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Bride by Midnight

Page 20

by WINSTEAD JONES, LINDA


  She was so close, he was in no position to take her head as he had taken her “sister’s.” He continued to fight, but if she managed to lay her mouth on him...

  Lyssa ran toward the battle. Surely she could help, somehow. Would her touch be enough? Were her instincts about her magic bringing death to the demons correct, or had that been a moment of wishful thinking? She had to try... had to do something.

  But before she could get close enough to do anything a strong hand stopped her, grabbing her hair and pulling her back. Her head snapped around; her feet slid out from under her. She scrambled for purchase so she could fight back but his grip kept her off balance. A sentinel? Another demon? Who had stopped her?

  She wanted to scream, but could not. For a moment she could not even breathe. Blade pushed the Ksana away, forcing her off one sword while he swung the other. The Ksana jumped out of the way, trying to avoid the steel, but the tip of the blade cut deeply into her throat—inches deep. She held her damaged neck and backed away, furious and bloody, but still alive. She fell to the ground and crawled slowly into the shadows, injured but far from dead. Healing, Lyssa suspected, even as she made her escape.

  Blade began to follow the demon, but the words—oh, that horrible voice—of the man holding Lyssa arrested him.

  “Stop right there!”

  Blade turned. Even in the night she could see him go pale. “Volker.”

  And then Lyssa felt the cold steel of a dagger at her own throat.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Blade swore silently as his personal demon held Lyssa’s head twisted to the side so that the sharp edge of his dagger pressed against the vein in her slender throat. He forgot that the Ksana demon was crawling away, his focus narrowing to Lyssa. It should not be possible that the same man who’d driven steel into Runa would kill Lyssa, but that was a single twitch of a wrist from happening.

  And if it did, Lyssa would not return from the dead as Runa had. Lyssa would die.

  “Let her go,” he said, wondering if either Lyssa or Volker could understand his rough words. They seemed to catch in his throat.

  Volker peeked over Lyssa’s head as he hid behind her, using her as a shield as he threatened her. Good. A dead shield would be of no use at all. “Do you have any idea how difficult it was to capture those three girls?”

  One dead, one wounded, Runa... gone?

  “Girls?” Blade’s voice was sharper now, clearer. “They were not girls.” None of them, not even his sister.

  Volker shrugged. “Perhaps not in the purest sense of the word, but they were mine. I suppose any that were so easily disposed of wouldn’t have done me much good in the long run. But there are others. An army, or what will soon be an army.” Beyond the palace, a mournful wail rose. Volker’s head snapped around; an unnatural chill made the hairs on the back of Blade’s neck stand up. That howl was both human and not, and it was filled with pain. It echoed, the stuff of nightmares. “Did you hear that? Another of my girls, one of many you have not yet met.”

  Blade took a step forward, but Volker did not stay distracted long enough for him to move in.

  “Who are you?” Volker asked as he pressed the blade more firmly against Lyssa’s throat. “Why are you here? You must be the blade to this witch, the man who gives my girls nightmares. I thought you were dead.” His eyes flitted to the swords Blade carried, swords stained with the blood of his girls.

  The man did not know. Years of investigating and tracking and killing, and Miron Volker had no idea that all this time Blade had been searching for him.

  “You took my sister,” he said.

  Volker sighed. “Is that all? I took many. I killed more. Men and women, young and old. Human and... not. I did what I had to do in order to shape this country into what it can and should be. Emperor Jahn is weak. What others see as kindness, I know to be weakness. He needs to be replaced.”

  “By you.”

  “By me,” Volker agreed, tilting his head, narrowing his eyes. “I remember you now. Didn’t I kill you once already?”

  “You tried.”

  “Twice. First by my own hand and again at the hands of others. I sent my best men to do the job. What are you?”

  “Just a man looking for justice.”

  Volker sighed. “Some families were relieved when I took their girls into my care. Who wants a demon sleeping in the next bed?”

  Blade shook his head. “I thought you’d killed Runa, but she was here all along.”

  “The demons are hard to kill, I have found. Like you, apparently,” Volker growled. “Some are harder to kill than others. There have been times when I’ve had to wound them severely in order to transport them here without incident. Your sister...”

  “Runa. She has a name.”

  “Runa, then. She’s a powerful one. I have given serious consideration to making her one of my empresses, when the time comes. Unless, of course, you’ve already killed her.”

  “No.”

  “Good. She’ll return to me, then. She likes it here. She likes her place at my side. Your sister is not the sweet girl you imagine her to be. She’s a pretty demon who drains the life from those she touches, and she grows stronger every day. If I had tried to take her after she’d come into her own, rather than identifying her early on, I never would have succeeded.” Volker smiled. “She’s killed far more men than I have.”

  Blade’s vision narrowed. He could barely breathe. He’d always seen Runa as an innocent child, but in his heart he knew she was not. Was Volker lying now, attempting to make Blade doubt himself and his sister? Perhaps. It didn’t matter. “If she killed, it was not her fault.”

  “If that makes you feel better, you can choose to believe it’s so. But you’re wrong. Your little sister is a bloodthirsty, murdering fiend. She is the stuff of nightmares.”

  Blade tightened his grip on the weapons he held and prepared to rush forward, but an unexpected voice in his head stopped him. Be still. He’s lying. He’s hoping you’ll make a rash move so he can kill us both.

  Lyssa’s voice. And she was right.

  The moment will come. Soon. Not yet.

  Blade made an effort to keep his voice as steady as Volker’s. “The men who were with you that day, I killed them... one after another. I hunted them down and slit their throats.”

  Volker was not so smug now, since his plan to incite Blade had failed. “They were soldiers in a coming war, and no soldier’s life is without risk. At that time I was forced to use common mercenaries. I disguised them as sentinels, cleaned them up and gave them uniforms, but they obeyed me because I paid them. These days I have real soldiers, trained and dedicated men who will not be so easy to kill.”

  “If I kill you, those soldiers will have no one to command them.”

  “You won’t kill me.” Volker took a step back, dragging Lyssa with him, using her as a shield for as long as he needed her. Once they were out of sight, he would no longer have need of her. “Drop those swords or I’ll cut her. Again. Deeper, this time. Not all wounds heal, not even for a witch with the gift of healing.”

  Instinct and fear for Lyssa commanded that Blade to do as Volker commanded, but he did not. Without these swords at the ready, they were both dead. He reminded himself that for now, Volker’s fear kept Lyssa alive. That a dead shield was no good at all.

  “Let her go,” Blade said calmly. “When she’s safe you can have the swords. And me.”

  Volker shook his head, then shouted, “Drop them now!”

  Once again Blade heard Lyssa’s voice, as clearly as if she were whispering in his ear.

  Now.

  He watched as, taking advantage of Volker’s surge of emotion, Lyssa jabbed her elbow into the man’s ribs and, when he reacted, twisted away from the knife and threw herself down. Blade watched as she hit the ground and a streak of blood bloomed on her throat. She’d been cut, but he did not know how badly or how deeply. He didn’t slow down to tend to her; not yet. Instead he raised the sword in his right h
and and swung it toward Miron Volker’s head as Lyssa rolled away.

  And the fight began. Volker drew his own sword as Blade swung his, knowing that, unlike Runa, Volker did not have the power to heal.

  ***

  On her belly, low and bloody in the lushest part of the garden, Princess watched the two men fight. The man who had betrayed her and the blade. Which one did she hate more deeply? She held a hand to her almost severed throat, and tried to will the blood that flowed from her midsection to slow. But she was growing weaker by the moment. A human would be dead by now, but her demon blood, the blood she was spilling at an alarming rate, kept her alive.

  The witch—Lyssa—rose slowly to her feet, her hand at her own injured throat. Her wound was small, insignificant compared to the gash that had almost taken Princess’s head.

  Volker had taken away her name and called her Princess, making her feel as if she were special, as if she were the only one. But Princess now knew that she was not the only one, not at all. She was one of many to him, no better than the expendable soldiers he talked about.

  Had he been lying when he’d told the blade that he’d planned to make Runa an empress? Runa?

  Volker had always painted such a pretty picture of power and wealth and love. A father’s love, her sisters’ devotion. But he only wanted that power for himself. She and her sisters were tools, nothing more.

  They did not need him. She saw that now with crystal clarity. United, she and her sisters could take the power and wealth—and love—for themselves.

  ***

  Blade fought with everything he had; for Lyssa, for Runa... for himself. He did not think, did not plan every move, step, swing or jab of a sword. Instead he fought with an instinct he had not known he possessed. With a sword in each hand he held his own, he battled a man that was as much a monster as those demons he called his girls.

  Volker was well practiced with a sword, but he was afraid. He had never intended to do his own dirty work. Blade saw the fear in the minister’s eyes. He swung with all his might and sliced Volker’s shirt and the skin beneath. Blood bloomed and Volker screamed—not in pain but in fury that he had been injured.

  Blade understood very well that he was not protected; that he could be killed. If death came fast enough, not even Lyssa could save him. And as he fought, he also realized that he did not want to die. After years of not caring if justice cost him his life, he wanted to live. A life with Lyssa awaited him when this was done. His life was so much more than delivering justice to one man. So much more than avenging Runa.

  Without warning Volker feinted to the side, stepped and turned, then swung his sword. Blade jumped back, and the tip of the sword scratched his arm. It was a deep scratch, but far from the killing blow his opponent had intended. And Blade responded with a swing of his own sword.

  ***

  From her position low in the garden, Princess watched. If she could take in the life force of another she would be able to heal quickly. If she had not already fed well tonight, she would be truly dead, like Divya.

  Princess mourned the loss of her sister. Divya had been silly and selfish on occasion, but she’d also been a part of the whole; a sister by blood and by bond. Runa was gone, too, but not in the same way. She lived, but she was no longer a part of the whole as she had once been. Her connection to her sisters—imperfect as it had been—had been broken by the witch. Runa would never be the same. She was no longer demon, but neither was she human. She would have nowhere to go, no one to call her own. No family. No place in the world.

  She would certainly never be an empress.

  Princess needed desperately to feed, and for a moment she considered that while the men fought she could take the witch by surprise, but knowing what Lyssa had done to Runa, Princess was afraid to touch her, especially in her weakened state. Did the witch have the power to strip away the demon? That green light was terrifying; it was death to her and her sisters. Was that why she and the others had been warned? There was more than one kind of death, and the idea of being permanently separated from her sisters, to have that connection stripped away... a true death was preferable.

  Volker and the blade were evenly matched. Their swords met as they danced on the pathway and into the gardens. Each was wounded, but neither had fallen. Not yet.

  Lyssa’s head snapped around; Princess heard what she heard. Several sentinels were coming, and quickly. Boots in the near distance; shouts, one soldier to another. The witch offered a sharp warning to her man. Volker faltered; and the blade took advantage of the lapse and ran his sword through the man Princess had sworn never to call Father again.

  Minister Volker fell, half on the path, half in the garden. He destroyed flowers as he landed, and soft petals dropped onto his back and into his hair. Princess had the fleeting thought that she should be sad, that she should cry for him, but she did not. Perhaps she had called him Father, for a while, but no more. The witch Lyssa took her man’s hand, and they ran toward the rear palace wall, away from the approaching sentinels. In moments those sentinels would find their wounded minister. She had to act quickly, before they took him away.

  Princess crawled toward Volker. Her bloody hand touched his, and with the last of her strength she pulled him toward her, off the path, into the shadows. Her lips hovered over his as his eyes opened. She could see his thoughts, feel his hope. Oh, how sweet. He believed she was going to save him, even now.

  “Father?” she whispered. “I need you.” And then she placed her mouth on his before he had the chance to scream.

  Chapter Twenty

  They didn’t have much time, but Lyssa knew better than to run without preparation. This time she would have food, blankets, and a weapon of her own. And she would deliver a proper goodbye to her father. She didn’t know when, or if, she would return to Arthes.

  Everyone would soon realize that she and Blade had been the ones to spill blood in Empress Morgana’s beautiful garden. Blade had lied to the physician and they’d escaped... what other logical conclusion could anyone come to? And if Volker survived this night, what kind of tale would he spin? Not a pretty one, she imagined.

  They had work to do, a war to fight, and they would not begin it by running blindly into the forest with no preparation.

  Though the forest was calling... whispering... singing....

  Lyssa was certain she would have to bang on the door of her home in order to wake her father and Sinmora, but when she turned the corner of her street she saw them there, standing in front of the open door looking puzzled. Her father carried a lantern that caught the two of them in a circle of soft light, a beacon calling Lyssa home.

  And they were not alone. Edine was there, just behind them. Without her children, without her husband. She carried a small cloth-wrapped parcel in her hand, and had leaned forward to whisper to Cyrus Tempest.

  At once, all three became aware that Lyssa and Blade were approaching. They turned, stopped talking, and waited.

  Lyssa could not take her eyes from Edine, who spoke first, as she took a long step forward to meet her... friend? Yes, friends still. Always.

  “I had a dream... you were there and you were hurt, and you needed me and it was all so real, and I... Oh, Lyssa, I’m so sorry.”

  Lyssa hugged her friend and felt a great rush of relief. Yes, friends always. No matter what.

  “I was scared,” Edine said. “And such a fool! Forgive me. I do love you.”

  “Of course I forgive you. I love you, too.” Lyssa stepped away from her friend. Tempting as it was, there was no time to linger here.

  “Bread and dried meat,” Edine said as she handed over the cloth-wrapped package she’d been carrying. “I don’t know why, but when I woke from my dream I knew I had to come here, and I knew you would need this. Maybe I possess a little bit of magic myself.”

  “I am positively starving,” Lyssa confessed. “We’ll make good use of this very soon.”

  “I dreamed of you, too,” Sinmora whispered. “It was.
.. horrid.”

  “Unlike the ladies, I could not sleep at all,” her Papa added, “not after seeing you... hurt.” He shook his head. “My beloved daughter... I have been a terrible father. I love you dearly. Please don’t ever doubt that, and I did try... But there are so many things I should have told you, so many....”

  “You were a wonderful father,” Lyssa said. “And you will be a wonderful father again.”

  “How did you know? I... we... Never mind. I have so much to tell you, there’s so much I should have said long ago.”

  Time was short, and she knew it, but she could not leave so much unsaid. “I was angry with you for not telling me about the baby, and then—not so long ago—I realized that I was just as much at fault because I did not tell you that I had overheard you and Sinmora talking about the baby. One kept secret does not make another right.”

  Blade stepped forward. He still carried both swords, and his clothes—fancy as they were—were stained with blood, some of it his, most of it not. By moonlight and the one lantern her father carried, he was a frightful sight. This was the primitive man she’d first seen on the street, the man who’d rescued her from the tavern as midnight approached.

  But no one was afraid of him. They all saw in him what she saw. He was hers and would protect her always.

  “This is all very well and good,” Blade said sharply, “but we have no time for sentiment, much less conversations that should have been held years ago. Another time, perhaps. Right now we need blankets, a flint, food, and a water skin. We both need a change of clothes, and Lyssa will require a warm cloak.”

  “And you?” Cyrus asked. “What else do you need?”

  Blade hesitated for a moment. “Deliver a message to Hagan Elmar, if you will. Tell him... tell him it’s done.”

  “That’s all? It’s done?”

 

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