overseeing the garrison for awhile. Truth be told,” added Erich, “it’s the damned rain. At least Tantagrel gets sunlight now and then, even these days.”

  “What if more Hunters come?”

  “That’s not your worry, my friend. Just play your part as Severyn’s future brother-in-law and everything will be fine.”

  He left soon after that, promising to urge Auron to hurry. Stefn watched him go from the south parlor, his coach vanishing quickly into the misty rain.

  After two days of relentless downpours, the clouds broke, showing tantalizing glimpses of blue sky. Sick of being confined to the house, even the prospect of getting wet and muddy couldn’t depress Stefn’s eagerness to be away.

  Marin was gone, so there was no one to nag him into taking an escort. He had a horse saddled and brought around.

  “It’s going to rain again, m’lord,” the groom ventured, scowling at the clouds.

  “I won’t melt,” replied Stefn cheerfully, and started down to the castle gate.

  The air had a sweet, rainwashed scent and puddles lay everywhere. Water dripped from the eaves and branches he passed. As he approached the gate, Stefn heard voices ahead. A moment later two guards came around the corner of the armory, accompanied by
a pair of villagers, the latter wet and covered with mud.

  “My lord!” One of the guards hurried forward

  Alarmed, Stefn dismounted. “Arkingham?”

  Corporal Arkingham bowed while the villagers stared at him curiously.

  “These folk are from Embry, my lord. The river has flooded its banks and half the village is under water!”

  “Has anyone been hurt?”

  “Aye!” cried one of the villagers, stepping forward. “Two drowned and several unaccounted for, children and… We’ve lost everything! The water’s getting’ higher and more rain’s comin’…”

  The two men spoke over each other, their distress obvious.

  Stefn nodded. “Corporal Arkingham, take this matter to Captain Lake. Tell him to gather as much food, bedding and clothing as may be reasonably spared. I’ll go ahead and have a look.”

  Arkingham saluted and was off to the barracks.

  “Go to the kitchens,” Stefn told the gaping villagers. “The servants will see you fed and dried out. You can ride back in the supply wagon.”

  He barely heeded their thanks, pointing them in the direction of the house before mounting up again. The patches of blue overhead were getting fewer and further between. Clouds, driven by the chill, damp wind, thickened.

  Outside Shia’s walls, the broad expanse of grassland glittered with ponds of standing rainwater, as far as the eye could see. Stefn had a sudden vision of Shia’s artificial hill rising above a sea stretching to the horizon.

  Another image suddenly imposed itself, vivid and possessed of a sharp, visceral clarity: a tall man, lean and graceful, hair as bright as frost. Strength and a sudden, wary smile — Michael!

  Stefn fell forward in his saddle, reins slipping from his hands. He couldn’t breathe. His ears filled with a loud buzzing while his heart hammered madly in his chest. Only luck kept him from slipping out of the saddle. He grabbed wildly for the reins, but his fingers were clumsy and he could only grasp handfuls of his horse’s mane and hang on.

  The madness eased. Stefn swore, trying to swallow with a parched mouth and tight throat. Sweat ran into his eyes. Something was wrong! Something to do with Michael!