There was something else on Joryn’s mind, something he was able to hide from her. She did not poke and reach for the knowledge he attempted to conceal, but willingly followed him along the narrow path to a secluded chunk of mountain where a wide fissure gave them walls on either side but also allowed the sun to shine down upon them.
In this place where they had privacy and sunlight, Joryn placed his arms around Keelia and pulled her close. She willingly melted in his arms.
He sighed and stroked her hair almost mindlessly, “I’ve always insisted that I did not want or need one mate for life, but you changed my mind.”
“Yes, I know,” she said, awash with contentment.
“I love you.”
Keelia smiled. “I love you, too.”
“I am yours in every way possible.”
“I like the sound of that,” she whispered.
Joryn moved slightly away from her, took her face in his hands, and turned his head far to the right and up. He very gently drew her face to his offered throat, where she felt the throb of his heartbeat and tasted the salty maleness of his skin. “In all ways, Keelia,” he repeated, “I am yours.”
She kissed his throat languidly, as he had kissed hers when she’d offered it to him. Smiling, content, and increasingly aroused, she raked her mouth and her teeth gently along the column of his strong neck.
So close, so intimately connected, she saw some of what was to be for them. Not all. Even with her powers returned to her, she could not see all that awaited her. It was best that way; it was as it should be.
But she did see love, and remarkable babies, and the peace her people had been promised in the prophesy that had been written so long ago. She was the promised Red Queen, and Joryn was her lover in all ways. Together they would fight for that peace, and for the union of two peoples who should be, and one day would be, one.
The longer she kissed his throat, the more aroused she became. Her exhaustion was erased by something much more powerful. Need. Not only the need for physical release, but the necessity for a complete connection with her mate, the man she loved. Mind, spirit, and body.
Joryn knew what she wanted, and he wanted it, too. He freed his erection and then lifted her easily. Keelia wrapped her legs around his hips and guided herself onto him. She rode him fiercely, as if she were in the heat of her fertile time and he was touching her for the first time. He was the man of her dreams, but no pristine fantasy could compare to her reality.
Reality was wonderful, and every moment was to be cherished.
When completion came to them both, sparks of flame danced on the air around them. Once again, Joryn had lost control. The flames he created were quickly restrained.
The fire died slowly and dropped to the rocky ground as their heartbeats and the flow of blood in their veins returned to something near normal.
“I can’t believe you once commanded me to pleasure you and I refused,” Joryn said breathlessly. “You can demand anything of me at any time. Anything.”
Keelia rested her head against his shoulder. “I command that you love me forever,” she whispered.
“Yes, My Magnificent Majesty. Anything else?”
“Nothing else matters.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
Babies, war, discord, harmony, bloodshed, happiness... it was all coming. For now, nothing mattered but love.
Epilogue
For a long, terrifying moment, Ciro felt as if he’d been drained of energy. The strength he had come to rely on, the power that had become his, flickered and then departed, and then it disappeared completely and he was nothing once again. He was a scared boy, an ineffectual prince, a pampered lad who was afraid of life.
The power came rushing back, but he could still remember too clearly what it had felt like to be without the strength of the demon, however temporarily.
There had been a defeat of some kind, a blow to the demon and his plans. At one time Ciro had felt as if he and the Isen Demon were invincible, that he himself was invincible. He had been convinced of that invincibility as the power of the demon filled him.
Apparently that was not the case. Somehow the demon and all those he commanded were connected, as if they shared one mind, one body, one black soul. When there was a defeat, they all felt it. When a battle was lost, the demon and all those he led were weakened. The Isen Demon, Ciro, Ciro’s Own, the wizards and witches and ordinary people who waited to be called. Even the child Diella did not yet know she carried.
The demon had expected to be stronger by this time, and Ciro felt its disappointment, and its rage. There were many reasons that the growth of dark power had not progressed as planned. In a manner the demon had not known was possible, the healer had snatched back dark souls which it had once taken. The fear that should’ve swept the country and fed the demon was tainted with naïve disbelief and arrogant defiance and—worst of all—hope. Every wound was felt by all those connected by the demon, and on this night Ciro and the darkness inside him were weakened.
It was also true that victory fed them all, but it was not victory that Ciro, and all the others, felt at this terrible moment.
He stood atop a small grassy rise and studied his growing army. His soldiers were being well trained, but they were not unbeatable. An army of another sort was coming. An army more prepared, more dedicated, even more willing to die for what they believed. He knew all that to be true; he felt it to his bones. Now more than ever, he felt the coming defeat.
He could not stay here.
Ciro walked calmly to his tent, where he packed a small bag, choosing a change of clothing and a healthy portion of the drug Panwyr, which he still needed on occasion. Food was not a problem; he would find nourishment along the way. There were many farmhouses and small villages in Columbyana, and while they might have been warned to keep an eye out for a brutal army of soulless soldiers, they would not be alarmed by one young and seemingly harmless traveler. Not until it was too late.
When he was ready to depart, he had one more important decision to make. Did he ride for his father’s palace and the throne that should and would be his? Or should he turn back and collect his bride from the mountain palace where she was imprisoned?
Rayne is for another day.
The Isen Demon still spoke to him, though it did seem weaker on this night. Was it possible for a demon to be melancholy? It seemed so. The demon was much more subdued than Ciro could remember, but it remained a force which he did not dare to fight.
On to Arthes, then.
Ciro had no qualms about traveling unescorted. It would be much easier to make his way past any guards who might’ve been foolishly placed between him and his destination, and he was certainly capable of handling any resistance he met along the way. Alone he could...
Not alone. Take the empress. Take the child within her.
Ciro did not care for Diella, even now. She was loud and demanding and her requirements were plentiful and stridently voiced. Pregnancy would likely not agree with her. More precisely, pregnancy would not agree with those around her.
Still, the demon had insisted that Ciro allow the former empress to live, at least until the child she carried was born, and so far he had obeyed. He had done everything the demon had asked of him. Now he was to take Diella with him on the journey to Arthes? Weeks of travel with just the two of them?
Her place is there.
Since the demon lived so much inside Ciro, he had no choice but to obey. If he did not, then the demon’s constant voice would surely drive him mad... though some might insist he had already passed the point of madness.
***
“I told you we would arrive on time,” Keelia said. She and her mother led the way as their party approached Ariana’s army’s camp on a bright, warm summer afternoon. They were intercepted far from the gathering of soldiers, of course, but two of her own Anwyn guards were among the soldiers posted at the perimeter, and they recognized their queen in spite of her trave
l-worn state.
Druson, who was not yet completely white-haired, had been silent for days. Once he saw the traveling party safely with the army they sought, he wordlessly turned back toward the Mountains of the North. His home was there; his people needed him. He himself still had much to learn.
When presented to the army’s beloved leader, Keelia hugged Ariana fiercely, and they laughed. Juliet’s reunion with her sister Sophie was much the same, with a close embrace and laughter and tears. Ryn and Uncle Kane shook hands, but they were less jovial than their wives. They knew war, and they could not muster even the smallest smile in the knowledge that it was upon them once again.
Keelia drew Joryn forward and introduced him to her family as her husband. Columbyanans—humans as a whole—didn’t quite grasp the concept of being mated. Any sort of ceremony to make Joryn hers would have to wait for another place and time. There was much to be done before that would happen... but it would happen. She could envision with great clarity the sacred ceremony that would take place in the courtyard of her own palace, in her own beloved City. They would pledge themselves to one another before her people and the priestesses, and there would be great joy. Joryn would be her king, and their children would fill the palace she had always called home.
But not until this task was completed.
When their greetings were done, they wasted little time getting to the business at hand. Ariana’s husband, Sian, shared with Keelia and the others the Prophesy of the Firstborn. Keelia easily saw her part in it, a part which had already taken place. She had betrayed love, and even though she’d been under Maccus’s spell at the time, that betrayal was no less real. Betrayal in the name of victory. Maccus’s victory. The Isen Demon’s victory.
Joryn had placed one finger on the margin of the prophesy, drawing Keelia’s eye to what very well might be a sketch of her falling from the cliff and finding her wings. The others had thought it to be an ordinary bird, but to her and to Joryn the drawing had greater significance. He’d also suggested that another sort of betrayal had taken place when she’d broken Maccus’s spell and renounced the false love he had planted in her heart and mind. Perhaps, he suggested, it was the betrayal—the defeat—of that false and unnatural love that had been prophesied.
Keelia did not waste much heart berating herself over past choices. It was done, and all was as it should be for now.
Ariana told of her visit to the Land of the Dead and the miraculous return. According to the prophesy, that left Lyr to wield the crystal dagger. Keelia immediately grasped the importance of her cousin from Tryfyn’s part in this war.
“He’ll join us within days,” Keelia said, confident of her prediction. “Lyr and Duran, Aunt Isadora and Uncle Lucan, and half a dozen others, they ride toward us quickly. They’ll join us before this gathering divides.”
Keelia reached for the knowledge of where Lyr might find the crystal dagger. She had an inkling, but could see nothing certain. Not yet. When he was closer, perhaps she would know. There was simply so much to consider that she was having a hard time concentrating on any one matter.
“You will go to Arthes to the emperor,” Keelia said, and Ariana answered with a nod of her head. “Aunt Sophie and Mother will try to find Liane. I suspect Aunt Isadora will wish to join them.” Which meant their husbands would also be on that journey.
“And you?” Ariana asked. “Where will you go?”
Keelia closed her eyes and tried to see where she would be needed most in the coming months. With the army or with Ariana? She thought her place would be with her cousin, but she was not yet certain.
“Will they find Liane?” Ariana asked.
“Yes.” She was quite confident they would.
“Can you tell them where to look for her?”
“Not tonight, but perhaps tomorrow.” Her mind was tired, and she was seeing nothing clearly at the moment. Snips and flashes, half-truths and faded pictures. There was simply so much to know... and still so very much undecided.
“What of the sons?” Ariana asked sharply. “The heirs to the throne? They would be just your age. Did they survive their mother’s escape from Arthes? Do they live?”
Keelia looked at her cousin with calculating eyes. Ariana had not yet revealed that her own husband had a claim to the throne—a claim he did not wish to pursue. Since he had asked his wife to keep the secret, Keelia could not be angry that Ariana remained quiet about the matter.
“They live,” she said confidently. “Both of them. One dark, one fair. One touched with a shadow he fights, one noble to the pit of his soul.” A crystal-clear stream of knowledge burst through the jumble of what was to be and what might be, and she could not stop the sharp intake of breath that followed. For a moment, reality was lost to her, and all she saw was one clear truth.
Keelia leapt up and ran to the tent opening, so she could look out on the army that spread far and wide around them. As far as she could see, there were armed men who prepared for battle. There were campfires and tents and horses. There was the ring of blades being sharpened, and even the occasional odd trill of laughter.
“He’s here,” Keelia whispered.
“What?” Ariana laid a steady hand on Keelia’s shoulder, and together they looked out over the army.
“Sebestyen’s eldest. The next emperor of Columbyana. The man who must take Arik’s place if we are to defeat the darkness.” Keelia turned and looked into her cousin’s eyes. “He’s here.”
Joryn slipped his arm about her waist, and for a moment Keelia was surrounded by and washed in the comfort of love. Her cousin on one side, her mate on the other. “I do not yet see exactly who this man is, but I will see, in time.” At that moment she knew, without a doubt, that until this war was over her place would be at Ariana’s side.
Ariana slipped away to tell her husband about the newest revelation, and Keelia faced Joryn. “It isn’t over,” she said softly. “We are still meant to fight. We are needed here.”
“I suspected as much,” he replied.
“You are needed as much as I am. Surely you recognized yourself in the prophesy, he who walks through fire.”
“I can’t see how I might show these humans the way,” Joryn said skeptically. “Maybe I’ve already done my part by showing you the way. Maybe there is more to come. All that matters is that wherever you are called, I will be with you.”
His words sent a wave of relief through Keelia’s tense body. “You’re going to be a wonderful king.”
Joryn’s eyebrows arched slightly. Had be not yet realized that he would be king? Of course he had. He would be King of the Anwyn and of the Caradon, if Druson’s predictions about the days to come in the Mountains of the North were correct.
“It occurs to me that fighting a demon might be easier than bringing your people and mine together,” he said.
Keelia understood Joryn’s reservations, but soon enough he would know that his worries were unnecessary. “I don’t think so,” she whispered. “If we can defeat the demon before us, then our people will come together well. Not without problems, perhaps not as quickly as we’d like, but still... very well.” Keelia closed her eyes and touched Joryn’s mind with her own, offering to her mate a crystal clear vision of a wonderful future.
Prince of Swords
Prologue
The first two of the prophesied warriors who were called to the fight against darkness—the healer Ariana and the psychic Queen Keelia—have fulfilled their destinies, but they have not given up the battle against Prince Ciro and the demon that possesses his body. All that is left is for Lyr Hern, Prince of Swords, to wield the crystal dagger. When contemplating on the dagger and the questions of where and why, the answers did not come easily, not even to a psychic as powerful as Keelia. So she allowed Joryn to take her through the fire once more, to the land in-between where spirits spoke the truth and no dark interference clouded her mind. There she discovered the secrets of the dagger. She saw the weapon’s location and its purpose.
> The crystal dagger is the only weapon in this world or any other which was powerful enough to take the life of the monster Ciro had become.
Chapter One
Rayne hadn’t attempted to escape from her prison for several weeks. In months past she’d tried everything from pleading with the old man who was on constant guard to attempting to physically yank the chains that bound her from the wall. Her jailer was deaf to her pleas, and she didn’t even make the mortar rattle with her physical attempts.
She was doomed. Doomed to wait here in the dank cellar of her home until Prince Ciro returned to make her his bride. Doomed to helplessness. Doomed to rely on people who despised her for food, water, implements for the occasional attempt at bathing.
Rayne hadn’t even known her father’s odd guest was a prince until after his departure. The servant whom Ciro had left in charge of her care referred to him as “prince” often, and when Rayne had challenged the ridiculous notion, it had been explained that Ciro was indeed the only son of the Emperor Arik and next in line for the throne.
The man in question did not fulfill any of Rayne’s notions of what a prince should be. From a distance he had the outward appearance of a finely bred aristocrat, she supposed, but his eyes were alternately dead or heart-stoppingly wicked, and his actions were not at all what she considered to be majestic.
Sitting on her cot, as she had all morning, Rayne stole a glance at the guard who kept constant watch over her. Jiri was an elderly man who had worked for her father for many years. A simple and quiet man, he’d always been pleasant enough in the past as he’d gone about his odd jobs on the grounds and in the house. She’d certainly never thought of him as threatening in any way.
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