Children of the Sun

by Linda Winstead Jones

  Diella swung her short sword at a man dressed in brown when he tried to hit her on the head with a sturdy length of wood which missed by mere inches. She did not miss when she lashed out with the sword, and the man dropped.

  Villagers fell here and there, and so did Ciro’s Own. His soldiers had no souls, they were willing to do anything he asked of them, but they were not the finest of fighters. If determination alone were enough they would be sufficient, but they needed skill. They needed proper training.

  Half a dozen of his Own placed themselves between the resistors and their lord and master, protecting Ciro—who needed protection much less than they did. Since the demon had taken possession of more of him, he had become almost indestructible. Wounds didn’t hurt him, and they healed quickly. The blood he shed was no more than an annoyance.

  If they separated his head from his heart, he imagined that would do him in for good, but nothing else would kill him. No, the Isen Demon would survive in this body it had taken.

  One quick sentinel fought his way past the protective soldiers on Ciro’s left. It would be easy to turn and run, since Ciro was on horseback and the sentinel was on foot, but the prince did not run from anything. He waited as the sentinel struck down one soldier and then another before breaking through the guard.

  Ciro’s lack of movement or resistance gave the sentinel false hopes. The lad rushed fearlessly forward and thrust his sword upward, trying to pierce the rebellious prince’s gut with the end of his long blade.

  Ciro caught the tip in his hand and halted the process, catching the sentinel by surprise. Blood seeped from between Ciro’s fingers, but he felt no pain. He whipped the sword away, and then reached down to grab the sentinel by his green shirt.

  The sentinel tried to fight, but Ciro touched the lad’s mind with his own and ordered compliance. Relax. Come to me. You are mine now.

  It was no effort at all to take what he needed.

  He did not taste the soul and blood of a young woman as he had originally intended, but the young man who died an ugly death atop Ciro’s horse sufficed. His skin was tougher, his blood not so sweet, but Ciro was nourished.

  The sentinel’s body discarded, Ciro called his Own and ordered them to retreat. He could not afford to lose another soldier. He had already lost too many on this night, and he needed to be as strong as possible when he marched on Arthes to take the throne from his father.

  He sent the assigned meeting place into the minds of his Own, then turned and led his horse into the darkness.

  In moments, Diella joined him, once again riding her own horse. “That was a disaster,” she exclaimed.

  “Yes. Yes it was.” Ciro’s voice remained low and calm. “They were waiting for us. They knew we were coming. How?”

  There was no way they could’ve known that he would choose that particular village on this particular night. No, it wasn’t possible.

  “I would suspect they’ve prepared every village between here and Arthes for possible attack.”

  Diella sighed. “That’s annoying. What are you going to do?”

  Ciro chewed on the possibilities for a moment. “My army needs training. They’re eager, but not skilled. Passion will only get you so far when you’re fighting a skilled soldier.”

  “You’re going to stop marching to Arthes in order to train your army of slobbering idiots?”

  He was tempted to reach out and slap the annoying woman with the back of his hand and send her flying, but he didn’t. The Isen Demon insisted that she still had a part to play, and he was not to harm her.

  “Yes,” Ciro said calmly.

  Diella wisely decided to remain silent as they lost themselves in the darkness of this disappointing night.

  The demon had told Ciro that many had important parts to play in the taking of Columbyana, and the rest of the world as well. A dark magic interfered with the psychic abilities of those who might issue warnings about what was coming. Carefully chosen magical beings—wizards and witches, for the most part—worked their own darkness in all corners of the world. A bitter, hungry wizard deep in Caradon Territory; an ancient witch working her spells in a swamp hut; a seemingly innocent girl in the Mountains of the North, a girl who would take a life in the name of the demon... they all had their parts to play, just as he did.

  Take the throne.

  Take his beloved.

  Make the child.

  Those were his tasks. He cared little for the tasks of others until the Isen Demon insisted that he listen.

  ***

  Anwyn Queens were renowned for their sexuality, and had been for as long as Anwyn history had been spoken and written. Keelia had long ago decided that she was not like other queens in this respect. Yes, when her fertile time descended upon her, she was obligated to relieve the desire that gripped her, but she had never been tempted to take a lover. In between these episodes she was quite content to sleep alone.

  If she survived this ordeal, she would never be content to sleep alone again.

  Joryn had insisted that they stop to sleep for a while, and Keelia had reluctantly agreed. Her visions were becoming fuzzy. Was it tiredness that affected her abilities, or was the fact that they approached a dark wizard dampening her talents even more?

  For a while, she did not want to think about darkness or wizards or coming full moons. She’d shed her gown soon after they’d stopped, and now she made quick work of removing Joryn’s boots and trousers. He had built a small fire hours ago, caught their supper and cooked it, and insisted that she rest.

  She could not sleep, not yet.

  Their bed was hard, but she didn’t care. Joryn made a nice pillow.

  She had decided to accept that he was her mate, no matter how impossible it seemed. Everything changed in time. It had once been thought impossible for an Anwyn Queen to give birth to a daughter, but Juliet Fyne had proved that belief wrong. Keelia’s mother had given birth to not one daughter but two. Keelia could and probably would have daughters as well as sons, and so would Giulia. What other supposedly indisputable fact might be wrong? It was possible that nothing they believed to be a certainty was in fact certain, even the belief that an Anwyn’s mate could only be another Anwyn or a human female.

  “We have much in common, you and I,” she said as she pressed her hand low on Joryn’s belly.

  He laughed. “We have nothing in common. Nothing at all.”

  She circled her fingers around his penis and he grew quickly.

  “All right,” he said lightly. “We have one thing in common.”

  “We both change with the full moon,” Keelia said.

  “But not into the same animal,” he argued.

  “We both heal more quickly than humans.”

  “Perhaps it is a human trait that they heal slowly.”

  “We both have magic.”

  “They are very different types of magic.”

  Keelia stoked him gently. “We have shared dreams, have we not?” Dreams of sexual liaisons that seemed almost real, dreams they had shared before they became lovers.

  Joryn sighed. “You are relentless.”

  “Yes.” Keelia rested her head on Joryn’s stomach, and as he tensed beneath her and rocked his hips, she slid slightly lower so she could flick out her tongue and taste him. He lurched beneath her, and she heard his sharp intake of breath. “I am relentless when I know I am correct.”

  She took a bit more of him into her mouth, and whipped her tongue around, teasing before she rose up slightly, slowly. “When will you admit that we are mated? When we stop the wizard’s work and save you and the others, when we have fulfilled our duties to our people, we will remain together.”

  “Can we not discuss this at another time?” he asked.

  Again, she flicked her tongue against his erection. “I wish to discuss it now.”

  He groaned. “You do not play fair.”

  “Why should I play fair when playing unfairly is so much fun... and so wonderfully effective?” She trailed
the tip of her tongue down his length and back up again. Slowly. “You are mine, are you not?”

  “For now,” he admitted.

  “Forever.”

  “There is no forever, Keelia. There’s just now.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” She sighed and continued to play with her lover. “There is a custom among the Anwyn, a custom of offering the throat to one you trust and love above all others. Do the Caradon have such a custom?”

  “It’s a foolish man or beast who bares his throat,” he said. “One bite, and life’s blood spills.”

  “One kiss,” Keelia countered, “and a bond like no other is formed.” It was a bond she longed for.

  Joryn knew how to play unfairly, just as she did. He rolled her onto her back and took a nipple deep into his mouth. He spread her legs and stroked, as a man who knows a woman’s body well might. Even though he was very well aroused, he did not rush toward the end of the encounter, but instead took his time. He kissed not only her breasts but the insides of her elbows, which were oddly sensitive; her belly, where she quivered; the insides of her thighs; the bud at her entrance.

  Then he drew slightly away. Not far, never far. “Have you ever offered your throat to anyone?”

  “No,” she sighed. “I am Queen.” That should be explanation enough, but she wasn’t sure it would be. A queen did not kneel to others, or receive commands, or offer her throat.

  “You are wise to be cautious. Who needs anything other than the moment we live in? We must embrace each day as if it is our last. Now is fine, isn’t it? Now is enough.”

  “I want forever,” she whispered.

  “But now is fine.” He covered her body with his and teased her by barely entering.

  “Why do you deny what is so obvious?” she argued, even though her breath would barely come to her, and she was hurtling beyond all rational thought. It was clear to her that this was more than just sex, and it must be clear to Joryn as well. Why did he fight her?

  He did not answer, but again barely entered her and then withdrew. Her body shook, and the last bit of her will vanished. “Yes, yes, you are right, Joryn,” she whispered, arching against him. “Now is very fine. I need nothing else.”

  With that he thrust into her, deep and hard, and she shattered. Her cry echoed off the rocks around and above them, and a moment later so did his.

  He didn’t always lose control when they made love, but tonight, again, small fires leapt around them. Since they were not in the confines of a cave, he was not concerned. The flames would die down in time. They always did.

  She had not lost control of her shape-shifting abilities since that first time, though she did often check his back for scratches, just to be sure.

  The light he created illuminated his face nicely. She reached up to caress his cheek. “If I was swept up in the beauty of your precious now and told you that I love you, what would you do?”

  He did not hesitate in answering. “I would turn my back on you,” he said gently. “We cannot allow the falseness of romantic love to come between us. What we have is good, Keelia, but it won’t last. It is not meant to last. We’ll succeed in our mission and go our separate ways, or else we’ll fail and you’ll kill me. Don’t ruin the only good part of this endeavor we have set for ourselves with talk of forever, trust, and love.”

  “If this is the only good part, then it is because it’s the only good part you will allow.” He was still inside her, and yet he argued that this was no more than a casual coupling.

  Keelia accepted that she had little choice in the matter. She couldn’t command Joryn to feel more than he did. Was it possible that as a Caradon he was incapable of love? No, she didn’t think that was the case. He was capable of feeling more, he just didn’t. All she could do was continue to enjoy what they had, or else sever their sexual relationship until he came to his senses and realized that she was right and he was wrong.

  They didn’t have the time for such foolishness. Since she could not see into him, she could not know if he’d be saved or not. If that was the case, they didn’t have weeks and months and years to define and explore their relationship, they had days. Precious days and a few precious nights.

  Even joined, she could not sense anything of him. She did not know if he cared for her or only for the pleasure she provided. She did not know why he was so determined to save his people. She knew nothing, and it was alternately refreshing and maddening.

  Keelia took a deep breath and rested her hands on his hips. And you say I’m stubborn.”

  Chapter Nine

  During a too-brief nap, Joryn dreamed that Keelia offered him her throat. When presented with the pale, delicate column, he lunged for her flesh and bit. Hard and deep, and without hesitation.

  In mountain cat form he’d done battle with other animals, and he’d gone for the throat in more than one life-and-death struggle. As a man he had never bitten anyone, much less gone for a woman’s neck with a killing chomp. Yet in his dream he was a man, not a cat, and still he attacked. He bit down. He devoured her.

  It was Keelia’s ridiculous talk of trust and love and forever that spurred the nightmare.

  In sunlit reality, she moved forward with determination. In harsh afternoon light her hair was snarled and her clothes were torn, but she continued to move with the grace and dignity of a queen. He would do well to remind himself often that when this was over, she’d return to the palace of the Anwyn Queen, where she’d be waited upon by an endless number of servants, and her commands would always be followed without question. Each day a finer gown would be provided for her, and talented maids would wash and scent and style her hair, which would not dare to snarl beneath the Anwyn crown.

  If he occasionally suspected that he felt more for her than he should, it was because he was very possibly going to die in a few days. If they did not find the wizard and destroy his enchanted stone, then Keelia would be forced to kill him. It was no wonder that he preferred getting lost in her body and her nonsensical ramblings about forever and lifetime mates to dwelling on the possibilities that awaited him.

  What she spoke of was fantasy, which at the moment was much better than his reality. It was true, he had never before thought binding himself to one woman was fantasy. It fell more into the nightmare category. Again, he wrote those occasional thoughts off to the venom coursing in his blood. The cursed toxin had changed him somehow. He was no longer himself.

  Yes, better to blame his odd, rambling thoughts to the bite of a monster than to consider that they might be the result of a woman’s heartfelt passion.

  Keelia turned to look at him as she took a sharp turn in the rocky path. No matter what her situation or her mood, she was always regal. Not untouchable, perhaps, but definitely unlike any other woman he had ever known or ever would know. Maybe he was drawn to her simply because she was unlike other women. What man wouldn’t be intrigued by her? What male wouldn’t want to become the lover she had dreamed of?

  Joryn could so clearly picture the fine, feminine throat she had offered in the dream that had stayed with him all day. Like the Anwyn, the Caradon put great significance on such a gesture, though he suspected that among his people the offer was made less frequently than among the too-trusting Anwyn. To offer one’s throat was akin to offering one’s very soul to another for keeping.

  He did not have to worry about his nightmare of a forever woman coming true. While Keelia might offer her body willingly enough, and even hint at offering her heart, this was not a woman who would ever offer him, or any other man, her throat.

  ***

  The Grandmother paced in her parlor, attempting—and failing—to discern exactly where Joryn and the Red Queen were located at this moment. She had thought they would be here by now, but they were not so late that she should be concerned.

  Yet she was concerned, mightily so.

  Druson had visited her often in days past, as anxious as she about Joryn’s mission.

  “The bracelet you fashioned from the
ancient silver, you said it would protect Joryn from the queen,” Druson said, worry evident in his voice.

  “I lied,” Vala said crisply. She never could’ve made Joryn understand and accept why his thoughts were dark to the powerful seer. Perhaps she would be able to explain now, if she had the chance.

  Druson was apparently shocked by her answer. “But, why? Did you give Joryn no defense against the Anwyn Queen? Did you send him out there...”

  “Joryn needs no defense against the queen,” Vala said, impatiently interrupting her disappointed student. “The bracelet has served its purpose.”

  “Which was?” Druson asked crisply.

  “To send those who searched for his captive astray, to hide Joryn from those who would kill him for touching their queen.” The Anwyn army which had attempted to recover their beloved ruler had made so many misguided turns they were nowhere near the woman they sought. There was still much magic in the silver, but from now on whatever magic existed there was of Joryn’s making. Joryn and the queen.

  Vala continued to pace in the room which suddenly seemed too small for her and one overly anxious student.

  “They should’ve been here by now,” Druson said.

  “Yes, that’s true.”

  “Where are they, Grandmother?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Druson clenched his fists. “What do you mean, you don’t know? I thought you saw everything?”

  “Not anymore,” Vala whispered. “As the darkness grows stronger, my gift dims.” She had so much to tell Joryn and the Anwyn Queen, but they had not come here as quickly as they should’ve. She did not think they were dead, but in truth she did not know that with any certainty. She no longer knew anything with any certainty.

  “I’m going to search for them and bring them to you,” Druson insisted. “Surely I can detect the scent of an Anwyn female in Caradon Territory.”

  Vala did not trust Druson entirely. He had always wished for more magic than he possessed, and that desire made him prone to jealousy of those, like Joryn, who had been born with great gifts. Druson was her student, and while he wanted more than he’d been given, he had not yet chosen a dark path. He simply had not chosen a path of goodness, either.