The baby was real, but dreams of Blade—alive and coming for her—were nothing more than fantasy. As much as she wished them to be real...
She woke when the door to her cell opened with a screech and a clang. Naturally it was Volker, the man who had killed Blade’s sister, the man who collected demon children. Fifteen and sixteen years old, they were no longer true children. They were young women who wished her dead. Lyssa sat up and scooted back, away from the man.
Volker carried with him a steaming mug of something. Tea, broth, chocolate... whatever it was, the sight of that mug made her mouth water. On second thought, if he was bringing her anything it was probably drugged. Poisoned. Did she dare eat anything that came from his hands? Heaven help her, what choice did she have?
He offered her the mug, but she hugged her arms to herself and shook her head.
After a disgusted snort, he took a sip from the heavy mug and then passed it to her again. This time she grabbed the mug, took a sip herself, and closed her eyes in something near joy. Or relief. She drank again. Tea with milk and plenty of honey poured down her throat, and it tasted good.
“I don’t plan to kill you just yet, witch,” he said harshly. “I wish to know more before I make that decision. And as I said, if you prove useful to me I might allow you to live.”
She did not respond. His idea of living and hers were likely worlds apart. Lyssa had no desire to be one of his girls; she would not assist the man who had murdered Blade’s sister—the man who had ordered Blade killed—in any way.
“Are you often ill, Lyssa?” he asked in a calm, almost caring voice.
She cupped the mug in both hands. It was warm, a comfort in this chilled room. Her next sip was a small one, as she savored the tea. She would take whatever small comforts she could, while she could. “No. I have always been very healthy.”
“Of course you have,” he whispered. “Not a fever, not a cough, not a stomachache.”
“No.”
“May I see your hand, Lyssa?”
She saw no reason not to comply, since he could, if he wished, wrestle with her or hit her over the head to get what he wanted. Grudgingly, she shifted the mug of tea to one hand and offered him the other, palm up.
There was little light in the room, so by the time she saw the glint of steel in his hand it was too late. He swiped the dagger across her palm, and it cut deep. She dropped the mug. It crashed to the stone floor, breaking into many small pieces. Warm tea spread across the floor, wasted.
Perhaps Lyssa was unusually healthy, but she could feel pain, and she did bleed.
***
By the time Blade rode into Arthes on a stolen horse, the pain of his wounds was almost gone. One full day since he’d been wounded to the brink of death—and perhaps beyond—and he was healed.
Lyssa was in the palace, he knew. He felt. She was hidden deep, in terrible danger, and scared. He kept a sharp eye out for sentinels who might recognize him, but those few he passed on his way to Cyrus’s shop paid him no more mind than they would any other traveler on horseback. Mud on his clothing disguised most of the blood, so his appearance did not draw their attention. A quick glance would reveal nothing but another dirty traveler. Only on closer inspection was the dried blood noticeable.
It took a great deal of self-control not to confront those sentinels he passed. Had the attackers who’d taken Lyssa been true sentinels or thieves in stolen uniforms? No matter. To make his move too soon would be foolish, and would not lead him to his wife.
His heart was pounding as he hitched the horse to a post outside the shop. It was near closing time. The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, and on the street Arthes residents walked and rode toward home. Children laughed. Women chattered.
Blade’s mission had been altered, but in some ways, nothing had changed. If he rushed into the palace, he would be killed long before he got to Lyssa. He was willing to risk his own life, but he would not risk hers. And he could not be stopped before he found her.
Cyrus was at the counter, waiting on a customer, smiling as if all was right with the world. He could not know what had happened, but he had to know that Lyssa and her new husband were missing. Most likely he had also heard the accusation of witchcraft from Edine or someone the silly nit had spoken to. He had no right to smile.
That smile died quickly when Cyrus looked up and saw Blade. He paled and stepped back, looking for a moment as if he might actually run.
Blade stalked to the counter, glared down at the lone customer, an elderly man with a love for sweets, and said, “Out.”
The man didn’t hesitate to leave, abandoning his purchases on the counter and taking his coins with him.
“Where is Lyssa?” Cyrus asked, unexpectedly taking the offensive. “What have you done with her?”
“Do you care?” Blade snapped. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I do, I do care, but—” He pointed a shaking finger to Blade’s chest. “Dear God, is that her blood? Did you harm her? I know she’s different, she’s not like the rest of us, but she deserves... I wanted better for her than...”
“The blood is my own.” Suddenly the occasional odd glances made sense. The shifting of Cyrus’s eyes, the infrequent flashes of... fear. “You know what she is, don’t you? All along, you knew, and yet you didn’t warn her, didn’t prepare her for this.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Cyrus’s face went red with his lie, then paled again. His eyes darted to the side and then back to Blade.
“You know very well,” Blade said in a low voice. “It’s the reason you were so relieved when she married me. It’s the reason you were so anxious to have her out of your house. You were afraid of her, afraid of what she might become.”
Cyrus sighed. Two spots of color rose on his cheeks. “Lyssa’s mother was a witch. I didn’t know when I married her, didn’t know until she became pregnant. That’s when her abilities came to the surface. It was not bad, at first, but then... she began to lose control. One day she picked Lyssa up and the baby screamed. Her flesh, where Madra had touched her, was burned. She healed quickly, but after that Madra was afraid to touch her own child. A week later she disappeared.”
“Lyssa’s mother isn’t dead?”
“I don’t know. It’s been many years, and she was... Madra was not well when she left us. And yes, I have always been afraid that what happened to Madra would happen to my daughter. I was not afraid of Lyssa. I was afraid for her.”
Maybe that was, in part, true. Blade didn’t have time to dig any deeper now. He had no time to waste... not a moment.
“Lyssa is in danger. If you ever loved her, if you care for her at all, you will help me.”
“What... what do you need?” He again studied Blade’s ripped and muddied and bloodied clothing. “Other than a change of clothes.”
“I need a sword.”
Cyrus shook his head. “I have none, but I can take you to a blacksmith...”
“There’s no time for that.” No time at all. “Get me into the palace,” Blade said. “Now.”
***
Lyssa was lying on the floor of her cell again. It had become impossible to sit, much less stand. The stone was grimy and cold, but she pressed her cheek to it. She could wish for blessed sleep and nightmares of being alone, but they did not come. There was only pain, weakness, and despair. So many nights, so many years wasted fearing solitude, when there were monsters in the world far more worthy of fear.
“Fascinating,” Volker said. He’d lit several candles for this visit, so she could see him better than before. That was unfortunate, since he was the person she most wished never to see again. His face might be considered ordinary, if one did not note the gleam of sick hate in his eyes. He enjoyed hurting her; he enjoyed her screams.
She had long ago ceased begging him to stop, since pleading only made him smile. Again he took his dagger to her flesh, to her arm, for the third or fourth or fifth time. It hurt, she bled, and then the wound healed, h
er skin knitting itself closed. But not until she’d lost blood. She’d lost too much blood in too short a period of time, and that was why she could no longer sit up. What was this torture doing to her child, her baby, Blade’s daughter?
Blade’s daughter. If her mind was not playing tricks on her, their baby was a girl. Would she be a witch like her mother? Would the child even be born into this world? For that to happen, Lyssa had to survive.
She would have pleaded for her child, would have begged for the life of her baby, if she hadn’t thought Volker would be thrilled to use the child against her. There were moments when he seemed to know what she was thinking, but he did not know everything. He could not know about the baby.
No, he did not hear her thoughts; he had no access to her mind. He got his information from someone else. One of the half-demons, or a wizard, or a witch whose circumstances were no better than Lyssa’s. Volker had no magic of his own, but he was truly evil.
As she opened her eyes and watched, Volker took one of the vials he’d filled with her blood and drank it. He smacked his thin lips, licked away a drop of blood that had clung to the corner of his mouth and dribbled down into his beard. “It doesn’t taste any different from a normal woman’s blood.”
The fact that he knew what a normal woman’s blood tasted like raised the level of her horror.
She was barely able to move by the time he placed the tip of the dagger at her throat. “If I cut off your head, will it grow back? You can’t be immune to every illness or injury. You must have some vulnerability.” He moved the tip of the knife down her body until it rested over her belly. “What if I cut the child from your body? There’s not much to her yet, is there? Does your daughter already have a heart? Is that tiny creature filled with powerful blood like yours?”
How did he know? Maybe he had known all along, thanks to his girls. Maybe he had known before she had...
“I am not with child.” Lyssa found the strength to reach out and grab his wrist as she lied. She did not like to touch him, but she had to move that dagger away from her baby. Sadly, she did not have the strength to control him. After pushing that hand away, it returned. Stronger, more threatening.
“Don’t lie to me, witch. My girls see everything, they know everything. And they tell me what they see... what they know.”
“Do you have no powers of your own?” she countered, knowing that he didn’t, knowing also that he believed his lack of magic to be a weakness. Judging by the expression on his face, it had been the wrong thing to say. He could—would—kill her.
Would Blade be waiting for her on the other side? Would the Land of the Dead be as real as this world? She wanted to hold him again, to tell him how much she loved him. They should be together. In any world, they could be more...
The tip of Volker’s dagger raised up, danced about, and finally raked across her forearm. He increased the pressure, and once again, she bled.
***
Blade moved unerringly forward, drawn toward Lyssa just as he had been when he’d followed her into the forest. The guards were lulled by Cyrus’s presence. They were accustomed to seeing the shopkeeper come and go. The bolt of fabric the old man carried gave them an excuse for entering.
Once inside, Cyrus was taken to the empress. Blade followed his instincts and slipped away. A door just off the central ground floor room called to him, and he answered without hesitation. He opened the door, followed the narrow steps down. Beneath the earth, into what had once been a prison level but was now deserted—or should be—he answered.
The palace was rumored to have many hidden passageways and secret rooms. What if Lyssa was in one of them? What if he could feel her so near and yet not find her?
Doubts were pushed away. He would find her. He had not cheated death and come all this way to leave without his wife.
***
Lyssa closed her eyes and felt the blood seep from her body. She was going to die. Here, soon. No amount of magic could save her from this.
And then, when it seemed that the last bit of hope had left her, her eyes popped open. The dark, terrible room seemed to fill with sunshine. Her heart thudded, strong once more. Much as she had felt blood seeping from her body, she now felt life seeping in. Blade was near. Very near. He wasn’t dead; he was very much alive. He was coming for her, coming for her and their baby.
“I do not like this new expression on your face, witch,” Volker said. Moving fluidly he stood and stepped away from her, and then he was gone. He closed the door to her cell behind him, but he was in such a hurry he did not even take the time to lock it. As if she could move... as if she had the strength to save herself.
In a matter of moments the door opened again. Lyssa opened her eyes, stared in fear at the shadow that filled the doorway. And then she relaxed; her body almost sang. She could not see his face nearly well enough, but she would know that shape, that body, anywhere.
“Blade.” The single word was a sigh, a prayer of gratitude, a declaration of love. And then she closed her eyes and allowed the blessed darkness to overtake her.
Chapter Sixteen
Blade stood over Lyssa for several moments before he dared to drop to his haunches and touch her. There was so much blood. It was in her hair, soaked into her dress; it stained every visible inch of her skin.
She breathed. He placed two fingers at her slender throat. The pulse there was fast, and not as strong as he would like.
But she was alive; he was not too late.
This lower level, which had once been used as an underground prison, before the emperor had moved the guardhouse and cells to another site well away from the palace, had been deserted when he’d burst into the hallway. He could not expect that good luck would last for long. If Volker used these cells, he or others in his employ might be nearby. He scooped Lyssa into his arms and carried her into the hallway. There was no way to go but the way he’d come in, up narrow stairs to ground level. He’d walked into the palace with Cyrus, who had a plausible reason for entry. Getting out of the palace with a blood-soaked woman in his arms would not be as easy as getting in had been, however.
Sure enough, as he burst from the stairway with Lyssa in his arms, several pairs of curious eyes turned his way. Two sentinels drew their swords.
Blade could not draw his dagger, not unless he put Lyssa down, and he would not do that. The floor would be too hard and cold; she needed him, needed him to hold her.
Fortunately the sentinels looked more confused than alarmed. They’d seen him come in with Cyrus, and they knew Lyssa well. She’d been visiting this palace with her father since she was a child.
“My wife... my wife fell down the stairs, and she’s hurt herself badly.” The fear in his voice was real, so real the words came out rougher than he’d intended. “I must get her home. Our family physician will care for her there.”
One of the sentinels took a step forward. “Gods, that’s a lot of blood. Are you sure she’s alive?”
At that moment Empress Morgana herself entered the room. Blade had only seen the emperor’s wife from a distance, but it was her. The fair-haired empress was elegantly beautiful, elaborately dressed, and had an air of command. Cyrus was right behind the empress, still trying—ineptly—to explain away his mistake in delivering a length of fabric that had not been ordered. The empress came to a sudden stop, and her smile faded as she looked from the sentinels to Lyssa and then caught Blade’s eye. She was clearly alarmed and yet still very much in control.
Cyrus glanced at his daughter, and his face lost all color. Blade had made it clear that Lyssa was in grave danger, but her father had not expected to see her this way. “Oh, Lyssa,” he whispered, with love and fear combined, as he dropped the length of fabric to the floor.
Morgana took charge. It was an empress’s way, Blade imagined.
“She fell, you say?”
Blade did his best to bow with the unconscious Lyssa in his arms. “My apologies, Your Highness. My wife allowed her curiosity to over
come her, and she poked her nose where it did not belong. She fell down the stairs and cut her head. You know how head wounds bleed. I am hoping it looks much worse than it is.”
“Miss Lyssa was not with her husband and father when they arrived,” one confused sentinel offered.
“Of course she was,” Blade said. Her father concurred, though not as vigorously as he might have. Two against one. Was it enough?
Morgana turned an icy glare to the offending sentinel. “Fetch the palace physician and see that a guest room on Level Seven is prepared.”
Blade stepped forward; Lyssa stirred in his arms. Thank God! “That’s not necessary. I can care for my wife. As I said, it—”
The empress turned the same cold glare she’d sent the sentinel’s way to Blade, cutting him off. “I will not allow her to leave the palace this way. What will people think if they see Lyssa leaving here bloodied and unconscious?” Then she smiled. That smile was a mixture of beauty and the power Columbyana’s empress possessed. He had heard tales of her magical abilities, but had no idea what was true and what was mere speculation.
“I am sure that she will be fine,” the empress said. “She is strong, her heartbeat is... becoming steady. I must offer a room for her to rest, at the very least. You can attempt to care for her yourself if you wish, but the physician will be close by.”
It was not a request but an order. One he dare not refuse.
While Blade did not know the full extent of Empress Morgana’s powers, he was relieved to hear her say that Lyssa’s heartbeat was becoming steadier. “You are too kind.”
Cyrus was dismissed, while Blade—Lyssa in his arms—was guided by the empress herself up three flights of winding stairs to a long hallway and, eventually, a luxurious bed chamber. The empress ordered a hot bath, hot soup, and clean clothing to be provided, as well as bandages, soap, and her own special salve.
“You will stay the night, of course,” she said, as she indicated the physician, who was already on standby in the hallway.
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