“Khnum has it, doesn’t he?” the Reaper snarled.
She put her index finger to her chin. “No one has it, beloved. It is safe upon its shelf until it will be needed.”
“Another mistake on your part. It outlines how the Transferences are to be made. It is a dangerous piece of work.”
“You are a dangerous piece of work, my deargs dul,” she giggled.
He ignored her comment. Getting up, he dusted his hands together, his gaze locked on the ship he so longed to be able to fly. Turning his back, he walked away from that punishing sight and the tormentress who made his life a living hell.
Chapter Twelve
Flavia died with a smirk on her ugly face and the secret of why she had wanted the plan to oust Abalam Robeus from power to fail buried deep in her evil mind. Despite two hours of prolonged torture—water dripping upon her head the only torture allowed under Amazeen Tribunal Law—she went to her grave without revelations of any kind.
Stymied and angry that she had not garnered the information she sought, Deianeira, the defense queen, stared out across the night-darkened battlements of Androdameia, the keep that was the capitol of Amazeen, and ground her teeth.
“There was a reason she did this,” her sister, Queen Antianeira observed.
“Aye, well, we’ll never know what it is now!” Deianeira grumbled.
“Who was to know she had heart problems?”
Deianeira turned a glare to her sister. “Did she die of a heart ailment or was she helped along?”
“What are you saying? Do you think someone murdered her?”
“Who was the last person to see her in the dungeon?” the defense queen countered.
Antianeira thought about it for a moment. “Was it Harmothoe?”
“Aye, our virtuous Abbess of the Womanly Arts,” her sister replied. “She went there to reason with Flavia. Instead, I believe she went there to make sure she did not answer our questions.”
“But why?”
Deianeira shook her head. “I have no idea but perhaps we need to question Harmothoe.”
“They have never been close that I could see,” Antianeira commented. “I hardly ever saw them speaking to one another.”
“What better way for conspirators to behave toward one another?”
The domestic queen chewed on her lower lip. “As I recall Harmothoe voted no to the plan to help the Venturians.”
“Think back, Sister,” Deianeira said. “Wasn’t there a time when Harmothoe journeyed to Tasjorn quite often? She would go disguised as an itinerant nun or some such. Do you remember that?”
Antianeira nodded slowly. “Aye, I do recall something of that.”
“And tell me this—how did Flavia know Queen Mona had slept with Lord Krull? Would that not be quite the secret in Ventura? It would have had to have happened after Krull married Isabell, don’t you agree?”
“To my knowledge, Flavia never left the borders of Amazeen,” Antianeira said. “How would she have known unless someone told her?”
“How, indeed?”
Turning to look out over the moon-silvered waters of the Molpadia River that wound its serpentine way south, the domestic queen’s forehead was wrinkled with concern. “I would not have imagined a man such as Lord Krull to betray his marriage vows. From all I have heard, he is an honorable man.”
Her sister snorted. “Even honorable men get horny, Sister.”
“Aye, but Mona is not a woman I think of being capable to stir such lust in a man like that.”
“Who knows? Perhaps she drugged him. I wouldn’t put anything past those Hell Hags.”
“Mona would not do that.” At her sister’s look of disbelief, Antianeira raised her chin. “I know her better than you, and I tell you she would not stoop to drug a man in order to sleep with him.”
“Even to get a child from him?” Deianeira suggested. “That was a common practice with the Daughters of the Night in Mona’s mother’s time just as it is common practice with us today.”
“If you remember, Mona outlawed such things when she took the throne. I can not see her breaking her own rule.”
Deianeira sighed. “Aye, well Krull is one helluva handsome man. Any woman would find lust for him oozing through her loins. If she didn’t drug him, perhaps she enticed him in another way. It’s possible, you know.”
“Still,” Antianeira said, “I find it strange he would cast aside the woman he supposedly loves more than life for a tumble with a woman who means nothing to him.” She looked at her twin. “Don’t you?”
“Men have done stranger things when they think with their cocks,” the defense queen replied. “She could have caught him at a low point in his marriage. That happens and men stray.”
The sisters were quiet as clouds slid across the moon and a freshening breeze blew their long, unbound hair about their faces.
“One thing I have always wondered about,” Deianeira said as she leaned her elbows on a merlon of the crenellated wall. “Who was Lilit’s father?”
Antianeira drew in a long breath. “It wasn’t Konan Krull, if that is where this is going.”
“I’ve heard it was a demon. Do you know who it was?”
“I never knew his name. He was no demon but a vampyre and the very worst of his kind according to Mona.”
Deianeira looked at her sister. “A vampyre?”
“So I was told. He took Mona savagely, nearly tearing her apart in the process. It was a wonder he did not turn her into one of his own kind for that is what I hear those bastards do.”
“So that is Lilit’s heritage?” Deianeira said. “When she is of age, will she then become like her sire?”
“Most likely and will begin turning the Daughters like herself, no doubt. She seems to enjoy taking blood I hear.”
“I suppose that is the main reason I don’t care for the Hell Hags to begin with. They use blood drinking in their rituals.” Deianeira shuddered. “That makes me ill just thinking of it.”
“Aye, well, taking a sip here and there is a hell of a lot different than draining it from a victim’s neck. They are no threat to us,” Antianeira remarked.
“Not like the potential problem we have that Flavia perpetrated,” the defense queen reminded her sister.
“We can discuss this all night, but the fact remains that Flavia is dead and we are no closer to learning the motivation for her treason. Perhaps you should bring Harmothoe before the Tribunal and ask if she had something to do with Flavia’s death.”
“I never liked Harmothoe,” Deianeira said. “I well remember her making me redo that damned doily five times before she was satisfied I had crocheted it to her specifications!” Her face turned hard. “I ripped out those stitches four times! Who the hell needs a doily anyway? And why does a warrioress need to know how to crochet?”
Antianeira smiled. “To smooth her rough edges, perhaps?”
“It will give me pleasure to question that bitch.” Deianeira grinned nastily. “At least five times!”
* * * * *
Lilit waved away the messenger who had come to bring news of the death of Flavia Pantasriste, the Amazeen Abbess of Education. Despite her lack of regard for anyone other than herself, the young princess knew a moment—brief though it was—of unhappiness at the news. She threw the missive into the fire then slumped in her chair, her long, skinny legs thrust out in front of her. Pouting, she drummed her fingers on the chair arm.
“What will you do now, Highness?” the shadow clinging to the wall asked.
“It is my sire’s wish that Konan Krull meet his end in the dungeon of Nebul. I promised him I would see to it!” Lilit snapped.
The shadow slid down the wall, its talons plucking at the stone. When it slithered to the floor, it stood upright, its wings folded primly at its sides. “Do you have an assignment for me, then, Your Majesty?”
Lilit swung her black gaze to the bat-woman who hovered nearby. “I can not travel to Amazeen on my own and my worthless mother will n
ot make the trek again until it is time to make war on the Pleiadesians.”
“Youth has its disadvantages,” the shadow said with a sigh.
“Aye, I won’t be there to allow that old witch to have her sick way with me again. If I were there, she would meet her end very quickly whilst in the throes of her disgusting passion. Thus, I think you should silence Harmothoe before she spills my father’s preparations to the Amazeen.”
The bat-woman crept closer. “Would you like me to soothe you before I go, Your Majesty?” She licked her thin lips. “It would calm you and you would sleep better, I think.”
“No, Amenirdis, I would not!” Lilit spat. She lashed out with her foot and kicked the bat-woman in the chest, sending her crashing backward.
Amenirdis got to her knees and with long fingers twined as though in prayer, begged her young mistress’ forgiveness. She cringed as Lilit got to her feet, her dark eyes flashing fire.
“I let Harmothoe have her repulsive way with me so I could set my father’s plan into motion. Never again will I let a female touch my flesh! Now find that old crone and make sure she does not reveal our plans to her Sisters!”
The bat-woman bowed her head in acknowledgement of the order and slipped silently to the window. Opening the portal, she hopped up on the sill then launched herself into the heavens, her wings flapping.
“Vile creature,” Lilit said with a shudder. The twelve year old marched to the window and shut it, latching it securely against the return of the bat-woman. “How do you stand such beasts, Father?”
One must use the arsenal at one’s command, Daughter, an oily voice whispered in the young girl’s ear.
“When I am queen, I—”
Before you can rule, you must learn to obey, Daughter, the voice snapped. What I ordered you to accomplish was not done!
Lilit flinched. “Krull was not captured by the Nebullian Troopers? I thought—”
A blood-drinker rescued Krull and his captain! The words thundered so loudly in the girl’s ears, she slapped her hands against them and fell to her knees. A mere woman dared to foil my plans!
“Who is she, Father? Give me her name, tell me where to find her, and I will send my lieutenants Amenirdis and Hekat after her.”
A vicious laugh echoed through Lilit’s head and brought a tiny trickle of blood oozing from both ears.
Too late! the voice screamed. It was a vile female Reaper who dared this!
Lilit could feel her father’s fury like a cold, wet mantle thrown over her shoulders. She sagged against the weight of it and lay down, curling into a fetal position with her thumb stuck between her lips. The stench of his breath washed over and she shuddered and began trembling violently.
You will learn, you worthless female! the voice bellowed at her. I should not have entrusted anything to you until you are ripe with the blood!
Lying upon the cold floor, the young girl began to hum to herself. Her mind was filled with all manner of vile images of torture, death and destruction. She could smell the brimstone bubbling all around her and feel it seeping into her pores. She whimpered, knowing she had failed her powerful sire this time.
For her sire’s people, the Ordonese, there would be no easy conquest of Pleiades now. With Krull alive and at the head of the joint forces, the Venturians would assemble to place Clea—a stupid woman—upon the Pleiadesian throne. There would be no man for Lilit to seduce when she became ripe with the blood.
“Clea,” Lilit whispered with loathing. “May your cunt rot, you barren cow!”
Her thoughts turned from the ugly Clea to Krull and memory of the night she had hidden in her mother’s room at the inn in Tasjorn reared up to prod her with evil fingers.
That night she remembered, her lips curling with distaste, her mother had risen at a scratch upon her door. She had opened wide the door and allowed Konan Krull inside.
“I don’t have long, Mona,” Krull had said. “What did you need to speak with about?”
“You look hot, Lord Krull. Perhaps a cool glass of milk to refresh you?”
Despite the warrior’s protest, her mother had hurried to the table. Taking a flagon from a bowl of ice, she poured milk into a golden goblet. She held it out to Krull and insisted he ease his thirst.
“Stupid man,” Lilit sneered. “You never suspected a thing!”
The goblet had held a stiff measure of tenerse and that drug mixed with the milk had brought about nearly instant lust in the warrior, and he had fallen upon the queen and dragged her to the floor.
“Whoring bitch,” the young girl accused.
Her mother had drugged the Lord High Commander. She had lain with him and spread her legs, allowing that heathen stud to thrust his slippery cock between her whoring thighs. She had clawed his back, spurring him on, and cooed vulgar suggestions in his ear. His panting and grunts matched his seducer’s groans and sighs. The slap of their lower bodies against one another was forceful and loud in the room. She had reveled in his loathsome touch and had cried out in pleasure when his weapon had spurted inside her.
“Harlot!” Lilit hissed. “Filthy hag! How dare you cuckold my father!”
Pounding her fists upon the stone beneath her, the young girl called her mother every vile name she could think of. Hatred spewed from her lips like the gush of pus from an infected wound.
It did not matter to Lilit that Lord Krull had been forced into taking her mother. That he had had no control over his lust because of the drug made no difference to the young girl. He was a guilty as her mother, though to this day Lilit could remember the mortal shame of what he had done stamped on his handsome features.
“What did you do?” she remembered him demanding in a shocked voice.
“I wanted a boy child,” Lilit’s mother replied. “I wanted your boy child!”
“You bitch!” Krull accused. “I helped you and this is what you do to repay me?”
“I need a boy child to help me rule,” her mother insisted. “My women are not warrioresses like the Amazeen and we have been invaded many times. I need a strong hand at my right side.” She held out her hands. “Our son will be as great a defender for us as you are for Ventura.”
“Get away from me!” Krull shouted as he threw open the door and stumbled from the room, his face stricken, eyes haunted.
The queen, indeed, had conceived a child from that wanton night but Lilit had made sure the get did not survive. Calling upon her father for help, she had been sent a brew that would cause her mother to abort the thing growing inside her. Not only did the brew destroy the boy child, it withered her mother’s womb and made it barren.
There would be no more brats slithering from between her unfaithful mother’s thighs. There would be no boy child with whom to scrapple over the power of Queen Mona’s monarchy.
“Not that a male could ever rule the Daughters of the Night!” Lilit mumbled.
Consigning Konan Krull to the deepest pit of the Abyss, the child fell into a troubled doze, dreaming of the day she would one day rule the Daughters. With her sire’s help, she would extend that rule over all the earth.
Chapter Thirteen
No doubt Clea would alert her father’s men once she made her way into the dungeon and found his mutilated body. As smart a woman as she was, she would have the Tribunal swear her in as ruler of Pleiades before word got out that the king was dead.
“There will be hell to pay in Nebul this night,” Konan remarked. “They won’t know who—or what—entered the keep and murdered the king and his henchmen.”
“Clea will know,” Kynthia said. “She’ll realize she wasn’t dreaming when she saw Leksi in the buff.”
“Let’s hope no innocent gets snagged in their net,” Leksi commented, ignoring his lady’s dig.
“They’ll be too busy protecting their new queen, I’d wager, to do much of anything before we return.”
“What will happen when our forces invade Pleiades?” Kynthia asked. “Will Clea surrender without a fight?”
> “She will no doubt see the advantage of it,” Konan replied. “At least I hope she will.”
“Do you not think we should send an emissary, Your Grace?” Leksi inquired. “Let her know we have no intention of usurping her power amongst her people.”
“Aye but that we will not countenance things being the way they were under her insane father,” Kynthia suggested.
“Who should I send?” Konan asked.
“Let me go,” Leksi volunteered. At Kynthia’s protest, he turned to her. “Do I not have powers such as you have, wench?”
Kynthia frowned. “Aye, and most likely your powers are superior to mine since you are a male.”
“Then why worry about my safety?”
“Who said I was?” she countered.
“Can I not read your mind as easily as you once read mine?”
The warrioress shrugged. “I’ll have to be more careful with my thoughts, warrior.”
Konan was listening closely to the lovers’ exchange. He still could not look that closely at his captain without wonder. There was not a single blemish on Leksi Helios’ flesh and—if truth be told—he looked younger than he had before they had ridden out from Ventura.
“When reapers age, they do so very slowly. How old would you say I am?” Kynthia asked.
A strained look appeared on Konan’s face. “Lass, I learned long ago to never speculate on a lady’s age, but I’d say no more than twenty, twenty-five at the most.”
“I am thirty-two, milord,” Kynthia informed the Lord High Commander. “Leksi will not age past the way he looks right now for at least another hundred. Neither will I.”
Konan shook his head. “This is new to me, wench. I have yet to get my mind around it all.”
They had reined in their mounts and were sitting upon a rise that overlooked the Pleiadesian keep at Nebul. Even from that distance, they could see people scurrying about and as they watched, Abalam Robeus’ standard was drawn down from the battlements to be replaced by the personal insignia of his daughter.
“She’ll be a fine ruler,” Konan commented.
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