Sianna started after Laila. “There is much work for me
here.” She opened herself to the emotions flowing through the
camp. Though bruised and battered, the men’s feelings of
restrained jubilation washed over her. Even in those grievously
wounded, she no longer sensed deep despair.
Kyne grabbed her arm. “Do not overtax yourself.”
“But I must heal the injured.”
“Do what you must, but practice good judgement. Use your
healing talent only on those truly in need. I will join you later.”
“Where do you go?”
“To help Graham.”
“Be careful. My father will not accept defeat easily. He
will strike without conscience or warning.”
“Do not concern yourself. DiSanti will not prevail,” Kyne’s
tone brooked no argument.
“The need for vengeance still burns within you. Do not let
it reduce our love to ashes.”
“DiSanti’s death will not change my feelings for you.”
Sorrow filled her heart as she felt him block his emotions
from her. “Nor my love for you.” She touched his cheek and
gazed into his eyes. “Seek justice, but do not let revenge direct
your actions, or it will destroy you along with my father.” And
me.
He pulled her against him and slanted his lips over hers in a
possessive kiss, then put her away from him. “I will do what
must be done.”
Though the injured kept her busy, worry made the night
hours drag by. The sun stood straight overhead before Kyne
and Graham returned to camp.
One look at Graham’s pale, sweat-strained face and Katya
hustled the man to bed. Sianna could hear his grumbled protests
as she turned to Kyne. His harsh expression stilled her words
of greeting.
Exhaustion bowed his broad shoulders and dimmed the
sparkle in his dark eyes. Blood stained his hands and clothing
rusty brown. Dirt and sweat streaked his face.
“There is no glory in victory.” His head nodded forward as
if pulled by a heavy weight, shielding his face from her gaze.
“So many dead. Crippled. Lives destroyed. All for the greed of
one man.”
All through the night, Kyne had continued to provide the
protection she needed to work with the injured. Now, in his
anger and despair over the destruction her father had caused,
he closed himself away from her.
Cold and numb—pain would come later—she asked, “Do
you reject me?”
“Reject you?” His head shot up. Confusion disturbed his
stony calm. “Never! You are my heart.” His arms whipped
around her waist and drew her tight against him. Emotions
flooded over her. Rage. Fear. Wrath. Disgust. Guilt. But beneath
them all—love—for her.
To find peace he needed her strength. With a full heart she
gave, filling him with her energy. Like a never-ending ring, their
power circled between them, growing with each exchange.
He scooped her into his arms and carried her to a tent.
There her laid her down upon a pallet of soft furs and provided
her with a physical expression of his love.
Twenty
“May DiSanti and his misbegotten seed rot in eternal
damnation!” Timon shook his fist at the pink and gold of the
rising run. Tears blurred his vision, but not his resolve. DiSanti
would pay for his crimes against Dramon.
From the battlement, Timon stared out over the carnage
below. Like a putrid mist, the odor of blood and urine drifted up
from the bodies littering the open ground. Soldiers and villagers
alike moved among the dead, searching for loved ones. Earlier
Timon had sent out the palace guard to see to the onerous task
of identifying and burying of the dead.
Above, their raucous cries a discordant echo of the deep
melodious tolling of the castle bells, scavenger birds circled and
dipped, waiting for a chance to dive and snatch a quick,
gruesome meal.
“The King is dead. Long live the King.”
He barely heard the crier. With the news of DiSanti’s defeat,
Timon’s beloved father had smiled. For one brief moment his
breathing eased and his gaze cleared.
“Rule well, my son.” His throat damaged by nika, his raspy
whisper was nearly inaudible. “Tell your mother and sister I
love them.”
Then he had closed his eyes and died.
Only now did Timon realize the strength his father’s
presence had lent him. Now the burden of rule fell solely on his
shoulders.
“Sire?” A servant came up behind him.
Timon banished the tears from his eyes and his heart and
faced Pagas, one of the castle servants who had remained
loyal through DiSanti’s rise to power. “Yes.”
“Rul Cathor and his entourage have arrived.”
“Already it begins.”
“Pardon, Sire?”
“Nothing.”
“The queen is with them.”
“Is she well? And my sister?” He schooled the eagerness
out of his voice. Eight annum. Would they know him? How had
they changed?
“The queen is resting comfortably in her quarters. Though
tired she appears in good health. There is no sign of the princess.
Rul Cathor requests an audience. Perhaps he has further news.”
“Settle them into rooms and advise the Rul I will meet with
him at six bells in my chambers.” Cathor would have no news
of Thomasa. Three annum ago, Timon had felt the twin
connection between them break. Search as he did with his heart
and mind, he never again found trace of her. Hope died. His
sister was dead.
“As you wish.” Pagas hesitated.
“And?”
“Sianna DiSanti accompanies the Rul.”
Rage exploded. DiSanti had fled beyond reach. His daughter
was here. “I will see her burn in Oblivion.”
***
Sianna gazed at the opulent palace with wide eyes. Nothing
in her life had prepared her for the elegance of the royal palace.
Neither the simple, utilitarian enclave of the Sisters of Light,
her father’s well-appointed but cold castle, nor the rundown,
overcrowded Castle Vareck could compare. Polished marble
floors and walls, intricate tapestries woven with gold and crystal
silk thread, and rich aronwood furnishings upholstered with rare
furs and silks were a feast to her senses. Her booted feet clicked
a lively rhythm on the hard floor as she wandered about the
room and trailed her fingers over the lush fabrics. Fresh flowers
filled the room with a heady scent.
Laughing in delight, she twirled around and around in the
middle of the bedchamber to which the solemn servant had
escorted them. She dismissed her misgivings about the hostility
the man directed toward her.
“I gather you approve of our quarters, my lady.”
She turned toward Kyne, smiled and nodded her head in
what she hoped was a regal manner. “They will do, my lord.”
Her dizzy giggle somewhat spoiled the effect. She flopped
backward onto th
e bed.
He looked down at her. “For the first time in my life I feel
young and carefree. You’ve lifted a heavy load from my
shoulders.”
Had she? She chose to ignore his lingering desire for
vengeance. Perhaps her father had fled far away, and Kyne
would never have to choose between revenge and the love he
professed for her.
He spread his hand over the soft swell of her belly.
She covered his fingers with her own. “Soon, I’ll carry a
heavy load.”
He laughed and dropped down next to her. For a long time
words were not needed.
***
“My condolences on the death of your father.” Kyne knelt
before the boy king.
“He is at peace now. Rise, Rul Cathor.”
Kyne stood. Though he had yet to reach his full growth,
the new king’s eyes reflected an age and wisdom bred of pain
and adversity. Thrust at the tender age of six annum into a
situation many men would be unable to handle, Timon had
matured alone into a strong, honorable man. He would rule
well.
The tantalizing aroma of meat, bread and wine reminded
Kyne he’d foregone mid-meal to tumble Sianna on the broad,
silk-covered bed. At the thought, his body which he had believed
well-sated, stirred to life. He didn’t regret the trade, but now
his stomach emitted a loud rumble.
Timon’s laugh eased Kyne’s embarrassment. “Come share
last meal with me.” The king pointed toward a table loaded
with steaming platters of food set before the blazing hearth.
As they ate, they spoke of the future of Dramon—
reparations, repairs, reforms. Kyne was favorably impressed
with the young king’s knowledge of the inner workings of the
country. Dramon would prosper under this king’s rule. DiSanti’s
name was noticeably absent from the discussion. If the man
was wise, he’d find a way to disappear, but Kyne doubted they
had heard the last of him.
Part of Kyne welcomed the coming confrontation. Aubin
and Dramon deserved satisfaction for DiSanti’s evil. But below
his anticipation, Kyne dreaded the consequences of striking the
killing blow to Sianna’s father. Her warning against pursuing
vengeance sat heavy on his mind.
The fire burnt low and only crumbs remained when their
conversation turned to more personal matters.
“How fares my moth...the queen?” Timon asked.
“Your mother is a strong woman.”
“I barely remember her.” Timon’s facade of adulthood
slipped, and Kyne saw the lonely young boy hidden within.
“She insisted on bathing before presenting herself to you.
Then she fell asleep over her meal. Her attendants put her to
bed. I’m sure we’ll all feel the sharp edge of her tongue on the
morrow.”
“I look forward to it.” Timon smiled, then the mask of king
slid over his face. “Rul Cathor, for your service to crown and
country, your lands and title are forthwith restored. As soon as
the money counters calculate your losses, there will be a
monetary settlement as well. But, I also offer you a reward of
your choosing.”
“You are too generous, Sire. No reward is required.”
“Very well, but know that the crown...and I...owe you a
debt of gratitude. You have my pledge. If ever I can be of
assistance to you, you have but to ask and I will grant any
favor.”
Before Kyne could respond, the king continued. “On to
other things. I find myself in need of a First Minister. Have you
any suggestions?”
Kyne gave the matter some thought before he spoke.
“Minister Derric from the Southern Province proved his loyalty
on the field of battle. Or perhaps Rul Mikken of the Western
Province. He has always stood with the crown. There are many
who would serve well. I would be happy to compile a list of
candidates for your perusal.”
“That will not be necessary.” Timon grinned. “Are you
typically this dense?”
“Pardon?”
“I wish you to accept the position of First Minister.”
Kyne collapsed back in his chair. Next to the king, First
Minister was the most powerful man in Dramon. That was
how when King Dracken fell under the influence of nika, DiSanti
was able for all practical purposes to seize control of the country.
“First Minister? I am too young and lack experience. I’ve
never served as minister.” Suddenly, Kyne felt decades younger
than Timon.
Timon leaned forward. “I have neither age nor experience,
but I’ve learned that loyalty, compassion and wisdom count for
far more than either. Say yes. Dramon needs men of your caliber
at the reins. We will make a good team.”
“Yes.” The word slipped out before Kyne could think of a
reason to refuse the king’s offer.
“Excellent.” The king rose. “I suggest we both retire.
Tomorrow begins a new chapter of Dramon history.” He struck
his right fist to his chest. “Live hard. Die well, First Minister
Cathor.”
Kyne surged to his feet and struck his fist to his chest.
“Live well. Die hard, Sire.”
Behind him, the chamber door crashed open. They whirled
around.
Blood streaming from his throat, a guard stumbled over the
threshold and collapsed.
young king.
A figure stood silhouetted in the doorway, another guard
dead at his feet.
“Guards,” Timon shouted.
“They cannot hear you.”
DiSanti’s evil laugh sent a chill through Kyne.
***
Kyne’s sudden rage caught Sianna unaware, then there
was nothing. She bolted upright in bed.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
Again he had shut himself away from her.
DiSanti! The name echoed through her. Her father was
here! In the palace. With Kyne.
She scrambled off the bed toward the door. She had to go
to him. Warda growled and followed.
They flew through the corridors of the unknown palace,
guided by the faint thread that still connected Kyne and her, as
well as Warda’s unerring knack for finding his master. The
lack of guards to stop them fed Sianna’s panic. Gasping for
breath, she stumbled over the dead guard outside the door to
the king’s chamber.
Not willing to distract Kyne, she crouched alongside Warda
in the doorway and watched the battle unfold.
DiSanti met Kyne’s thrust. Their blades clashed. Sparks
flew. Unarmed, the king wisely stayed out of reach of the
flashing blades.
Warda growled and went to jump into the fray.
She held him back. “This fight is between Kyne and my
father. They must finish it alone. We cannot interfere.” She
could only pray Kyne’s lust for vengeance did not destroy him
along with her father.
As he fought, Kyne blocked her from his heart and mind,
but on a deeper leve
l they remained connected. His unfamiliar
and uncomfortable desire to fight and kill choked her. Though
she had no control, no say in his actions, in this they became as
one. His body, her body, his ka, her ka were bound together.
What he experienced, she experienced. His victory would
become hers, as would his death.
With a whimper of distress, Warda pressed against her
side. His whole body trembled with suppressed need to go to
his master’s aid. Only Sianna’s command held him back.
The light from joined moons poured into the room and bathed
the macabre ballet between the combatants in a reddish glow.
Advance. Retreat. Parry. Thrust. They moved in time to a
soundless music, a death song only they could hear. The
discordant melody rang in Sianna’s ka.
The clash of their blades meeting echoed the recent battle.
Kyne’s red crystal sword shone with purity, while DiSanti’s
white crystal seemed to reject the light the moons cast. Their
labored breathing was a harsh refrain to the ring of their
weapons. Blood dripped from shallow cuts to mingle with sweat,
staining the air with a sour, metallic scent.
His strength and spirit fading with each blow given and
received, her father slipped on the blood-covered floor. Kyne
pressed forward. Sianna closed her eyes against the taste of
his blood lust on her tongue, but she couldn’t close her heart.
His pursuit of vengeance left her powerless.
DiSanti tripped over the dead guard and fell. His head hit
the edge of the room’s stone hearth, and he lay still.
Kyne’s savage exultation struck her like a death knell. Inside
him, vengeance tore a path of devastating destruction as her
father’s unredeemed ka reached out to ensnare him. Her
father’s evil doomed him to death, but she couldn’t let him drag
Kyne into the pit of damnation.
Though physically helpless, her father’s emotions drenched
her in a black, oily poison of hatred and twisted satisfaction.
Like acid, it ate at Kyne’s ka and fed his desire for revenge. If
he struck down DiSanti now, her father would achieve in death
what he could not in life—Kyne’s downfall. She moaned in
pain and tried to break free, but their intense emotions held her
captive.
She didn’t have the ability to fight them both. She needed
Kyne’s strength of heart and mind to combat the lethargy stealing