Children of the Sun

by Linda Winstead Jones

  Jiri had been insistent that Ciro planned not only to wed her, but to give her some sort of special child. Rayne shuddered and almost slipped off the saddle at that memory. She could only imagine what sort of child a monster like Ciro would consider “special.”

  Lyr remained as silent as she, but his men spoke often. Riding all around her, one directly ahead and one behind, with Segyn and Lyr leading the way, they bantered. They laughed. They spoke nonchalantly of battles to come and relived old ones. Even though she was located in the midst of them, they ignored her completely. Lyr was well ahead at the front of the party, so that all she could study of him was the back of his head and his squared shoulders. Since his hair was cut so short, she could see the strength in his neck and the muscled curves of his shoulders. Studying him, she was certain she had never before known a real soldier. Not Ciro, not any of her father’s men. None were like this one.

  Perhaps she thought so highly of him because he was her only chance at survival, and believing him to be extraordinary offered her momentary relief.

  As they reached the end of a particularly difficult stretch of the trail, and the path leveled for a distance, Lyr turned to look at her. His stony expression was difficult to read, but she suspected that if she fell from the mountain and perished, he would not shed a single tear for her.

  A soldier such as this one, a fighter through and through, would likely not shed a tear for anyone.

  ***

  They made camp miles earlier than would’ve been necessary if they didn’t have a woman in their party. Lyr pushed the annoyance aside. Bringing Rayne along was unavoidable. Without her he would not have the crystal dagger in his possession, and the weapon would be necessary when he faced Ciro.

  He should not ponder what might take place when that meeting occurred, but he couldn’t help it. Though he had trained all his life in order to reach this position and this level of skill, he was not a battle-hardened warrior like Segyn, who was older and had fought among the clans before peace had been forged. Even if he had been more experienced in true battle, he had certainly never faced anyone—anything—like Prince Ciro. Keelia said the prince was possessed by a demon who collected souls from his victims, who drank blood, who would turn the world to darkness, given the chance.

  Segyn was currently on watch, while Swaine and Til slept. They had spent many nights on the ground, and had no difficulty making themselves comfortable for the few hours of sleep they would be allowed. Even Rayne had settled down very quickly, though he suspected she was not accustomed to such conditions. At least it was not too cold nor too hot. The weather, in fact, was quite nice tonight.

  Rayne seemed harmless enough, but he still did not trust her. Ciro claimed her as his betrothed. Why would he claim Rayne as his own if she was not as dark as he? Why would he so fiercely protect her, sparing a dozen men he could’ve used in battle to watch over her? It did appear that she’d been imprisoned, held against her will, but Lyr had been taught not to rely on what things seemed to be.

  All he could see of his charge at the moment was her back and a long expanse of silky dark hair. When loose it would fall past her waist, but she usually had it tied up this way or that. Had Ciro chosen his intended bride simply for her beauty? There were many beautiful women in the world, so that seemed unlikely. Had he chosen Rayne for some magic she’d hidden, thus far? That seemed most likely. Ciro probably wanted to merge his own dark power with whatever gifts the wizard’s daughter possessed.

  As he watched, Rayne rolled over. By the light of the low fire he could see that her eyes were wide open. She was not having such an easy time sleeping, after all. For a long moment she watched him. He did not look away; he did not pretend that he hadn’t been watching her. After a short while she sat up slowly and studied the rest of the camp. She looked at the two sleeping soldiers and watched Segyn pace near the most vulnerable section of the perimeter.

  Instead of assuring herself that all was well and lying down once again, Rayne left her makeshift bed and walked toward Lyr.

  He stiffened his spine and steeled his resolve. No matter what she said, he would take her no farther than the closest safe farmhouse or village—whichever came first. He would not, could not, personally deliver her to Prince Ciro. The sooner she was out of his care, the better.

  She sat on the ground near him, but not too near. “I cannot sleep,” she confessed, keeping her voice low so as not to disturb the others.

  “We will ride again as soon as there’s light in the sky, whether you sleep well or not.”

  She sighed. “I was not asking for special treatment, just... just...”

  “Just what?” he snapped.

  Her eyes caught and held his. “I need someone to talk to, and you claim to be an honorable man. My mind is spinning with questions and possibilities, and that is why I can’t sleep. You’re not sleeping either, and I thought that perhaps if we talked for a while, my mind would settle.”

  “Fine,” Lyr said. “Talk.”

  He did not expect her to smile so widely, not after all that had happened. Yet she did smile. “You’re not much of one for conversation, are you?”

  “No.”

  “Why not? There’s much to be learned in vibrant conversation with another person.”

  “I have two younger sisters, and they talk enough for all of us.”

  “Sisters,” she said warmly, the word rolling off her tongue with what seemed to be joy. “Tell me about them.”

  He did not trust her enough to share family secrets, and he wasn’t certain it was safe for her to possess too much information about him or his family. “I’d rather not. Instead, why don’t you tell me what thoughts are keeping you from sleep.”

  She seemed disappointed, but not horribly so. “Before you showed yourself to me, while you battled Ciro’s soldiers above my head, Jiri revealed some information that raises more questions for me than it answers.”

  “Such as?”

  Her brow wrinkled a little. “What does it mean for one’s soul to be pure?”

  He was surprised by the nature of the question. “I suppose that depends on your religious beliefs.” There were many different religions practiced in Columbyana and Tryfyn, some worshipping The One God, others worshipping many gods. All of them believed in the existence and the importance of the soul and the afterlife, but the Prince of Swords had not undertaken a study of theology in his years of training. “They all strive for purity of the soul, I suspect, unless the religion is of a dark sort. I have heard of such dark religions.”

  She looked into the shadows beyond their camp and nodded, but she did not seem satisfied with his answer. “If one wanted to tarnish a pure soul, how would they go about it?”

  “Perhaps you should ask your sweetheart,” Lyr said darkly. “I believe the tarnishing of souls is one of his attributes.”

  Again, Rayne looked at him boldly. “I know you don’t trust or believe me, but I will tell you again that Prince Ciro is not my sweetheart.” She pursed her lips tightly. “Jiri said...” She stopped speaking and again pursed her lips. “Never mind. I’m wasting my time speaking to you. You’re not going to believe anything I say, no matter how hard I try to convince you that I did not choose to be affiliated with Prince Ciro.”

  “In a few days we will find a safe place for you, and I’m certain you will find many fine conversationalists there.”

  She looked disappointed, though there was no reason for her to be disappointed in him. His obligation was to escort her, not to charm her with insightful conversation and ease her bedtime fears. Asking how one might go about tarnishing a pure soul did nothing to convince him that she was not willingly aligned with the enemy.

  “You know much of Prince Ciro, it seems,” she said, and her eyes widened a little. “What can you tell me of my father?”

  He could easily lie to her and tell her he knew nothing of the wizard. Until now it had been easy enough to avoid the subject, simply not telling her all that he knew. Ly
r did not tell falsehoods, not even to make his own life easier. If she had not asked, then he could not consider his silence a lie. Once the subject was broached, he had no choice.

  “I was told by a powerful seer that the house where I was to collect the crystal dagger was once the home of a wizard who is now deceased. I’m sorry.”

  Tears filled her eyes, but did not fall. “Do you know who killed him?”

  “No.”

  “It wasn’t you, was it?”

  “No. From what Keelia said, I believe your father was killed before I even knew of this battle.”

  Rayne’s head dropped. “I’m not surprised to hear that he’s dead,” she whispered. “My father was doomed from the moment he involved himself with Prince Ciro.”

  “Are you similarly doomed?” Lyr asked without kindness.

  This time when Rayne looked into his eyes, tears ran down her cheeks. “Yes, I believe I am. If Ciro is as powerful as Jiri claimed him to be, then there’s nowhere I can hide that he won’t find me. If he wants me badly enough, then there is no safe place.”

  So, that was her game. She wouldn’t be satisfied to be deposited at a farmhouse or a small village. She was going to claim that there was no safe place for her, and therefore in order to fulfill his part of the bargain, he would have to keep her with him.

  Pretty as she was, vulnerable as she seemed to be at the moment, that was impossible. The sooner he was rid of her, the better. “Then you’d best hope that this dagger does what it’s supposed to do. If that is the case, you won’t have to worry about the prince’s intentions much longer.”

  By the light of the fire, her eyes became livelier. “The crystal dagger is to take Ciro’s life?”

  “Yes.” He watched her for some reaction, and saw only apparent relief.

  “I should not wish anyone dead, but when we’re speaking of Prince Ciro, when it means an end...”

  “Try again to sleep,” Lyr said, when Rayne faltered. “I need a couple of hours myself. Morning will soon be here.”

  “Yes. Yes of course.” She rose silently and returned to her bedroll, again settling down with her back to him. While she had boldly looked him in the eye more than once on this night, she did not do so again.

  ***

  She was alone. Entirely, completely, alone. Not that she’d expected her father would be of any help where Ciro was concerned, but still... he was her father. He had been her father, if Lyr was correct about the house belonging to a dead wizard.

  Whether or not Ciro had been the one to kill her father, he was certainly responsible. Rayne believed that to the pit of her soul. Her supposedly pure soul.

  Soul, heart, and body, Jiri had said.

  Was wishing Ciro dead enough to tarnish her soul or her heart so he no longer found her desirable? Surely wishing another person dead was a sin of some kind. What kind of trade would she be making if she ruined her soul simply to make herself unattractive to the monster? She’d be trading one damnation for another.

  At least it would be a damnation of her own choosing.

  The path they traveled was not as arduous as it had been in the past two days, and Rayne no longer felt as if she were in danger of plummeting to her death. And yet today she trembled. She’d never been truly alone in her life. Her childhood had been a good one, with a loving mother and a protective—if often absent—father, and many attentive servants. After her mother’s mysterious illness and resulting death, her father had not become more loving, but he had remained protective, as a father should be. As she’d grown older and taken over the duties as woman of the house, she’d had not only her father but the companionship of servants who were more than servants to her. They were her family as much—perhaps more so—than her father.

  Now they were all gone, all gone thanks to Ciro and his soldiers, and she was entirely alone in the world. She had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. She couldn’t even engage her reluctant rescuer in a decent dialogue to pass the hours of an unbearably long night.

  Last night, the second night since their departure, she hadn’t even attempted such foolishness but had pretended to go directly to sleep. If anyone had heard the tears she tried to hide, they hadn’t let on.

  As sunset colored the sky before them pink, she thought of ways in which she might tarnish her soul or her heart enough to make herself unsuitable for Ciro’s intentions. Were the vengeful thoughts enough? Or did she need to take her plans further? What sins would tarnish one’s soul?

  Blasphemy, murder, theft, coveting, an abundance of arrogance, wanton destruction of beauty... lust.

  She blushed simply thinking about such things, but also realized that now was not the time for timidity. If she did not want to end up married to a monster, trapped in his life and his bed and bearing his children, then she had to do something.

  Not murder. She set that possibility aside quickly. The very idea of taking another’s life was repugnant. Lyr and his men had killed in battle, but their cause was good. She didn’t think that sort of killing counted as a sin, but even so, she didn’t think she could lift a hand in that situation.

  Blasphemy might be easy enough, but would that alone be enough?

  Jiri had also insisted that she be pure in body, and she knew very well what it would take to undo that particular purity. Still, perhaps that could be called upon as a last resort. Surely a lesser sin would do the trick.

  Rayne turned her head and looked at the soldier who rode closest to her. Til was nice enough, though he was also tough and she did not fool herself into thinking he considered her anything other than cargo to be transported from one place to another. He would be handsome enough for a man of his age if not for the scars on his arms and chest and the crookedness of his oft-broken nose. He wore his long brown hair in a sloppy braid.

  She lifted her chin. “When are we going to damn eat?”

  His reaction was subtle, but there was a reaction. Deep-set eyes sparkled. “I beg your pardon, m’lady?”

  “When are we going to damn eat?” she asked, again. The heat of a blush rose to her cheeks.

  “We’ll have a quick bite in a couple of hours,” he said. “Pardon me for saying so, m’lady, but if you wish to pepper your language with curses, it is best to do so with vigor and without the blushing.”

  “I did not know there were rules.”

  “Not rules so much as commonly accepted procedures,” he said seriously. “For instance, if you wanted to make a point at this time, you should say, ‘Damn it all, you cursed ass-kissing scalawag, when are we going to fuckin’ eat?’”

  She felt herself blush again, and she knew the reaction showed when Til grinned widely. “I’m not sure I can say that,” she confessed.

  “If you wish to take up cursing, you should attempt to do it well,” Til said, a touch of censure in his voice. “Cursing is like swordplay or a woman’s sewing or any other skill. One must throw oneself into the activity with enthusiasm, or else why bother to curse at all?”

  “You do have a point. Perhaps, as this part of the journey is less arduous and demanding, you might give me lessons.”

  “Lessons on cursing, m’lady?’’

  “Yes, please. If you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Fuck no, I don’t mind.”

  Rayne wrinkled her nose. “I do hate to be finicky, but can you teach me to curse without using that word?” She had heard the cook rail against a stableboy once for using that word, and had come away certain it was not fit for a lady’s ears. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t heard enough cursing from the servants when they thought she wasn’t listening. It was one of the advantages of being quiet and unobtrusive. “A few damns and shits should be sufficient.” She hoped that was the case.

  Til sighed. “It won’t be the same, m’lady, but I can give it a try.”

  “Thank you,” she said, certain that she had found her first true friend among the Circle of Bacwyr warriors. “You may begin.”

  ***

  Arik was not surprised w
hen the hidden door which connected a secret stairway and his bedchamber opened and Ciro emerged. His son knew all the hidden passageways and secrets of this palace which had always been his home. Before she’d left the palace, Ariana had warned him many times that though Ciro might appear to be his son, that was no longer true. She said that Ciro’s body was now home to the Isen Demon, and would show him no mercy.

  But as Arik looked into Ciro’s eyes, by the light of the candles which kept his room from darkness, he saw only his son. Twenty-two—no, now twenty-three—years old, a young man still, in spite of his responsibilities as prince and his position as next in line for the throne. Handsome, with much of his mother in his features. He certainly had her hair, straight and fair and spun like gold, and he had her pale blue eyes. He’d grown in his time away from the palace, grown taller and broader, as young men sometimes did.

  Ciro smiled at him, and all Arik saw was his son. Not a demon, not an ambitious prince. He saw the child who’d sat on his knee, who’d made friends among the servants and sentinels’ children. He saw the baby he’d held in his arms at birth, and the young man who had studied so ardently to become a worthy ruler. He saw it all as if it had happened yesterday, not years past. Had he spoiled his son? Yes, he had, but that did not mean what stood before him was a monster.

  One shout, and a dozen sentinels would rush into the room and place themselves between Ciro and Arik. The emperor considered raising his voice, but then Ciro stepped toward him gently, smiling the entire time.

  “Father, I’ve missed you.”

  Arik sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I’ve missed you, son. I swear, I believe you’ve grown quite a bit since last I saw you.” Ciro had always been thin, but he was not too old to have a growth spurt, and apparently that had occurred.