Crystal Moon

by Elysa Hendricks

  did you end up here?”

  “Aubin’s sister, Katya, abducted me from our father’s home.

  But they believe I am you. Because they don’t know you, they

  think you helped father plan Aubin’s murder.”

  Shock and pain wiped away Laila’s smile. She quickly

  masked all physical evidence of her emotions. “You don’t know

  me, either. How can you be sure I didn’t?” she asked in a

  harsh whisper.

  “I’m sure. You loved Aubin.”

  “You’re a naive fool, and you’re in danger here. We will

  tell them the truth.” Laila started to stand.

  “No!” Sianna grabbed her arm. “If you do, we will both

  become prisoners. Then who will find proof of your innocence?

  I’m unsure, but I believe Rul Cathor plans to use me—I mean

  you—as a hostage against our father. Until Father replies to

  Rul Cathor’s demands I should be safe enough. Besides, they

  believe I...you...might be pregnant with Aubin’s child.” Heat

  flooded Sianna’s face. “They’ll not hurt me until they’re sure.”

  For a moment surprise registered in Laila’s eyes, then they

  went blank. “So like your mother,” she murmured. “You protect

  others even at your own peril.”

  “Am I really like her?” This connection with her unknown

  mother warmed Sianna. “I never knew her. Please tell me what

  you know of my mother.” Though other issues were more

  pressing, she asked for the information she truly wanted.

  “Are you sure you wish to know? You will not like what

  you hear,” Laila warned.

  “I must know the truth.”

  “Very well.” Laila nodded, her focus turned inward. “I was

  but six annum when DiSanti brought your mother from the

  mountains. Though he kept her against her will, for the short

  time she was there, she turned that dour, loveless stone fortress

  into a home.” Laila’s features softened. A faraway look settled

  in her dark eyes. “She took me under her wing, became my

  companion, my champion, the mother I never had, turning me

  from a dirty, wild child into a loved and loving little girl.

  “But at night I heard her cries of fear and pain as DiSanti

  took her to bed and used her. Once I tried to stop him. When he

  raised his hand to me, she put herself between us and took the

  blow.”

  With each word, Sianna’s hopes of a loving home faded.

  Her father was the monster Kyne’s people called him.

  “Then she became pregnant with you, and DiSanti left her

  alone, but by then her health was broken. You were born early,

  and she died.”

  Sianna cringed at Laila’s glare.

  “I hated you then. Blamed you for your mother’s death.”

  The anger faded from Laila’s eyes, replaced by sorrow and

  regret. “I was a fool. DiSanti killed your mother as he killed

  Aubin.” Her voice grew cold and hard. “He will pay for his

  sins. I will have vengeance.”

  “Don’t let your quest for revenge eat away your heart and

  destroy your mind.”

  “I buried my heart with Aubin, and I will destroy DiSanti.”

  Laila turned her stony gaze on Sianna. “After you leave

  this chamber, you must cease to think of me as sister. For his

  own reasons DiSanti kept us apart, and now for our own we

  will remain apart.”

  “But....” Had she found her sister only to lose her again?

  “Guard against the evil that flows in your veins.”

  “You’re wrong, sister. Evil is not born in a person’s blood,

  but rather in their heart and mind.”

  Before Laila could respond, the chamber door opened.

  Framed in the opening stood Kyne. “We are prepared to leave.

  Are you ready?” He directed his question to Laila, but his gaze

  held Sianna’s. She warmed at the concern she saw in his eyes.

  “I am.” Laila stood.

  “But,” Sianna protested, “I haven’t checked your injuries.”

  “They’re of no consequence.” She turned toward Sianna

  and lowered her voice. “Be cautious, little sister.”

  Kyne started forward, then stopped as Laila straightened

  and strode toward the door.

  “Go with the Eternal One....” the door closed behind them,

  “sister,” Sianna whispered.

  ***

  From his seat on the dais, Timon watched High Minister

  DiSanti warily.

  “Honored Prince.” DiSanti clasped his right fist to his chest

  and bowed.

  Wise beyond his ten and four annum, Timon let none of his

  hatred and disgust for the man show. He could do nothing—

  yet. The Eternal One willing, his time for justice against DiSanti

  would come, but not this day. This day he must continue to play

  his role.

  “You may approach, High Minister.” The words stuck in

  Timon’s throat. DiSanti’s show of obeisance, staged for the

  other ministers’ benefit, sickened Timon. They both knew who

  truly ruled here. “Rise and speak.”

  “I bear distressing news, Your Highness. Five days ago,

  your betrothed was snatched from her bed chamber. I have

  just received a message from her abductors.”

  Timon barely restrained his shout of delight. Instead he

  maintained a bland expression. Royalty must never react, my

  son. They must act. The father he remembered was long buried

  beneath a steady diet of nika, but Timon hadn’t forgotten his

  early training. Still, he allowed himself an inner smile. He didn’t

  know DiSanti’s daughter and had no desire to.

  “What do these people demand?” he asked.

  “I would speak to you alone.”

  Timon read the subtle threat beneath DiSanti’s quiet request.

  “Leave us,” he commanded the gathered ministers and guards.

  In moments the crowded council hall had emptied.

  “How wise you are, my prince.” Gone was DiSanti’s

  reverent, humble tone. With a snarl, he turned on Timon. “Do

  you think by kidnapping my daughter you’ll circumvent my plans?

  Your father hangs on by a thread. A day or two without his

  nika, and he’ll die in agony.”

  Timon remained impassive to DiSanti’s threats. He’d heard

  them before. Only a few select ministers, DiSanti’s men, knew

  of King Dracken’s addiction. Others thought he suffered from

  milag, a debilitating illness. Those who questioned DiSanti’s

  place as High Minister and advisor to Prince Timon disappeared.

  But they both knew the king must live, for once Timon ascended

  to the throne, the battle between them would begin in earnest.

  As if he heard Timon’s thoughts, DiSanti’s voice grew soft

  and oily. “What of your ailing mother, the lovely Queen Theone?

  Each day she grows weaker. And Thomasa asks of you often.”

  Timon’s fingers dug into the hard wooden arms of his chair.

  DiSanti struck at his weakness. His mother. And Thomasa.

  His sister. His twin.

  “You are not irreplaceable. Your sister is a delightful little

  girl. She’s grown quite fond of me these last few years. It

  would be no hardship to take her as wife.”

  “You’ll not
touch her!” Fists clenched, Timon sprang from

  his chair. If he knew where DiSanti had his mother and sister

  hidden, Timon would take great pleasure in putting his sword

  through the man’s evil heart.

  “So you do have blood flowing in your royal veins.” DiSanti

  chuckled but didn’t flinch. “Easy, my hot-tempered prince, if

  anything befalls me, your sister’s guards have orders to kill

  her—slowly and as painfully as possible. But I prefer to rule

  through you.”

  “Of course you do,” Timon said. “If I die, marriage to the

  princess will not guarantee your control. Too many other petty

  dictators will arise to challenge you.” Only King Dracken’s

  and Timon’s own popularity with the people, along with the

  ambitions of the other ministers, kept DiSanti from killing the

  entire royal family and claiming the throne for himself. “Civil

  war will do little to line your pockets.” Or satisfy your lust for

  power.

  “You’re correct, my prince, but do not over estimate your

  value to me.”

  The unspoken threat made Timon shudder. He sank back

  into his throne and waited to hear DiSanti’s current demands.

  Each time they grew more onerous. How much more could the

  people of Dramon survive? Try as he did, there was little he

  could do to soften DiSanti’s harsh grip. Like the mythical hero,

  Conlin, who to protect his people, forever rode the tail of the

  giant Tigra, Timon was trapped.

  “What do you want? Soon enough your daughter will be

  my wife. What need do I have to abduct her?”

  “Then why does the messenger refuse to speak his demands

  to anyone but you?”

  “I don’t know. Bring him to me, and we’ll find out.”

  “I’m afraid that isn’t possible. His interrogators were a bit

  too zealous.” Anger threaded DiSanti’s calm words.

  “Is the man dead?”

  “No, but he’ll not survive the journey here. You will come

  with me.”

  Timon hesitated. To leave what protection the castle offered

  was foolish, but what choice did he have? As DiSanti’s puppet,

  he had to dance to the man’s tune, or his family would suffer

  the consequences. Still, this messenger had resisted DiSanti’s

  methods of persuasion. Perhaps these abductors would prove

  to be valuable allies. The moons knew he needed help. What

  hope did he, a mere boy, have alone? He nodded his

  acquiescence and cringed inwardly at the sound of DiSanti’s

  satisfied laughter.

  ***

  Worry churned Sianna’s stomach as she paced the

  courtyard wall. In the five days since Kyne, Lisha, and the

  others had ridden out, there had been no word. Though she

  kept busy every waking moment, and precognition was not one

  of her gifts, she couldn’t banish her sense of dread.

  A familiar wave of hostility broke over her. She turned and

  came face-to-face with Katya. When Warda growled and

  pressed close to Sianna’s side, she rested her hand on the

  hound’s head, silently calming him.

  Since Kyne departed leaving Katya in charge of the castle,

  Sianna had done her best to stay out of the angry young woman’s

  way. With little success. At every opportunity, Katya forced a

  confrontation. The constant conflict wore on Sianna’s dwindling

  reserves.

  “For whom do you wait? Kyne? Graham? Rescue?”

  Katya’s lovely features twisted into an ugly sneer. “Like a

  spinner in her web, you seduce men to their destruction with

  your innocent air. Be warned, Kyne and Graham are not so

  easily deceived.”

  Though Katya’s animosity drained Sianna, she laughed.

  “You mix your similes badly. How does my innocent air seduce

  men?”

  Fury sparked in Katya’s eyes. “Don’t bandy words with

  me, woman. You fool the others here because they’re ignorant

  of your true identity. It sickens me to see them looking to you

  for counsel and help, as if you were the lady of the castle rather

  than the spawn of the unredeemed. One word from me, and

  they’ll turn on you.”

  A spurt of anger made Sianna bold. “Nothing I’ve done

  has harmed you or these people. I grow weary of your threats.

  Say what you will. Do what you must. Only cease annoying

  me.” Frustration made her turn her back on Katya. The woman

  refused to see the truth. She fed her grief with anger and hate.

  Warda’s low rumble warned Sianna just before Katya

  grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. At her touch, a

  bitter stew of rage, pain and guilt swirled inside Katya and

  flowed into Sianna. She staggered under the assault.

  “Why didn’t I cut your throat that first night?” Anguish

  laced Katya’s bitter question.

  Sympathy for the woman’s pain made Sianna reach out.

  “Because it’s not in you to commit murder.”

  More difficult to heal than a physical injury or illness, a

  spiritual wound would drain her dwindling reserves. Could she

  cope? Maybe not, but could she ignore Katya’s desperate need?

  She covered Katya’s hand with her own. “Let go of your pain

  and hatred. Permit yourself to heal.”

  Eyes wide, her golden skin gone white, Katya gasped and

  jerked free. “Don’t touch me, witch. What moon-born magic

  do you wield?” She backed away.

  “No magic. Just simple compassion.” The Sisters had

  warned Sianna against revealing the unusual nature of her gifts

  to the suspicious and superstitious. More than one healer, even

  without empathic skill, had been branded a witch and died a

  fiery death at the hands of an angry mob.

  “Keep your compassion.” Katya spat the words at Sianna.

  “Nothing you give can replace what you’ve stolen. If spilling

  your blood would give me one more moment with Aubin, I would

  gut you like a shoat.” She whirled and hastened away.

  Sorrow descended over Sianna. Deep inside, her soul wept.

  How useless her skill seemed in the face of such agony. Unless

  Katya rid herself of her quest for vengeance, she would never

  again be whole.

  A sentry called out. “Riders approach!”

  From her vantage point on the wall, Sianna looked over the

  treetops. In the distance, she could see wagon after loaded

  wagon, interspersed with riders, navigating the treacherous

  mountain path. Already the commotion in the yard heralded the

  group’s success.

  Though unable to discern his features, Sianna found Kyne

  as he rode alongside an apparently empty wagon.

  She reached out, but only a subtle hint of his presence

  touched her.

  Her stomach lurched as fierce, unrelenting pain sliced into

  her legs. With a gasp her knees buckled.

  Whose suffering did she feel? Relegating the pain to a

  corner of her mind, she searched out the one in need.

  Graham.

  In her mind she saw and felt the world through his senses—

  the blue sky above, the scratch of the blanket-covered straw

  beneath him, the smell and taste of blood a
s he bit his tongue to

  stifle his moans...and the white hot jolts of pain with each lurch

  of the wagon.

  How bad? With her mind she probed his body. So much

  damage. Broken bones. Torn muscles. Mangled flesh.

  Through the pain his emotions touched her. Without the

  use of his legs he felt himself less than a man, less than human.

  He wanted to die. No!

  In less than a tenday she had come to love this large, quiet

  man, as she had hoped to love her father. She could not let him

  die. But could she keep him alive if he wished to die?

  Could she heal him? Did she have the strength and skill?

  Whatever it took she would give this man.

  “Sianna. Sianna. Father is coming.”

  Zoa’s excited cries and Warda’s anxious whine severed

  Sianna’s connection to Graham. His pain faded to memory. On

  shaky legs she rose and headed down the ladder to the courtyard.

  “Hurry, Sianna! There are so many wagons. Do you think

  there will be sugar to make candy sweets? I hope so. It’s been

  ever so long.”

  At the bottom of the ladder, Zoa danced in excitement, her

  small face alight with anticipation. Warda sprang down after

  Sianna, easily making the twenty-foot leap.

  “You go on ahead. I have to talk to Althea.”

  For a moment Zoa wavered, then temptation won out over

  attachment, and the child darted off.

  Sianna hastened toward the makeshift hospital. Graham

  would need a separate room. She knew his pride would suffer

  if he were forced to endure the pity in everyone’s eyes. On her

  way she grabbed the two young boys from the great hall incident.

  They protested, wanting to meet the caravan, but at her stern

  look, capitulated.

  “Althea.”

  The old woman blinked, roused from her sitting doze in a

  chair outside the herb room. She looked up at Sianna.

  “Graham has been badly injured.”

  The two boys beside Sianna gasped.

  “We’ll need to use your chamber to care for him.” Althea’s

  room, a small chamber with only a bed, a table and a chair, lay

  next to the herb room. It would serve. Althea nodded, rose, and

  went into her chamber.

  Sianna turned toward the boys. “Go to Graham’s chamber

  and bring down his bed, Althea’s is too small for his large frame.

  Hurry. He’ll be here soon.”

  While she headed into the herb room, the two boys ran off