Honor's Price (3 page)

His lover finally showed a spark of temper. “I'll decide what's too much for me to handle. Eventually, someone will come looking for you or for me. Do you really want to miss this chance before the rest of the world intrudes?”

She had a point.

“I surrender, my lady. Use me as you will.”

He sprawled onto his back and then lifted his lady to settle her over his hips. Her eyes widened as she realized that he wanted her to take control. He doubted she'd ever been allowed to do so before, but she was a quick study. As she took him deep inside her slick heat, he forgot how to breathe.

When she found her rhythm, she was so beautiful, with her hair flowing down her shoulders, her head tipped back, and her eyes closed. The sight took him right to the edge. He grabbed her hips and thrust upward, shuddering in release deep within the welcoming heat of her body. She followed him in the dance, calling his name over and over as she shivered in his arms.

He grinned as she collapsed on his chest, boneless and content. He stroked the elegant length of her back, calming them both.

Then, just as she'd predicted, the world intruded. After knocking on the door, Sigil called softly, “Lady Alina, I apologize for disturbing you, but it would seem that Murdoch has gone missing. Gideon is hunting all over for him. If you've, ah, seen him recently, would you let him know?”

“I'll tell him. Thank you, Sigil.”

Alina sat up and pushed her hair back from her face. It was impossible to know if the rosy tint to her complexion was a result of their lovemaking or that Sigil had known exactly where to find Murdoch. Either way, their time together was at an end. For now.

Evidently, she was thinking along the same lines. “I will be counting the minutes until nightfall.”

He kissed her one last time. “As will I, my lady.”

Time to go to work. The Damned had plans to make and people to protect, including Alina herself. Murdoch knew his duty and would see it done. Even so, it took all of his considerable strength to make him leave the bed and start looking for his scattered clothing.

K
ane stood in a ragged line of mercenaries and farmers' sons and tried to blend in. Sergeant Markus had finally accepted his explanation of how their captain came to be lying dead in an alley. As a result, he'd promised Kane a chance at being hired as one of the duke's guard. As he'd explained, there were two different divisions of military in Agathia.

The largest group was the troops who served the country as a whole. They dealt with bandits and other threats. The second set was comprised of the elite fighters, the ones assigned to protect Ifre Keirthan himself. They patrolled the city, but especially his residence.

It was interesting that the duke personally viewed all of the potential applicants, deciding who would be offered a position and where each recruit should be assigned. From the rumors that flowed like water up and down the line, the majority of the hires were being assigned to the regular troops. Recently, several patrols had come under attack, greatly reducing their numbers.

Kane knew firsthand about one such attack. He and Hob had themselves accounted for a number of those deaths. There'd been at least two more skirmishes since then. Had his friends been involved? He prayed to the goddess that she keep the Damned safe until he was able once again to stand beside them in battle.

The line shuffled forward again. It should be only a few more minutes before he came face-to-face with the man the Damned were determined to topple from his
throne. It was tempting to take advantage of this unexpected audience to execute the bastard immediately.

He rejected that idea as soon as he crossed the threshold into the dim interior of the building. Keirthan's personal guard kept him surrounded, and Kane would have to fight his way through at least two layers of defense to get close to the duke.

It wasn't difficult to pick Keirthan out in the crowd. He was the one with an oily cloud of evil clinging to him like a second skin, following his every move. It was not an accident that no one stood within arm's reach of the man. Even those with little or no sensitivity to magic would be repulsed by the chilly blackness that writhed and swirled around their ruler.

How many of their countrymen had died to create that abomination? Kane kept his hands away from his weapons, but in his head he imagined the sweet slide of his sword through Keirthan's flesh, plunging it deep and twisting it hard to make sure the man suffered for his crimes.

Better yet, Kane wanted to wrest control of that darkness for himself, turn it back on its master, and let it eat its fill of Keirthan's soul. The image set the mage mark on Kane's cheek afire, as for the first time in centuries he hungered to wield the kind of magic that was his family heritage.

Dear Lady, what was he thinking? The last thing he wanted was to touch the blackness that Keirthan had flowing in his veins like poison. He'd seen how that kind of craving for power had warped his own grandfather, turning the man into a coldhearted bastard who sacrificed even his own kin to feed his hunger. If it hadn't been for the gentle influence of Kane's mother, he might have very well followed in his grandfather's path. It had been a hard-fought battle, but he'd walked away from his heritage. Despite his best efforts, the magic still left its mark on him, the one on his face only the most obvious.

He forced his attention back to the moment at hand,
watching closely as Sergeant Markus assessed the group of men just ahead of Kane. Each applicant drew his sword and held it out pommel first. What was Markus looking for?

The sergeant made his way down the line of eight men. When he'd hefted the last sword in the bunch, he stepped back and gave the men their orders. From the dejected posture of the first two, they'd been turned down. The next five were directed toward a side door, presumably to join the regular troops.

After they filed out, the duke approached the one remaining applicant. The mercenary started to step back, but then stopped midstep, frozen in an awkward position and clearly not in command of his own movements. Sweat broke out on his forehead and his jaw worked hard, as if trying to force words through his clenched teeth.

The duke smiled and nodded to Markus as he released his hold on the man's body and mind. Markus waited until the duke stepped back behind the safety of his guards before directing the merc toward a door in the back corner. Obviously, he possessed whatever quality the duke had been hunting for.

Markus returned to his position. “The next eight line up here.”

Kane and seven others slowly shuffled forward to stand in front of the sergeant.

“Weapons out.”

Markus made quick work of the first seven swords, but frowned when he examined Kane's. What could he possibly be checking for? Kane's blade was high quality with a curved cutting edge, but carried no taint of magic. The sergeant returned Kane's weapon and stepped back.

“All but Kane go through the second door. Someone will be waiting to show you to your new quarters.”

After they filed out, the duke stepped down off the dais again. “Is this the man you spoke of, Sergeant?”

“Yes, Sire. This is Kane. He personally executed the
man who killed Captain Bayar. Since he was looking for a position with the guard, I thought it was appropriate to invite him here today.”

Keirthan studied Kane with greedy interest. “Thank you for defending the honor of my guard, Kane. Captain Bayar will be missed. It will be difficult to replace him.”

As Keirthan stepped closer, the shadow of darkness slithered forward to wrap around Kane's body. It sent a burning chill straight through to his bones, requiring considerable effort to hide his reaction and hold his ground. The inside of his skull itched as Keirthan's mind pushed at the boundaries of Kane's own. It had been centuries since Kane had last been subjected to such treatment, but his grandfather had taught him well how to defend himself against such an intimate invasion.

The duke's eyes narrowed as his efforts intensified. Kane held strong, but he wasn't sure if that was a good thing. It might cost him this opportunity to join the guard, but it would cost him his life if the duke managed to breach his defenses. All he could do was wait Keirthan out.

After a few seconds, the pressure lessened and then disappeared altogether. Keirthan remained close, though.

“Turn your face to the side.”

Kane didn't bother to ask which way. Keirthan wanted to see his mage mark. He could look all he wanted. If he tried to touch him, mayhap it would be the duke's day to die. Kane's, as well, but it might be worth the price.

Keirthan held his hand palm out but didn't actually touch the mark. “I've read of such sigils, but I've never actually seen one before. How did you come by it?”

“It was a gift from my grandfather.” One Kane would have gladly gutted the old bastard for, but he made sure none of his anger leaked into his voice.

“Have you much practice wielding the magic behind it?”

Keirthan sounded more curious than cautious. If he
truly knew much about the marking, he would have been more prudent. This time Kane could answer without hesitation.

“He was killed before he could infuse the mark with its full potential.” True enough, although Kane had taken care of that himself before he'd finally renounced his magical heritage.

The duke looked like a child whose new toy didn't perform as expected. “And your father couldn't finish it for you?”

“I never knew him. It was my maternal grandfather who was the mage.”

Also true. Kane's father had been sacrificed to Grandfather's ever-growing need for blood to fuel his magic. He'd even used his own daughter for the same foul purpose, while she carried Kane in her womb. Unlike most of the mage marked, Kane had been born with his.

“Your eye color is also odd.”

Kane shrugged. “Another gift.”

One from the goddess herself, but that truth would get him killed right where he stood. Keirthan continued to stare at Kane for several long seconds, clearly waging an internal battle as to what Kane's fate should be. Finally, he gave a decisive nod.

“I will offer you a position in my personal guard. For now Markus here will get you settled in. In three days' time, there will be a trial by combat so we can evaluate the new recruits. I expect you to participate.”

Without waiting for Kane to respond, Keirthan stalked away, his guards scurrying to catch up with him. For a man with an ever-growing number of enemies, he was careless with his own safety. No doubt he thought his cloak of magic would keep him safe. An ordinary man would stand little chance against the lethal combination of Keirthan's personal guard and blood magic.

But there was one thing Keirthan hadn't taken into consideration: Kane was not an ordinary man.

*   *   *

“Lady Theda, the duke would like to speak with you.”

She paused, wishing she had the courage to simply ignore her brother-in-law's summons. She knew full well that any show of rebellion would only make her already tenuous situation at court far worse. If Ifre ever decided she was more trouble than she was worth, she would die.

She hated the fact that there were days the idea held some appeal. However, the other people under her care would face the same fate, and she would not risk their lives needlessly.

Theda turned to Lady Margaret and her other lady-in-waiting. “Return to the solar. I will join you shortly.”

Her young friend knew better than to let her worry show in such a public venue. Keeping her voice to a low whisper, she asked, “Would you prefer that I came with you?”

Theda smiled, as always maintaining a calm facade. Sometimes her face ached from the strain of the mask of pleasantry she was forced to wear when what she really wanted was to scream. “I'll be fine. I'm sure it's nothing.”

She waited until her two friends safely made their way through the crowded room toward the stairs. They'd all put in their token appearance in front of Keirthan's associates. The man didn't have friends, only those who curried his favor. Anyone who felt differently about the man either stayed tucked away on their family estates or mysteriously disappeared.

On her way to where Keirthan waited, Theda made the effort to greet several acquaintances. There were so few left who were overtly friendly to her anymore, a depressing change from when her late husband was the duke. With Ifre's ascension to power, her own position at court had fallen into disfavor.

Finally, she reached the throne where Ifre liked to sit and watch the ebb and flow of those who sought his favor. Her husband had understood the politics of ruling, but Armel hadn't basked in the power he had over his people. Instead, he'd worked hard to ensure that they
were cared for and protected. In contrast, Ifre was a selfish bastard who never saw beyond his own best interests.

Right now he was busy ignoring her as one of the nobles from a nearby estate described the mare he'd just purchased for his wife. She waited until he paused to take a breath to make her presence known. Ifre was well aware of her standing there, but he enjoyed treating her like a servant whenever possible.

She dropped into a short curtsy. “You wanted to see me?”

“You will attend the trials this afternoon as my hostess. I have guests who will need to be served refreshments. Bring those two women who flutter around you as well. They're not good for much, but at least they look pretty and can serve the wine.”

Theda dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands to avoid lashing out in response to the insult. Ifre made remarks like that for the sole purpose of goading her. She never let him win.

“We will be there.”

Not that she had any interest in watching men beat one another bloody with swords for the entertainment of Ifre and his cronies. She'd heard trials were being held in part to replace the late Captain Bayar, who'd died unmourned in an alley. As far as Theda was concerned, he'd met a fitting end.

“If you'll excuse me, I will check with the kitchen to make sure that the refreshments and drinks will be ready.”

Ifre smiled as she backed away. “They'd better be, Theda. It wouldn't do for my guests to be disappointed in any way.”

“I understand.” All too well. With another curtsy, she made her escape.

Although his tone was intended to convey concern for his friends, the implied threat was real. If anything went wrong with his plans, someone would suffer.
Someone she cared about. As yet, Ifre had never raised a hand to her, but he barely kept a leash on those animals who served as his personal guard.

She lived in constant fear that he'd tell them her ladies-in-waiting were fair game. If that ever happened, he would die. She spent long hours imagining all the ways that could happen.

If it were up to her, Ifre wouldn't have lived this long. However, he had one other weapon in his arsenal that served to keep her in line. He held her stepson in his thrall. She hadn't seen him in weeks now, but Keirthan had made it clear that Theda had to do exactly as he ordered or her stepson would die.

As she headed for the kitchen, she sent a prayer skyward that the gods would have mercy on her people and end Ifre's tyranny once and for all.

*   *   *

The tent offered shade against the afternoon sun but also blocked what little breeze there was. Theda sipped her drink and pretended an interest in her companion's endless prattle about his prowess with a sword.

“If you will excuse me, I have to see to my duties as hostess.”

She smiled and made a pretense of studying the crowd to make sure everyone had a drink and looked reasonably content. Her ladies were mingling in the crowd yet being careful to not single out any one man for very long. To do so ran the risk of encouraging unwanted attention.

Everything was flowing along smoothly, which meant Ifre had nothing to complain about. Even knowing the potential risk that she'd miss something, Theda desperately needed to slip away for a few minutes' respite from the crowd and heat. She wouldn't go far.