Children of the Sun

by Linda Winstead Jones

  “Ariana.”

  Her head snapped up when he called her name so softly. He remained there in her bed, naked and maddeningly calm. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “To what end?” Sian asked as he left the bed. He moved toward her, but she backed away two short steps. She did not want him to touch her. Not now.

  “Must there be an end to the truth? Must every word that leaves your mouth be weighed and calculated and... and... cold?” she finished. “Calculated and cold, that’s what you are.”

  Sian reached for his trousers, trousers that had been hanging on a chair near the coat she had been drawn to as she’d dressed. It was as if a little voice in the back of her head had whispered, You know the prophesy is there. You know you want to read it before you leave.

  And so she had. Now she wished she had ignored the impulse that had driven her to read this prophesy which doomed her.

  Sian pulled on his trousers quickly. “I have been studying the witches’ journals from Level Seven, trying to find a way back from the Land of the Dead as I searched for more information on the Isen Demon.”

  “There is no way back from the Land of the Dead,” she snapped as she threw the prophesy at him.

  “How can you be sure? Perhaps there is something we don’t know of which can change this prophesy. A spell or a potion or an amulet...”

  “Stop it,” Ariana ordered in a lowered voice. She raised her chin, and even though everything that meant anything to her was currently falling apart, she did not cry. She did not even whimper.

  Not everything in her heart was gone. She still had the love of her family, and the knowledge that her actions could save many people much pain. What she’d lost was Sian, and in truth, he had never been hers. If he had been hers in the ways she had imagined, he would not have lied to her.

  “You’re dismissed,” she said calmly. “I hope your journey home is a pleasant one.” Words caught in her throat, but she did not let the reaction show. “No wonder you never told me where you lived. You knew all along that I would not be looking for you when the battle was done, because when the battle is done, I’ll be dead.”

  He reached for her.

  “Don’t, Sian.” She tilted her head slightly and studied the face of the man she’d thought she knew so well. “Does every man lie when it suits him? Is any man capable of speaking the truth even when it is painful to him, even when that truth gets in the way of what he wants? Will a man lie simply because it is convenient? I think perhaps that is the case. No wonder a woman is destined to lead this army. Truth is necessary, Sian, even when it’s unpleasant.”

  “You need more men,” he said sharply, completely ignoring her argument.

  “Not yet,” she responded with confidence. “Right now I need Keelia and Lyr and their people. Once we’re assembled, then I’ll decide how many more men I need.”

  He was clearly frustrated as he folded the prophesy and stuffed it into his pocket. “You have Merin and his forty. Why not make it forty-one?” he asked gruffly. “I can fight, you know. My magic would be helpful, in battle and in travel.”

  Since she’d discovered the extent of the prophesy and Sian’s lies, Ariana had stepped away from him, keeping her distance. Now she moved toward him. She reached up and took his face in her hands, her palms resting against cheeks rough with a morning’s stubble, and then she went up on her toes and kissed him. It was a cold kiss, unlike any other they had shared. When she pulled her mouth from his and dropped down, she said, “I love you, Sian, and I thank you for everything you have taught me. I love you, but no longer trust you. I will not have a man I can’t trust in my army.”

  She handed him his shirt, then stepped past him and opened the door. “Good-bye, enchanter. I wish you a long and happy life.”

  Frustrated, he stepped into the hallway. She slammed the door behind him, and then, without pause, crossed the room to continue preparing for the day. She would wear an outfit very much like that of any soldier as she marched away from Arthes. Her fingers trembled as she fastened the buttons of her vest, and she tried to dismiss the reaction by retreating into her own thoughts.

  He’s not worth a moment’s heartache.

  I know that.

  There are other men in the world, men who would be more than happy to take his place. You will soon discover that one man is very much like another.

  I don’t want another man. Even if I did, I’m going to die. Probably soon.

  Death is not so bad...

  ***

  The soldiers Fynnian assembled looked fiercer and more prepared than those who had come at Ciro’s silent command. They were certainly better armed. Still, the prince knew that when the time to fight was upon them, none would be fiercer than those who had answered his call.

  Men and women, young and old, armed with whatever weapons they could steal or fashion, they were a ragged-looking army. Ragged but hungry for blood and unfettered by morals.

  He kept to himself the belief that his legion could easily best Fynnian’s soldiers if he commanded it. Fynnian didn’t need to know, and besides... they were all his soldiers.

  Under the light of a full moon, Ciro studied his legion. Fynnian had provided a fine, large, white horse for Ciro to ride upon. His army consisted of more foot soldiers than horsemen, but in time that would change. As they marched across the country, they would take what they needed, including horses.

  When they marched through a village, they would leave nothing behind. They would take what they wanted and destroy all else.

  He spoke loudly enough that all could hear him, even though the men stretched partway down the mountainside, and more continued to come. He could see them coming, trudging forward lit by moonlight and determined to be one of his Own.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  The answers were shouted and whispered and silent. He heard them all.

  “Will you follow me wherever I lead you?”

  Again he heard every answer, and those responses fed him almost as well as a soul and a mouthful of blood. These soldiers were not just his to command, they were a part of him. An extension of his power. An extension of the demon itself.

  “Will you live and die at my command?” This time he yelled at the top of his lungs, and every answer, every one, was shouted toward him. The mountain shuddered, and he smiled.

  “Do you love me?”

  The answer was tremendous, and unshakably affirmative. They would soon march down the mountainside, but not yet. Ciro had business to attend to first.

  An anxious Fynnian followed Ciro into the house. “This is not necessary,” the wizard argued. “The servants know to keep Rayne isolated and safe, and—”

  “I did not ask for your counsel,” Ciro snapped. “And if you think you are still in command, I will be glad to prove that you are not.” He glanced back at the old man who followed him. Fynnian remained useful and might be so for a while. As long as he didn’t get in Ciro’s way, he would continue to live. If he faltered, however, there would be no hesitation.

  Inside the house, Ciro made his way to a plain door that looked as if it might open onto a storage room or a pantry. Instead beyond the door there were narrow, steep stairs that led down to a cool cellar. The house had been built to accommodate the landscape, and this part of the dwelling was on the side of the mountain. Below the floors were the rock of the mountain itself, and one high, small window would allow a hint of light to touch the room each afternoon. Rayne would like that. She would enjoy the fleeting warmth of sunlight each day.

  He heard her pathetic pleading before he reached the bottom of the stairs. She was begging one of the servants who had been assigned to keep watch to release her.

  Ciro began to speak before Rayne or the servant could see him. “The man knows better than to release you, my beloved, as I would know of his betrayal immediately and would return here in a moment’s time to eat his soul and drink every drop of his bitter blood.”

  The servant in question
shuddered, knowing Ciro’s claim to be true.

  Ciro stopped in the center of the well-lit cellar to admire his future bride. His betrothed. The flames from many oil lamps and candles flickered, so that light seemed to dance over Rayne and the old man who had her keeping.

  He would not be cruel where his bride was concerned. Rayne had all the comforts she might desire here in this cellar. A small but comfortable bed. A padded chain. A stack of books. Paper and pen. The servant he had arranged to care for her would see that she was well fed. Tonight she was dressed in one of her favorite gowns, a pale blue frock that was girlish and spoke of propriety and decorum.

  The chains which shackled her to the stone wall allowed her to move to all of the comforts he had provided for her, so he could not understand why she cried and pleaded.

  “Sir,” she said, her eyes wide and beseeching. “Please release me. I will tell no one what’s happened here. I’m sure this is simply an unfortunate misunderstanding.”

  He grinned at his future bride. The purity of her soul shone around her. That purity called to him, but it also kept him from her. Still he smiled, because he knew that when he returned, he would have the power to take what he wanted, and she would be here waiting for him.

  “I’m going off to war, my beloved.” He ignored her pleas and walked toward her. She backed away as far as she could, but had nowhere to go, thanks to the shackles and the cold stone wall behind her. “Think of me while I’m away.” He caught up with Rayne when she had moved as far as her bonds would allow. He touched her chin with one finger and lowered his mouth to hers. He could not take her soul, and it was not time to take her body, but he could take a kiss.

  When his lips were almost on hers, she turned her head away.

  Angry, Ciro clutched her face in one hand and held her fast. This time when he took his mouth to hers, she could not move.

  He opened his mouth wide, and though she fought him, he forced her to do the same. She was very warm and she tasted good, as he had known she would. Ciro was vaguely aware that his beloved was beating against him with her small fists. The chains that hung from those fists clanged. Her tears dampened the kiss, and they tasted salty and good. She pushed against his arms and his chest, she even tried to pull his hair. He paid no mind to her efforts and the keening noise she made. No mind at all.

  He thrust his tongue into her mouth. She tried to squeal and push him away, but he held fast and moved his tongue in and out of her mouth, mimicking the act she was so afraid he would force upon her now.

  She had no need to fear. Not today. The time was wrong for the making of his son, but when he returned, the time would be right.

  When he returned, Rayne wouldn’t fight him this way. When he returned, he would be strong enough to make her do anything he wanted. She wouldn’t dare fight him after he returned to her victorious.

  Just to make her squeal, he cupped her breast and gave the nipple a tweak. Her entire body shuddered, not with anticipation but with fear.

  He liked it, so he bit her lip lightly and tasted a drop of her sweet blood.

  Ciro finally released Rayne and backed away. She was so beautiful with terror in her damp eyes and one small drop of blood on her bottom lip. He wanted another taste, but the blood of others would soon enough satisfy that need. He wanted souls to sate the hunger. For now tainted souls would do, and there were plenty of tainted souls awaiting him.

  “Good-bye, beloved,” he said. “When I return, we’ll be married.”

  Rayne shook her head in denial, but said nothing.

  “We will be married,” Ciro said. “There will be a priest of my choosing in attendance, and we will have a few witnesses as our guests. If you do not happily agree in front of them all to be my wife, I will kill them one at a time until you do.” He continued to smile. “I’ll start with your father, if he lives that long.” Ciro cast a glance at a cowering Fynnian, who had wisely remained silent throughout the exchange. “And then I’ll continue with the kitchen help, and perhaps that one mousy maid you like so much.”

  Rayne managed to force out one hoarse word. “Why?”

  Ah, she was so naive. “Because I love you, of course.”

  ***

  Sian paced in front of the emperor. He had bungled everything, hadn’t he? The news about Ciro, the truth of the prophesy, giving in to his desire for Ariana... he had bungled it all.

  Arik waved a hand at the pacing enchanter. “Sit.”

  “No, thank you. I really must be going.”

  Ariana’s army was gathering at the gates at this very moment, preparing to march. Ariana’s army. If there were any words more ridiculous, he had never heard them.

  “Stay a few days,” Arik said. “I’ve missed you. I’ve missed your entire family. Did I ever tell you about the time your father and I ventured into the village where your mother lived? It was long before you were born, of course. Your mother was just a girl, and was already a celebrated witch in her village.”

  “I’m very sorry, but I can’t stay,” Sian said. “I must go.” Now.

  Arik looked disappointed. “I’m sorry to hear that. It seems as though you’ve been here no time at all, and you were so busy we had little time for visiting.” He nodded slightly. “I wish you well on your journey.”

  Now was the time to nod in return, to wish the emperor well, and to depart. If only it were so simple.

  “There’s something I must tell you first,” Sian said. “I do not wish to tell you, I would do anything not to tell you, but recent events have taught me that secrecy between friends is not beneficial, even if it seems as though it might be.”

  “You have bad news.”

  “Yes,” Sian said simply.

  “Is it... Ciro?”

  At that moment, Sian realized that Arik already knew his son was not coming home. The emperor did not know why or how, and he did still hope, but he possessed a father’s intuition that told him all was not well.

  “Yes, I’m afraid it is.”

  Sian knew no way but the blunt truth, and so he told it, from the meeting in Level Thirteen to the second appearance of Diella in his chambers. The light in Arik’s eyes dimmed significantly as Sian told what he knew, as the last of his hope was snatched away.

  Finally, he knelt before the old man’s chair and took two trembling hands in his own. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “If I could change this for you, I would.”

  “I know you would,” Arik whispered.

  “If Ciro comes here, do not let him into the palace. He is no longer Ciro, but a monster without a soul. He might look like Ciro, but what lurks beneath the skin is not your son.”

  “Perhaps something of Ciro remains, and I can—”

  “Nothing of your son remains,” Sian said, boldly interrupting the emperor in a way few dared to do. “Do not allow him to fool you into believing that he can be saved. He can’t.”

  The emperor sighed, downhearted. “This changes everything,” he whispered.

  “I’m so sorry to be the one to bring you this news.”

  “I will always grieve for my son, and I would like to remain here and convince myself that you are wrong and he can be saved. My responsibilities demand more of me. I cannot die without an heir,” Arik said in a low voice. “The resulting struggle for power would tear this country apart.”

  “Then you must get well,” Sian said. “You must marry again, and have more sons.” He did not think it was likely that Arik would recover to that extent, but if the battle against darkness was won, and the darkness that had infected the emperor was gone, then it was possible.

  If Ciro and the demon who had taken him were destroyed, then Arik might live to produce another heir. He was still young. Many previous emperors had produced children well into their seventies, and when he recovered, Arik could do the same.

  But if that opportunity did not arise the country would be, as the emperor said, torn apart. “In order to allay the confusion that would arise if something were to happen t
o you—”

  “If I were to die,” Arik said bluntly.

  “If you were to die, then,” Sian repeated calmly. “You must name another heir or a trusted comrade to follow you. A relative or a minister, perhaps.”

  Arik’s pain showed all too clearly in his eyes and in the tremble of his once-strong hands, but his voice remained relatively calm. “Even if I name a minister to follow me, there will still be war. Another will claim the throne, and sides will be chosen, and in the midst of this unholy war of yours, a struggle entirely human will also take place. There must be blood for the successor to be widely accepted. In the past, bastard sons have been named emperor.”

  “I am aware.” In fact, Arik had been a bastard child who took the throne from a legitimate son who had been a vengeful and unworthy leader.

  “Do you believe my ministers and priests, the people of this country, would think less of me, or of him, if I revealed at this late date that I have a son by a woman I never married? A son I never claimed, as I did not want him to suffer the heartbreak I suffered as a child who was always looked down upon as less than one who was legitimate?”

  Sian experienced a shiver of surprise. Arik, who had always been so upright and truthful, had a hidden illegitimate son? “Is he worthy?”

  “Yes, most definitely.”

  “Is he old enough to assume the throne?”

  “Yes,” Arik whispered. Tears filled his eyes. “I did not want him ever to know,” he said. “It might seem cruel, but in my own way I only wanted to protect him. He had a good life, I made sure of that. He had everything he ever needed, including a loving family and a name not my own. My son had a good life,” Arik insisted again. “And now, in the name of Columbyana, I must strip from him everything he holds dear. Will I be forgiven, Sian? Do you think me a terrible person, a terrible father, for keeping this secret so long?”

  Sian was dismayed by the way the emperor held his hand so desperately. His health could not take this kind of strain.

  “My lord, you do not need my approval or forgiveness. When the time comes, you might need to ask those things from your son, but—”