Firestorm (38 page)

Vorax swung to Raina. "This woman, in the name of us all, will kill the prince. This woman, in the name of us all, will put an end at last to the prophecy. This woman, as she plunges the sacred dagger into this man, will free Farsala, once and for all, from the taint of a royal line that long ago rotted from within."

Raina stared back at Vorax, seeing that very taint he spoke of, the corruption that was such an inherent part of his being, emanating from him and his spawn. At that moment, all the hatred all the seething need to see him dead churned up within her, threatening to spew forth in an explosion of rage and revenge. She fought it, knowing the terrible consequences, the fatal outcome, if she gave in. Fought it, and won.

"Come, sweet femina," Vorax said tenderly, his voice dropping for her ears alone. "Come and prove your love."

As if guided by some force outside herself, Raina moved toward him. Simultaneously, the servant bearing the tray holding the dagger stepped forward. Both met before Vorax at the same time.

He took the dagger from the tray, extending it, hilt first, to her. Raina accepted the blade, grasping it firmly in her hand. The dagger's weight and heft felt good. It was a finely wrought weapon. She only wished she could plunge it into Vorax's heart.

But she loved Teague too much to assuage her lust for revenge, however justified it might be. Loved him at the expense of her life, her pride, her independence, to the very offering of herself to the man she loathed above all others. And loved him enough to sacrifice even the certainty that, though she risked everything for him, he loved or would ever love her in return.

Najirah. Now, at this most profound most poignant moment of her life, Raina finally understood. Love ennobled you. Love completed you. Love refined you. And even the pain, the doubt, and the potential loss of that love were not worse than never having experienced it at all.

She turned and walked across the dais to the steps leading down to the stone porch, and the man who awaited her, the fragile essence of his life now resting in her hands. Her heart pounded beneath her breast. Her mouth went dry, her hands clammy. Warrior though she was, Raina feared the upcoming confrontation more than she'd feared any battle in her life.

The journey to the two pillars holding Teague was the longest journey of her life. So much depended on her — Teague's survival, the success of the rebellion, the downfall of Malam Vorax, and salvation of Farsala. Such a heavy, heavy burden for one person to bear.

Yet she made the journey, one resolute step at a time. Just as Teague must go when his turn came. To choose, as the prophecy said, the living death or one of life, to face obliteration—or triumph.

Raina drew to a halt before him. He was sheened in sweat, exhausted, breathing heavily. Furtively, she eased a small skin bladder of capra blood into the palm of her right hand adjusting it until it lay beneath the hilt of the dagger. Then she grasped his hair in her left hand and gently pulled back his head until his face was upturned to hers.

"Teague?" she softly said. "Can you hear me? Can you understand?"

"Y-yes," he rasped. "I hear. I-I understand."

"The night before we first met, I sought you out at that hermitage above Rector. I saw you perform some strange monkish ritual where you stabbed yourself in the belly with a dagger, yet lived."

His lids slowly lifted. Ice-blue eyes stared up at her. "You saw . . . saw me perform the blade ritual?"

"Yes." Raina nodded tersely. "You must prepare yourself—and quickly—that same way. Then, when I stab you in the belly—"

"No," he groaned. She didn't understand. He'd lost those powers when he'd opened himself to caring for her, in loving her. The startling admission gave him pause.

Loving her.

He did love her, with every fiber of his being. With all the strength and power and depth that he possessed. But it was too late.

"I cannot perform the blade ritual anymore, Raina. I began to lose those powers, powers only a chaste man is worthy to possess, when I let myself begin to want you. And after that night we mated . . ." He sighed. "Well, they're surely gone."

"Chastity has nothing to do with it, Teague Tremayne!"

In her rising anger and frustration, Raina's fingers clenched in his hair. Teague winced but said nothing.

"You'd give up, then?" she persisted, disbelief threading her voice.

"It doesn't matter. I'm done, spent."

"Be strong for me, Teague," Raina pleaded. "And if not for the sake of our love, then for yourself, for Farsala, for Incendra."

"And why not for the sake of our love?" Teague savagely demanded. "Though you deserve better, I tell you true that I love you with all my heart. That I'll do anything for you. Do you hear me? Anything!"

"Then prepare yourself one last time in the way you learned as a monk," she whispered as behind her, the people massed before them began to grumble and mutter among themselves. "One last time, Teague Tremayne."

"Kill him!" Vorax shouted, above the rising roar of the increasingly agitated crowd. "I grow weary of your hesitation. Drive the dagger into him and be done with it."

Raina glanced over her shoulder. The ruler of Farsala had climbed to his feet and was now frowning down at her, his gaze narrowed in distrust.

Fear shot through her. "Quickly now," she urged Teague. "Vorax grows suspicious."

"One thing more. If I fail in this, don't blame yourself. Give me your oath that you won't blame yourself."

"Teague, there isn't any time left for—"

"Your word, Raina!"

She sighed her acquiescence. "My oath, then."

He gazed up at her for a brief moment longer, wanting more, wanting to know she'd live, wanting for them to be together, but he knew that might never be. He hesitated a moment more. "I love you, Raina. Never doubt that."

She managed a wobbly smile. "I won't."

Teague took his fill of her for one final wondrous instant, then closed his eyes. He willed himself to slow his breathing, willed his pulse to slacken, willed all sounds, all feeling, all thought, to subside, save for those of the strengthening, sustaining words of the blade ritual.

And little by little, Teague felt the power swell within him. He fed it by drawing on the physical anguish of his body. Only in the pinnacle of his torment would he at last be free . . . Free ... to attain the final purification. Free to face the final test of all.

"Now," he cried hoarsely. "Do it now!"

At his command, Raina tugged hard on his hair, jerking his head back. Teague's body followed, his chest thrusting forward, his back arching to expose his unprotected abdomen. His bound arms lurched against the chains binding him to the pillars.

He opened his eyes. Sunlight glinted off the blade held high above him, blindingly bright. Then, with lightning-swift speed, the dagger arced downward, plunging deep into his tautly straining belly.

Twenty-four

For a long moment Teague knelt there, his body arched back, rigid in pain, his mouth opened in soundless agony. The crowd roared out its shock and distress, surged forward. Then he went slack and slumped over, the dagger still thrusting from his gut.

Raina waited for the blood to flow, for its sticky, sickening warmth to gush over her hand, fervently, desperately praying it wouldn't. And as the seconds passed the blood didn't come. Teague's heart continued to beat; he breathed if very slowly and shallowly.

Relief flooded Raina. It had worked. Teague's blade ritual powers had worked!

Bending over him to hide the act, she squeezed the bladder of capra blood hard in her hand, rupturing it. The blood squirted onto the blade, spraying a copious amount of the red liquid onto Teague's belly and down the front of his breeches. Then, with a dramatic flourish, Raina withdrew the dagger. Climbing to her feet, she held it high over her head.

The crowd went silent and still, staring up at her dumbfounded. Out of the corner of her eye, Raina caught the movement of Vorax's hand motioning to the head guard, who immediately signaled to those of his men spread out in strategic positions throughout the crowd. With a few surreptitious jabs to the ribs and blows to the heads of the unfortunate people standing in their vicinity, the guards prodded the crowd to a feeble cheer.

There was nothing they could do, however, to force an enthusiasm that was lacking. Raina turned, strode over to the dais, and climbed the steps. "It is done, then," she said as she halted before Vorax. "I've killed him as you asked."

A wary admiration gleamed in his eyes. "Yes, you have."

He motioned for the dagger bearer to take the bloody weapon from her. Once she'd surrendered the dagger, the servant offered her a damp cloth. Raina wiped her hands and lower arms clean of the blood, then accepted the drying cloth. Only when she'd returned that cloth did Vorax extend his hand.

"Come," he said. "Let us go to the banquet hall for the great feast. You have justly won my esteem and that of all Farsala. You will be honored as we'd honor any great warrior."

Raina feigned hesitation. "The prince." She cast a distressed look in Teague's direction. Already four guards were removing the chains that bound him and readying a litter to place his body upon. "What will they do with him now?"

Vorax glance briefly followed hers. "We'll abide by the standard sanitary practices. His body will be prepared for burial in the embalming chamber down in the torture caverns. Then, after dark, he'll be taken outside the city and secretly buried in an unmarked grave. We can't risks the rebels exhuming him and claiming he lives still. I want the tales and false hopes put to rest once and for all."

"A wise decision." Raina took his hand.

"I take great pains not to leave any detail undone." Vorax began to lead her back across the dais. "It is the secret of my long and prosperous rule."

Sinon fell into step behind his father, a mocking, bitter smirk on his lips. As they walked back to the sedan chair, the guards laid Teague on the litter, covered him with a large black cloth, and carried him away. Raina watched them, her mind racing.

She had to get to Teague before the embalmer discovered he wasn't truly dead. But how to escape Vorax without him suspecting anything?

Raina's opportunity came as they disembarked from the sedan chair. She tripped climbing down and fell to her knees. Vorax was immediately at her side, grasping her elbow to help her up.

"Are you all right, femina?" he asked anxiously "Do you feel ill or light-headed?"

"Yes," she said, seizing on the excuse offered. "I-I'm sorry, but the strain of the morn must have been more than I first imagined." Raina covered her eyes with her free hand. "My head ... it aches so."

She lowered her hand and managed a wan smile. "Perhaps if I took a short rest in my room . . ."

"Yes, yes." He nodded. "Perhaps that would be best. There'll be speeches and toasts for a time, before the feast truly begins. Would an hour be sufficient to ease your headache?"

"I'll make it enough time, Malam." Raina patted the hand that still gripped her arm. "I never want to disappoint you in anything."

He grinned back at her like some besotted lad. "And especially not tonight, eh, femina?"

"No," she agreed with all the enthusiasm she could muster. "Most certainly not tonight."

The big, curved Farsalan trumpets blared just then from the city walls. Vorax turned and frowned. Even as they stood there, the discordant sound of the city gates beginning to grind closed filled the air.

Sinon climbed down from the sedan chair and joined them. "The gates closing in the middle of the day? What can that mean?"

His father's jaw went taut. A terrible rage exploded in his eyes. "One thing and one thing only," he growled. "An enemy approaches."

***

Raina waited until the guards who'd escorted her back to her room in the palace had left. Then she sent the maidservants away, pleading a need for total privacy to ease her headache. Once she'd made certain the door was locked behind her, she shed her gown and delicate sandals, removed the weapons she'd strapped to her leg, and donned her breeches, boots, and tunic. To cover her old clothing and minimize suspicion, Raina put on a rich cloak of midnight blue, trimmed in fine aureum threads. A gift from Vorax, she thought wryly, that might well be used to hasten his undoing.

The Nadrygean dagger was strapped again to her thigh, the stunner slipped beneath her belt, and she was once more at the door, unlocking it. The approach of Aban and their army at last toward Ksathra had bought her a bit more time, but all could still be lost if she didn't get to Teague soon. If they discovered he truly wasn't dead, and turned on him . . .

The halls were all but deserted the majority of servants and guards evidently called into service for the feast. Raina was easily able to slip down the corridor leading from the royal bedchambers and to the base of the stairs opening onto the entry hall before her presence was noticed.

One of her maidservants saw her and hurried over. "Domina," she said. "Are you so quickly recovered?"

"I feel much better." Raina glanced about her. She couldn't risk lingering here. She was too open and vulnerable.

She looked back at the maid. "I forgot the wonderful brooch Malam gave me and need it for my cloak. Do you remember it? The aureum one with the jadeite and blue lazule stones?"

The maid servant nodded. "Yes, domina."

"Then fetch it for me. I haven't the energy to climb those stairs again. The brooch is on my bedside table."

She nodded again. "Yes, domina."

Raina watched her climb back up the long flight of stairs and round the corner. Once the woman was out of sight, she turned down the corridor leading to the torture cavern. Blessedly, though she passed a few more servants, none stopped her or questioned her presence. She reached the part of the hall where the door to the torture cavern was located, lingering in rapt admiration before a huge portrait of Malam Vorax on the wall across from the door until the hall was clear. Then she raced across, opened the door, and slipped inside.

As she made her stealthy way down the twisting stone steps, Raina pulled out her stunner. Though the journey this far had been relatively easy, she doubted she'd be able to get Teague out of the torture caverns without a fight. The stunner, though, had the potential of tipping the odds in her favor, with minimal noise or disruption to call unnecessary attention to her.

There was no one in the main cavern. Voices and movement, however, emanated from a room off to one side—two men's voices, one unfamiliar, the other that of the master torturer, Orcus. She'd never forgotten that harsh, rusty voice from the time Vorax had taken her down here as a girl. Even now, the sound of it sent a cold chill rippling down her spine.

Stepping over to the door, Raina eased it open just enough for a full view of the room. Teague lay on a stone slab, naked, his arms unbound and lying at his sides. A thin little man dressed in gray robes, a long, bloodstained domare-hide apron covering his front, dug around in a tray of instruments lying on a table to one side of the slab. Orcus stood at Teague's head, a look of eager anticipation on his otherwise moronic face.

The thin man turned then, two long metal instruments curved at both ends in one hand, a narrow, very sharp knife in the other. He handed Orcus the long, curved instruments. "Here," the embalmer said. "Once I make the incision, I'll need you to insert these and pull the flesh and muscle apart so I can see my work area. Do you understand what you must do?"

Orcus scowled. "It seems simple enough. I'm not an imbecile, you know."

"Fine, fine." The thin little man motioned toward Teague with his knife. "Let's get on with it, then." He moved to Teague's side, placed his other hand on Teague's chest to brace himself, and lifted the knife to make the incision.

Before Raina could react, a strong, long-fingered hand shot up and grabbed the embalmer by the wrist. The man gave a horrified squawk. Orcus, apparently less startled by the unexpected, grunted in anger, then lifted one of the curved instruments to strike Teague.

Raina didn't hesitate. She raised her stunner, pointed it at Orcus, and fired. Orcus grunted again, this time in pain, then collapsed where he stood. The instruments he'd been holding clanked to the floor and skittered across the room.

Still clasping the embalmer's wrist, Teague slowly pulled himself to a sitting position. He smiled—a feral upturning of his lips—right in the man's face. The thin little man paled. His eyes rolled back in his head and, with a gurgle, he fainted.

Teague released the embalmer and watched him plummet to the floor. Then he swung his legs over the side of the table and turned to Raina. "I gather he's not accustomed to someone returning from the dead?"

"Most people aren't." She shoved her stunner back beneath her belt and strode over. Her glance fell to his abdomen. An incision from her earlier dagger thrust still marred the rippling perfection of his belly, but aside from the dried blood, it looked now more like a superficial wound than a fatal injury.

His glance followed hers. "It'll be completely healed in another twenty-four hours."

"Does it hurt?" She couldn't bear to think she'd caused him even the most minor a pain.

"No, not really."

Raina reached out, touched his belly. "I-I was so afraid . . ." She swallowed hard. "So afraid that I'd lose you." Her glance lifted. Her gaze met his.

His mouth quirked. "You couldn't have been more afraid than I at the thought of leaving you in Malam Vorax's clutches."

The mention of the evil man's name wrenched Raina back to reality. "Vorax! Even now he celebrates your death in the banquet hall, along with many of the men still loyal to him. In the meanwhile, Aban holds part of an army at the city gates, while the other half awaits us at the Tapestry Passage."

"The Tapestry Passage?" Teague's forehead furrowed in puzzlement. "But surely that was sealed cycles ago. Vorax is no—"

"I've had men clearing it for the past few days. Aban was ordered not to approach Ksathra until the passage was clear. All we have left to do is reach it and open the hidden door."

He stared down at her, bemusement slowly fading to be replaced by a tender pride. "You orchestrated all this, didn't you? My fierce warrior, always the take-charge leader."

"I couldn't let you die, or allow Vorax to continue his despotic rule, could I?"

Teague smiled and, leaning down, gave her a slow, gentle kiss. "No, you couldn't. You're not that kind of woman."

Once more, her hand moved to his belly, then ever so lightly trailed lower. As her fingers encircled his shaft, Teague gasped in startled pleasure.

Raina smiled. "You've very little idea exactly what kind of woman I really am." Her glance dropped to his rapidly thickening manhood. "But I've every intention of apprising you of it, just as soon as we get the small matter of a palace takeover finished."

As if suddenly remembering himself then, Teague straightened. Raina released him and stepped back. He slid off the stone table, walked over to where his clothes and boots lay, and began to put them on.

"Fine words and sentiments," he muttered thickly. "Ones you can be sure I'll hold you to . . . later. In the meanwhile, it's indeed past time we finish this— once and for all."

"Yes," Raina agreed softly, stirred to the depths of her being by the love and respect and proud possession she saw burning in Teague's ice blue eyes. "It's past time, indeed."