Firestorm (37 page)

She made an imperious gesture in Teague's direction. "How could anyone recognize him, as beaten beyond any possible remembrance as he is? I tire of this game, Malam. I came to you in good faith, to lay my heart and life at your feet. Just tell me what it is you want."

He considered her for a long moment, his arms crossed over his chest. "Well, you were young then, and he is a bit mangled." Vorax gestured at Teague. "This is Tarik Shatrevar, the crown prince of the former dynasty. I'd thought to be rid of him, but he now returns, fool that he is. This time, however, I cannot be as merciful as I was all those cycles ago when he was a lad. This time, he is a man, and a considerable threat to my reign."

"And I ask again. What has all this to do with me?" Even as she spoke, a dreadful presentiment coiled within her.

"What has this to do with you, femina?" Vorax smiled a flat, emotionless gesture that did little more than lift the corners of his mouth. "Why, everything, of course. The prince must die, on the morrow, in the main courtyard before all the people of Ksathra. And you, my lovely femina, to prove your loyalty and devotion to me, have been the one chosen to kill him."

Twenty-three

Raina stared at Vorax dumbfounded. Teague groaned. She swung back to him. Bleary, bloodshot eyes met hers.

"No," he croaked, his voice rusty with disuse and pain. "Don't ask such a thing ... of her."

"And why should you care, princeling?" Vorax's brow arched in inquiry. "Do you imagine she's too weak to do it?"

He motioned to a large, heavily muscled older man who, until now, had stood unnoticed by Raina in the shadows. At Vorax's signal, the man walked forward, lifted a beefy fist, and slammed it into Teague's jaw. Teague grunted, then went limp.

It was all Raina could do to choke back a gasp and keep from going for the big man's throat.

Vorax eyed Teague's unconscious form briefly, then turned back to Raina. "Well, lemma? Are you, too weak to thrust a dagger into him, to kill this man, this enemy of mine?"

She locked gazes with the fat little man even as her mind raced to find some way any way—out of this unforeseen dilemma. "I can kill him." Raina forced her voice to sound calm, sure, he-i glance to remain steady. "But if he truly is who you claim he is, what of the prophecy? Doesn't it forbid his death?"

At mention of the ancient words, Vorax's already pale complexion went a shade paler. "The prophecy promises woe to any who harm him. But I, sweet femina, won't be the one to harm him. You will."

So, he meant for the prophetic consequences to fall on her head, not his, Raina thought. How clever. In one brutal act, he'd rid himself of the greatest threat to his rule and test her loyalty in the surest way he knew how. She only wondered if he wouldn't kill her just as soon as she finally freed him of the protracted encumbrance of the curse, to expunge any lingering taint if for nothing else.

"Why didn't you kill him long ago?" Raina hedged, desperately seeking some way out of this increasingly worsening situation. There seemed none. "Why wait until now?"

Vorax shrugged. "He wasn't any danger as a lad. I thought to destroy him mentally then, so even if he lived, he'd be unable to lead others against me, much less ever rule. It solved the problem of the prophecy, yet eliminated him as any potential threat. Obviously," he added dryly, "my plan failed."

Yes, Raina thought, it had failed, but only because Vorax hadn't bargained on the resiliency and courage of a lad who'd grown into an equally strong and resilient man. Though she'd time and again disparaged Teague's monastic training, perhaps it had helped to hold all the shattered remnants of his tormented mind together long enough for his heart and soul to mend. Perhaps it had, in the bargain, provided him with the psychic strength to go on.

Provided him with powers that even now might be his salvation.

A wild hope flared within her. Powers . . . powers that could be used, even as she "killed" him, to mislead others into thinking he was dead. Powers such as she'd seen that night in the monkish enclosure high up on the face of the Cams Mountains on Bellator.

But how to warn Teague beforehand? Raina wondered. And, in his present condition, was he even capable of performing such a feat? There was no way of knowing until she talked with him. If she could indeed find some way to talk with him before they must meet again on the morrow.

She managed a grim little smile. "So, now you ask me to finish what someone else left undone?"

"Precisely." Vorax returned her smile. "Will you do it?"

"Yes," Raina softly said, forcing out the lie that nearly choked her. "For you, Malam, and no other, will I do it."

***

The night grayed to dawn before Raina's eyes, eyes that burned felt as gritty as the Ar Rimal from lack of sleep. She'd stayed awake all night, watching and waiting for her chance to slip down from her room in the royal suite and pay Teague a nocturnal visit. Yet though Vorax had chosen not to test her willingness to bed him this night, he'd made certain sufficient guards patrolled the palace interior. Enough guards to prevent Raina from daring a trip to the torture caverns.

She knew she could chance it anyway. She knew as well that if she was caught, Vorax's punishment would be swift and fatal. So instead, Raina had decided to bide her time and wait until the right opportunity presented itself.

Until Aban and the others broke through to the secret library door, no purpose was served in taking any unnecessary risks, at any rate. Raina only hoped they'd finish the clearing of the tunnel in time. Even if she succeeded this day in saving Teague from a certain death, their ruse would last only so long. Though from her girlhood days she recalled many nooks and crannies in the palace to hide in, it would still be but a matter of time before they were found.

The maidservants came in midmorn, bathed her in warm water scented with arosa petals, patted her dry with soft cloths, then offered Raina her choice of gowns. She cast a longing look at her tunic, boots, and breeches, then chose an emerald green gown of shimmering serica cloth. The servants clasped armlets of hammered aureum about her upper arms and a circlet of thinner-hammered aureum around her neck. Her thick auburn hair was then piled atop her head and bound with fine cords shot with aureum threads.

The chief maid stepped back to admire their handiwork. "You look lovely, domina. Our king will be pleased." She gestured to the door. "If you will, he awaits you even now."

Raina eyed the door. She wasn't ready just yet to depart. "I'll be along shortly. You may all go."

The maidservants looked at each other, confusion in their eyes. "It's quite all right. Really," Raina said, smiling reassuringly. "I'll only be a minute or two. Why don't you just wait for me outside?"

They silently turned and exited the room. Raina strode over to the bed, dug out her Nadrygean dagger and sheath, and the stunner she'd successfully managed to hide in a wide crack in the bed frame. Lifting her skirt, she quickly fastened the sheath to her left thigh, replaced the dagger, then slid the stunner snugly beneath the sheath strap.

That task complete, she dropped her skirt back in place and examined her silhouette in the floor-length mirror. No suspicious bulges were evident. Raina smiled grimly. If her plan to rescue Teague was discovered, she'd not be taken alive.

As requested, the maids awaited her outside her sleeping chamber. In a flurry of excited feminine voices, delicate floral scents, and swishing gowns, they followed Raina down the stairs. Malam Vorax, accompanied by Sinon, several guards, and an ornately cloaked man holding what appeared to be a ceremonial dagger on a finely wrought argentum tray, gazed up at her from the foot of the stairs. At the sight of her, a hot, hungry light leaped to life in Vorax's eyes.

"You look exquisite in that gown," he purred. He extended his hand. "My anticipation of bedding you grows with each passing moment."

Raina placed her hand in his and watched as his pale, pudgy fingers closed over hers. She swallowed back a surge of bile and smiled brightly down at him. "As does mine for you, Malam. But first, there is one task more to prove my devotion."

"Yes, there is indeed." A fiendish eagerness flared in his eyes, effectively dampening his rising lust. He squeezed her hand hard. "And the sight of you driving the dagger deep into the prince's gut will only rouse my desire for you to even greater heights." His smile widened lending an evil, predatory cast to his face. "There's just something about death . . ."

"Yes," Raina muttered, fervently wishing it could be Malam Vorax on the receiving end of her dagger rather than Teague. "There is something about death."

He tugged on her hand. "Then come. The people await the official ceremony, and all this talk of killing threatens my control. The sooner I take you, the better for both of us."

She followed him then, out of the palace, down the long expanse of steps, and through the gate. An armed escort of gaudily liveried guards joined them there, forming an impressively colorful and intimidating escort around the aureum-gilded robur-wood open sedan chair set on poles. The conveyance consisted of two rows of plush, cushioned seats and was carried by eight brawny men.

At their approach, the sedan chair was lowered to the ground. Malam escorted Raina into the front row of seats. Sinon and the dagger-bearing servant took up the seats behind them. Once all were settled the eight men, in a surprisingly smooth and well-coordinated effort, lifted the sedan chair to their shoulders.

Crowds of people, unsmiling and somber, lined the boulevard leading to the great courtyard just inside the city walls. There, in the center of the great courtyard, was a large stone platform built into one of the walls, thrusting from it in a huge half-circle of coarse gray stone. The entire populace of Ksathra appeared to be assembled about its base.

The mood in the courtyard was tense, the people restless, and the looks many sent them in their open sedan chair were angry and mutinous. The people of Ksathra, at the very least, were primed for' a rebellion, Raina thought. Primed for a new leader. If only she could save Teague. If only she could reach the door to the secret passage and let Aban and the others through.

With a fierce wrench, Raina marshaled her attention back to the most immediate problem at hand—how to find a minute or two to speak with Teague without being overheard or having her motives for conversing with him found suspect. Raina only hoped when the time came, he'd be able to marshal those special powers of his quickly enough.

What had Marisa said? . . . A man of his high training, in the proper meditative state, is impervious to pain or injury . . .

In the proper meditative state. Gods, why hadn't she ever asked him about that strange ritual of his? Or how long it took to reach the "proper meditative state"?

She would just have to buy Teague the time he required before she stabbed him. Somehow, in some way, or all would be lost. But what if she still managed inadvertently to kill him?

Malam Vorax would die; of that there was no doubt. The only question remaining was would she turn on him then and kill him, or wait for the ensuing attack of the Tuarets and the other desert tribes to do it for her. At that moment, Raina honestly didn't know what she'd do, though logic told her the latter course would ultimately be the better one. But the thought of watching Teague die at Vorax's feet, if all went awry, and do nothing about it, was more than Raina could deal with just then. And if that horrible dream of hers should ultimately come true . . .

The chair bearers halted a few meters from the base of the stone porch and its steps. A hush settled over the restlessly milling crowd. A door,.high up on the wall that backed the platform, opened with a groan of ancient hinges. Teague, escorted by four armed guards, stepped out of the blackness.

His arms bound tightly behind his back, he stood there for a moment, bare-chested but dressed once more in breeches and boots, blinking in the bright glare of sunlight. Then, with a brutal jerk, the two guards holding him by the arms urged him forward. Across the broad stone porch they walked, drawing up only when they reached two stone pillars that thrust from the floor about ten meters from a dais set with an aureum and purple cloth draped over the throne chair.

The guards forced Teague to his knees. Taking up a thick chain attached on one end to each of the pillars, they threaded the metal links around his upper arms several times before fastening the other end snugly back onto the pillars. With the chains pulled tight about his arms, Teague was forced to kneel upright between the two pillars, facing the throne.

Vorax led Raina up the steps and to the dais. Sinon and the dagger bearer followed. Climbing onto the raised wooden platform, Vorax walked over to his chair and sat. He motioned Raina to join him at his side. Sinon came to stand on his other side, with the dagger bearer waiting a respectful distance away until he was summoned.

"He is truly pitiful, is he not, femina?" Vorax asked gesturing in Teague's direction. "No matter the tortures, he never said a word until he protested your killing him. As if it truly mattered who the giver of his death was." He smirked. "Sad impotent, pitiful fool. He never, ever, had a chance."

"If you feel such pity for him, Father," Sinon said leaning close, "spare him a few days longer. The people will revere you for your mercy, and I'll have a time more with him." As if in anticipation of the pleasures to come, he licked his lips. "He's the most magnificent male specimen I've ever seen."

Vorax shot his son a disgusted look. "Spare him? Why? So you can use him for more of your revolting carnality?"

Sinon glanced back, unruffled by his sire's disdain. "And what do you care what I use him for? I'd think you'd find pleasure in his total degradation and humiliation. Perhaps, in the end, I could loosen his tongue where all your torturers failed. You'd then get what you wanted and in the bargain, so would I."

"He won't talk, no matter what either of us does to him," Vorax snarled. "I wonder, even now, if he hasn't always been half-mad."

"Perhaps he is. It matters not to me, at any rate. I can use his body with or without his consent."

With the greatest effort, Raina contained her impulse to slap the lecherous look off Sinon's face. Though the price might well be high, sparing Teague's life even another day might buy her the time she needed. Aban and the others should have the tunnel through the mountain cleared soon, perhaps even this very day. But would it be soon enough?

She didn't know how long Teague could feign death, even if their plan worked. Gods, Raina thought. So many unanswered questions, so much that depended on the speed with which the tunnel could be opened.

Yet she didn't dare interfere in the two men's conversation. To show too much concern one way or another . . .

"It matters not to me, either," Vorax continued, "whether you do or don't satisfy your unnatural cravings. Already, you're the laughingstock of the palace. Do you wish to spread the ugly truth of your depravity yet further? You'll never be permitted to rule, once news of your perversions reaches the desert tribes. They, of all the peoples of Farsala, won't tolerate it."

"I can handle the desert tribes," Sinon hissed, anger purpling his thin, effeminate face. "They'll never come together into any force of power. Their tribal feuds will always keep them apart."

"Perhaps. But perhaps not. They may but need the right cause to rally them. If you aren't careful, you could well be that cause, Sinon."

"Curse them all! I'm not concerned with their moral judgments of me."

"And that will someday be your greatest undoing," his father said. "One way or another, though, the prince will die this day. I want no further problems from him."

The resolve—and the finality of his decision—was evident in Vorax's tone. As his father turned once more to Raina, Sinon shot him a venomous look, then stepped back, defeated. "As you wish, my lord" he gritted.

"I will speak to the people," Vorax said to Raina. "Once I am finished, the dagger bearer will step over to us. You will take the blade, leave the dais, and walk over to the prince. Grasp his hair and pull back until you have him leaning far enough backward to provide ample angle for your dagger thrust. If you wish to spare both of you unnecessary pain, stab him just below the breastbone, then quickly slice—"

"I think I have the idea." Raina hastened to interrupt his sickening fascination with the finer details of Teague's execution. "Let's just get on with it, shall we?"

"Not so eager for his death anymore, are you?" Vorax cocked a quizzical brow. "And why is that, femina?"

"I do this for your sake, Malam," Raina retorted. "Not mine. I've little stomach for killing."

He eyed her for a long moment, then shrugged. "Well, that's probably for the best. I like my women soft and gentle." He paused. "You will be soft and gentle with me, won't you, femina?"

"I'll be whatever you want me to be, Malam." Raina's nerves were strung so taut she could barely control the impulse to reach out and throttle him. Gods, why was he dragging this out so long?

"I'll hold you to that." Vorax stood and lifted his arms to the crowd. His long sleeves fell back, exposing white, flaccid arms. The renewed mumblings and shufflings of feet stilled once more. He waited for a long, tension-fraught moment, allowing the anticipation to build. Then, when Raina thought she'd scream from the strain, he finally spoke.

"In my boundless mercy," Vorax cried, his voice echoing off the natural arc of the walls and mountain that formed the perfect acoustical backdrop, "I have foregone official executions for a long while now. Yet despite my warnings, despite the fact that I once most mercifully spared his life, a man has returned who cannot be permitted to live. For the sake of Farsala, for its continuing reign of peace and prosperity, I am even willing now to risk the dire words of the prophecy."

He slowly turned and pointed to where Teague knelt on the stone platform below him, his head bowed his long blond hair cascading down about his face. "This man is the last of the Royal House of Shatrevar. He is the prince whom I spared so many cycles ago and sent away to begin a new life in atonement for the greed and stupid ambition of his forefathers. To his shame, he chose to let that ambition and greed lead him back here. Of his own volition, he has risked much—and lost."