“Whatever it takes,” Corwin said, his lungs expanding with gratitude. He eyed the brooch once more. “But what exactly do you have in mind?”
15
Corwin
HE WOKE THE NEXT MORNING in a languid haze, his body wrapped in a pleasant warmth. He’d slept long and deep—and late, he realized as he slowly opened his eyes to see the sun already high over the horizon beyond the window.
At the sight of Eravis nestled beside him, all of the previous night’s events came rushing into his mind. He tensed, uncomfortable with their intimacy, she in nothing but her shift and him in only his underclothes. They’d spent the entire night lying side by side. Then he remembered the blood she left on the sheets from a cut she’d made high on her thigh with the brooch’s pin, and he reached out to wake her, wanting to make sure she was okay.
The sound of a door opening stopped him, and he craned his neck to peer through the doorway into the living room. It was the same elderly woman who came every morning to check the record. Marching into the bedroom, she froze at the sight of Corwin and Eravis.
Heat rose up Corwin’s neck, but before he could admonish the woman for her intrusion, Eravis came awake. With a loud yawn, she sat up, her hair a rumpled mess around her face.
“Good morning, Malva,” she said. “Give us just a moment to get out of your way. I’m afraid we were both overcome by tiredness this morning.” Eravis cast a shy, albeit mischievous, smile at Corwin, playing the part perfectly.
The heat rose farther up his neck, but with relative ease, he smiled back at her. It helped that she seemed so genuinely happy. He supposed maybe she was, that actively defying her father brought her a dark satisfaction. But he couldn’t help but be nervous. Fooling Mistress Malva was far easier done than the Godking. And Gavril.
Malva bowed. “Pardon the intrusion, your highness.”
“No need.” Eravis slid from the bed, giving a slight wince as she stood. There was no question that it was genuine. Probably from the cut she’d given herself last night, but easily misinterpreted by an unsuspecting Malva.
Corwin followed her lead, climbing out of the bed as well. Reaching for the robe he’d left tousled on the floor, the sudden need for the nenath struck him, making his knees almost buckle. With a stifled groan, he managed to straighten up and avoid falling. It must be even later than he thought, and he wondered if Zan had come and gone while he and Eravis slept. But as he walked into the living room he found all the tables empty save for the wine from the night before. For a second the panic started to rise in him, but the next moment Zan appeared in the door, tray in hand.
“Apologies, your highness,” Zan said, walking in. “But you must drink this quickly, Lord Gavril—” He broke off at the sight of Eravis sauntering through the doorway in nothing but her robe.
“Good morning, Zan.” Eravis approached the stunned page, reaching toward the tray, which she had to nearly pry from his fingers. “I will serve my husband this morning.” Setting the tray on the nearest table, she poured a glass of the nenath and offered it to Corwin.
Unable to fully hide a smile at Zan’s continued shock, Corwin raised the glass to his lips and downed the nenath, sweet relief rushing through him at once. “Thank you,” he said to Eravis.
In answer, she reached up and kissed him, her body boldly pressed to his. Corwin stiffened for a second, then, remembering the act, he kissed her back.
As they pulled apart a moment later, Malva entered the room, the bedsheets clutched in her arms like a treasured prize. “Thank you. The Godking will be most pleased.” She bowed and left.
Zan at last came out of his stupor. Blinking several times, he cleared his throat. “Please, your highness,” he said, addressing Eravis. “But Lord Gavril has need of Prince Corwin this morning.”
Eravis frowned, and Corwin sensed the tension spreading through her body. It was spreading through his as well, dread like a roll of thunder. “Very well, but see that he doesn’t keep him too long. My love and I have plans for the day.” She smiled at Corwin, reaching over to squeeze his hand affectionately.
“Certainly, your highness.” Zan bowed, then, rising, he ushered Corwin back into the bedroom to help him dress.
Eravis lingered in the bedroom as well, watching from the balcony, but any hope they might’ve had to discuss Gavril’s sudden need to summon Corwin was ruined by Zan’s presence. In the end, Corwin could only whisper a word of encouragement in Eravis’s ear as he kissed her good-bye.
Corwin’s guards fell into place behind him the moment he and Zan stepped outside, but when they reached the bottom floor, Zan turned and waved them away. “I will escort Prince Corwin from here. Lord Gavril insists he come alone.”
The guards looked dismayed for a moment, but the feeling didn’t last, not with the prospect of a morning off. Once alone, Zan continued on the way, soon heading toward the bailey where a litter waited.
“Where are we going?” Corwin eyed the litter askance. He had only ever seen Gavril inside the palace. In fact, this would be the first time he’d left the palace since the wedding ceremony.
“The Mistfold,” Zan replied, a note of excitement in his voice.
Worry clawed at Corwin’s thoughts. Bonner and Nadira were most likely in the Mistfold, and the possibility that they’d been discovered made him shudder.
The journey through the city to the Mistfold took an eternity, and yet all too soon Corwin found himself stepping out onto the broad field beyond that towering red wall with the pit waiting just ahead. It looked the same as he remembered, the long squat buildings, the severed head of the ancient statue, and everweeps everywhere. Their sweet smell washed over him, making him sway with the sudden onrush of homesickness.
Zan led him down into the pit and then to the arena in the center, a low wall surrounding the statue. To Corwin’s surprise, he recognized the statue’s face. It was a depiction of Sevan, same as he’d seen in several books in the library. The dead god. Somehow the realization only made the situation more ominous.
That, and the multitude of Sevan soldiers assembled inside the arena before the raised dais at one end. For a moment, Corwin wondered where all the wilders were, but when he finally spotted Bonner standing in the front row, closest to the dais, he realized this must be them. Their conversion into the Godking’s weapons was nearly complete.
Reaching the dais, Zan mounted the steps and dropped into a bow before Gavril, who’d been watching their approach. “I’ve brought the prince, my lord.”
With a scowl stretching across his face, Gavril folded his hands primly in front of him. “What was the delay?”
Zan hesitated, color rising in his cheeks. “His highness and Princess Eravis slept late, my lord.”
Gavril’s scowl gave way to a look of surprise. “That can’t be.” Doubt rang clear in his voice, and Corwin braced for the assault of his magic. Concentrating hard, he forced memories of the night before to the front of his mind, of kissing Eravis, embracing her, lying beside her, everything he wanted Gavril to see and nothing he did not.
The man’s sway slid inside him like a spider disappearing into a crack in a wall. He made no effort to hide the intrusion. Corwin gritted his teeth, trying in vain to fight him back, all the while his thoughts on Eravis. This isn’t going to work. But no sooner had the thought started to rise in his mind than he felt Gavril withdraw.
“I see,” Gavril said, his jaw clenched in disgust.
Observing the man’s reaction, Corwin allowed himself a moment to feel the sweet rush of victory. Gavril believed him, and what was more, Corwin suspected he was unlikely to go prying again. A man of his pride couldn’t handle confronting the failure, the missed opportunity. Better to pretend he never cared to begin with. Or perhaps it had never been about the sex at all, but the chance to wield the power itself.
“Have a seat, your highness.” Gavril motioned to the single chair set on the dais. Resting on a small platform, it had a distinctive throne-like appearance that quic
kly drove away Corwin’s sense of victory as he sat down upon it, helpless to resist Gavril’s direct command.
Turning toward the silently waiting army of conscripted wilders, Gavril addressed them in a raised voice. “It seems that one of you has rejected my Tenets.” He motioned below him to the nearest wilders. “Bonner, bring the defiler here.”
With no sign of hesitation, Bonner grabbed the arm of the man standing next to him, who Corwin could now see was bound at the wrists and wearing a magestone collar. The man was old enough to be Corwin’s father, but slight of build, with a craggy face offset by a perfectly straight nose. He walked stiffly beneath Bonner’s grip, his spine rigid and head high even as fear shone in his eyes.
Once atop the dais, Gavril held out his hand to the man. “Yesterday, this man, Alton Dailey, disobeyed my direct order. An act which, by now, should’ve been impossible.” Gavril paused, running his gaze over the still, silent assembly. “And yet it undeniably happened. This raises the question of whether there are any other defilers of my Tenets among you.”
Corwin drew a deep breath, trying to stop his heart from racing for fear that Gavril would notice. The hope he’d built up these last few days began crumbling inside him.
“Which means,” Gavril continued, “that I have no choice but to test each and every one of you for your loyalty to me.”
A ripple of movement went through the crowd, but it was so slight Corwin wasn’t sure he didn’t imagine it.
Gavril turned toward Bonner. “We will start with you, Godspear.” Gavril pointed to Alton. “I order you to kill this traitor. But you must do it slowly, punishing him as his disobedience deserves.”
Corwin couldn’t guess what Gavril planned, but he knew Bonner did, the command sent right to his mind with Gavril’s sway. Bonner shifted to the right, raising his arms toward something in the distance. There was a groan of metal, and a rectangular object rose up in the air above the heads of the wilders and soared over them toward the dais. It came to rest at Bonner’s feet, a metal cage of a size that might hold a nightdrake.
Or a person.
Corwin’s rib cage seemed to close in around his heart as Bonner swung toward Alton, grabbed him by the shoulders, and forced him into the cage.
“Please,” Alton said, struggling, but Bonner didn’t relent. He couldn’t. They weren’t ready to fight Gavril, the numbers of those freed far too small to fight back the rest of the group still bound by Gavril’s Tenets. No, Bonner had to prove himself now or they would lose all.
A moment later, Alton was closed inside the box. With a wave of his hand, Bonner warped the bars with his magic, flattening the metal outward so that the cage became a solid box. Then he slowly began to draw his hands closed. As he did the box grew smaller and smaller. Even so it was a long time before the screams started, but when they did the sound was like a force in Corwin’s skull, stabbing his ears, his mind, his heart, with horror.
It must’ve been worse for Bonner, who had surely known this man, and who didn’t have the luxury of Gavril’s compulsion this time. What he did now, he had to do with his own force of will, driven by a loyalty to the other wilders he still had a chance to save.
When the screams finally ended, and the cage was less than half the size it had been, shortened and flattened both, Bonner turned toward Gavril and bowed.
The man smiled back in satisfaction. “Very good. Let’s see if the rest will comply as easily.”
Knowing there’d been nothing easy about it, Corwin’s heart ached for his friend, for the guilt that he would now be forced to carry. And it might not even prove worth it. Not unless the other freed wilders were strong enough to do the same.
One by one, Gavril called the soldiers onto the dais and put them to the test. Some he made do harm to themselves, and some harm to others. But Alton was the only wilder victim, the rest condemned prisoners of Seva.
Nadira was tested not long after Bonner. Gavril ordered her to stop the heart of a young man, hardly more than a boy. His right hand was missing, a consequence of thieving in Luxana, yet a crime far undeserving of death. Nadira faced the boy, placing her palm against his chest, her expression a mask of indifference. All except for her eyes, which sparkled darkly with emotion. Corwin held his breath, certain she would relent, but a moment later, the boy lay dead at her feet.
On and on it went, taking hours. And yet none of the wilders disobeyed. Sometimes Corwin thought he could tell which of them had been freed and which hadn’t, but mostly not. As the last one came and went, Corwin finally let himself take a full breath.
That was until Gavril motioned to him. “Your turn, Prince Corwin.” Stand and come here. Gavril’s silent command echoed inside Corwin’s head, his body reacting at once.
“Bring up the last prisoner,” Gavril said when Corwin reached him.
Bonner, who’d spent the day escorting the often struggling victims onto the dais, forced a final one up the stairs. It wasn’t difficult, the man so thin and frail his struggles were hardly more than those of a child. As Bonner positioned the prisoner into place before Corwin, recognition tore through him.
“Henry.” The name slipped involuntarily out of Corwin’s mouth as all the memories of the long year he’d spent as Clash came crashing over him.
Henry looked up in confusion. “My lord?”
With his hands clenching into fists, Corwin turned to Gavril. “Let him go. I’ve given you no reason to doubt my loyalty, and this man has suffered enough to last a lifetime already.”
“Indeed he has,” Gavril said, pleasure in his voice, and a smile hidden beneath his solemn expression. He would have his victory now, it seemed. “That is why it is up to you to give him mercy, your highness. Secure him to the platform, Godspear.”
Bonner obeyed, flicking his hands to raise up the iron shackles he’d earlier fixed to the floor with his magic, the restraints needed for many of the victims who’d come before.
Once Henry was secured, wrists and hands bound to the floor, Gavril turned and bowed toward Corwin. “Kill him, your highness.”
An image appeared in Corwin’s mind of exactly how Gavril wanted it done. Corwin opened his mouth to protest, but at once felt his lips pressing closed, as Gavril’s sway forced him into silence. Mutely, he turned to Bonner, who handed him a jar of oil, which Corwin upended over Henry’s head, dousing him.
“Please, my lord,” Henry said, lips smacking from the slickness. “What are you doing, my lord?”
For a moment, Corwin let himself hope Gavril would silence Henry as well, but he should’ve known better. Gavril wouldn’t give him any mercy.
With the jar now empty, Corwin handed it back to Bonner. In return Bonner gave him a torch, one already brightly burning and hungry for more.
At the sight of those flames, Henry began to scream. With the sound of the man’s terror driving him, Corwin reached deep inside himself for strength, desperate for a way to resist, to get free. Let me go. Please, sweet goddess, give me the strength.
But Gavril only tightened his grip. Go on, your highness. Be the man your father raised you to be. Deliver justice and punishment on the deserving. Gavril’s words rang with irony, both of them knowing this wasn’t justice at all.
No! Corwin silently screamed, fighting harder, but Gavril only pressed near in response. With a sudden flash of inspiration, Corwin changed tactic, embracing Gavril’s presence in his mind as he’d learned to do with Kate before. Maybe he could squeeze Gavril out, make him so uncomfortable he would have no choice but to withdraw.
Corwin felt the man’s mind opening up to him, thoughts and feelings and memories rushing in. He saw Gavril as a young boy living on the streets of Rin, thieving to stay alive, without a home or family. His parents had rejected him when he first showed the signs of his sway. They feared him, hated him—and his magic. Gavril had fled from them only to return later, once he’d come to understand that magic made him more than they could ever hope to be, made him better, superior to such fools. He ki
lled them to prove it. He would kill any who dared treat him as less.
Get out. The thought pierced Corwin’s skull, and he stumbled backward, losing his focus. At once Gavril’s control strengthened inside him, closing around his will with a viselike grip, compelling him forward, torch raised.
“Please, my lord. Please, have mercy!” Tears streamed down Henry’s haggard face as he pulled on the chains.
“I’m sorry,” Corwin said, somehow managing to push the words past Gavril’s control. But they didn’t matter. They couldn’t stop the agony of the death Corwin would give this man, one who had been a friend, a brother in the darkness.
The oil covering Henry’s skin and hair caught fire at once, the strength of the ignition forcing Corwin to retreat. Henry’s screams became mangled shrieks. Gavril’s grip on Corwin released, allowing him to experience the man’s suffering without interference or distraction. Corwin was alone with his misery and horror of what he’d done, what he could never undo. This mockery of a king dispensing justice.
When it was over, the fire extinguished by a pyrist, and Henry’s screams silenced at last, Gavril turned and clasped Corwin on the back. “Well done, your highness. I’m satisfied that my Tenets hold true.”
Corwin didn’t reply. He could only stare as his hatred for this man burned inside him, the flames made hotter by his certainly that nothing, no amount of cruelty or display of power or victory, would ever satisfy such a monster as Lord Gavril.
No, in the end, only death would satisfy. And I will give it to you, Corwin silently vowed.
16
Kate
FARHOLD HAS FALLEN.
No matter how many times the thought charged through Kate’s mind, the shock of it, the pain of it, refused to lessen. She never should’ve left. Never should’ve let them draw her out of the city. But Edwin and his advisers had learned all too well what a threat she was, how her sway was capable of turning the tide of battle. The guilt burned like acid inside her, and she was almost glad that Raith had been unconscious since arriving. For surely, when he did wake, he would look at her with condemnation. For choosing her friends over her duty.
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