Prince of Fire (18 page)

Unfortunately, he did.

Fortunately, he knew how to end Keelia's probing questions without answering them.

* * * * *

On horseback, with a smile on his face, Ciro watched from the end of a narrow dirt-packed street as his Own rushed into the sleeping village. Weapons raised, screams bloodcurdling, they descended on the simple wooden houses with a mindless fury. He had made them wait for this moment, insisting that they march slowly onward, insisting that they not rush carelessly from one village to another. Their first attack had been weeks earlier, and since that time they'd grown stronger. More of his Own had been called to join him, and tiiose who had once been farmers or merchants or beggars were becoming a fine army. His legion.

Tonight they were hungry, and there was nothing more fearsome than Ciro's Own when they were
hungry.
The villagers wouldn't have a chance. They'd awaken from their sleep to find warriors of a sort they had never imagined hovering over their soon-to-be dead bodies.

They would bring him what he needed, when a portion of their fury had been sated. They would bring him a woman, preferably. Someone young and tender and not entirely innocent. He would take her blood and her soul, and then he would be stronger.

Diella dismounted and walked down the middle of the street. The former empress, caught in the body that had once belonged to an almost innocent girl, held a short sword in one hand. It swung there comfortably, and more than a little restlessly. She was ready to do battle with the first villager who crossed her path.

Ciro closed his eyes as the first shouts rose. When he concentrated, he could see what was happening through the eyes of his Own. He could see through Diella's eyes when he wished. For now, he tapped into the one consciousness that connected his Own. He saw and felt the excitement and blood lust of all the soldiers as they prepared to slaughter the villagers in their beds. He did not see all, but images flitted through his mind, hazy and quick. More than the images, he felt the frenzy of his soulless Own. He felt their collective hunger.

It was rather like sex, he decided, to be so completely and totally joined. There was a rush of emotion, a surge of pleasure. Yes, this was good.

Unexpectedly, Ciro felt a slash of pain in his midsection. One of his soldiers had been stabbed, Ciro's fury rose to the surface. In a fair battle there was always a possibility that one or two soldiers would get sloppy and be harmed, but this was not a fair battle, and he could not stand to lose even one soldier before he marched on Arthes. Not even
one.

Another of his Own cried out in pain, and Ciro felt that agony in his lower back, as if a sharp knife had slipped deep into his flesh. And then another... this time across the throat. In the midst of the pain, Ciro saw a flash of something that stole the last of his contentment.

Green. Not just any shade, but a sentinel's green. His father's soldiers were here.

Resistance came not only from the soldiers, but from the villagers themselves. They'd been waiting ...
waiting
... for Ciro and his Own to arrive. These villagers were not caught unaware, as the others had been. They were well armed and prepared for battle, as much as suchr simple people could be.

Simple people taught and led by die emperor's soldiers.

When the pain became too much, Ciro disconnected from his Own. Some of his soldiers were running toward him, escaping the battle they had not been prepared to fight. They'd come to this village in order to slaughter uie unsuspecting in their beds, not take up something resembling armed combat.

Diella swung her short sword at a man dressed in brown when he tried to hit her on the head with a sturdy length of wood, missing her head by inches. She did not miss when she lashed out with the sword, and the man dropped.

Villagers fell here and there, and so did Ciro's Own. His soldiers had no souls, they were willing to do anything he asked of them, but they were not the finest of fighters. If determination alone were enough, they would be sufficient, but they needed skill. They needed proper training.

Half a dozen of his Own placed themselves between the resistors and their lord and master, protecting Ciro—who needed protection much less than they did. Since the demon had taken possession of more of him, he had become almost indestructible. Wounds didn't hurt him, and they healed quickly. The blood he shed was no more than an annoyance.

If they separated his head from his heart, he imagined that would do him in for good, but nothing else would kill him. No, the Isen Demon would survive in this body it had taken.

One quick sentinel fought his way past the protective soldiers on Ciro's left. It would be easy to turn and run, since Ciro was on horseback and the sentinel was on foot, but the prince did not run from anything. He waited as the sentinel struck down one soldier and then another before breaking through the guard and rushing toward Ciro.

Ciro's lack of movement or resistance gave the sentinel false hopes. The lad rushed fearlessly forward and thrust his sword upward, trying to pierce the rebellious prince's gut with the end of his long blade.

Ciro caught the tip in his hand and halted the process, catching the sentinel by surprise. Blood seeped from between Ciro's fingers, but he felt no pain. He whipped the sword away, and then reached down to grab the sentinel by his green shirt.

The sentinel tried to fight, but Ciro touched the lad's mind with his own and ordered compliance.
Relax. Come to me. You are mine now.

It was no effort at all to take what he needed.

He did not taste the soul and blood of a young woman as he had originally intended, but the young man who died an ugly death atop Ciro's horse sufficed. His skin was tougher, his blood not so sweet, but Ciro was nourished.

The sentinel's body discarded, Ciro called his Own and ordered them to retreat. He could not afford to lose another soldier. He had already lost too many on this night, and he needed to be as strong as possible when he marched on Arthes to take the throne from his father.

He sent the assigned meeting place into the minds of his Own, then turned and led his horse into the darkness.

In moments, Diella joined him, once again riding her own horse. "That was a disaster," she exclaimed.

"Yes. Yes it was." Ciro's voice remained low and calm.

"They were waiting for us. They
knew
we were coming. How?"

There was no way they could've known that he would choose that particular village on this particular night. No, it wasn't possible.

"I would suspect they've prepared every village between here and Arthes for possible attack."

Diella sighed. "That's annoying. What are you going to do?"

Ciro chewed on the possibilities for a moment. "My army needs training. They're eager, but not skilled. Passion will only get you so far when you're fighting a skilled soldier."

"You're going to stop marching to Arthes in order to
train
your army of slobbering idiots?"

He was tempted to reach out and slap the annoying woman with the back of his hand and send her flying, but he didn't. The Isen Demon insisted that she still had a part to play, and he was not to harm her.

"Yes " Ciro said calmly.

Diella wisely decided to remain silent as they lost themselves in the darkness of this disappointing night.

The demon had told Ciro that many had important parts to play in the taking of Columbyana, and the rest of the world as well. A dark magic interfered with the psychic abilities of those who might issue warnings about what was coming. Carefully chosen magical beings— wizards and witches, for the most part—worked their own darkness in all corners of the world. A bitter, hungry wizard deep in Caradon Territory; an ancient witch working her spells in a swamp hut; a seemingly innocent girl in the Mountains of the North, a girl who would take a life in the name of the demon... they all had their parts to play, just as he did.

Take the throne.

Take his beloved.

Make the child.

Those were his tasks. He cared little for the tasks of others until the Isen Demon insisted that he listen.

* * * * *

Anwyn Queens were renowned for their sexuality, and had been for as long as Anwyn history had been spoken and written. Keelia had long ago decided that she was not like other Queens in this respect. Yes, when her fertile time descended upon her, she was obligated to relieve the desire that gripped her, but she had never been tempted to take a lover, and in between these episodes she was quite content to sleep alone.

If she survived this ordeal, she would never be content to sleep alone again.

Joryn had insisted that they stop to sleep for a while, and Keelia had reluctantly agreed. Her visions were becoming fuzzy. Was it tiredness that affected her abilities, or was the fact that they approached a dark wizard dampening her talents even more?

For a while, she did not want to think about darkness or wizards or coming full moons. She'd shed her gown soon after they'd stopped, and now she made quick work of removing Joryn's boots and trousers. He had built a small fire hours ago, caught their supper and cooked it, and insisted that she rest.

She could not sleep, not yet.

Their bed was hard, but she didn't care. Joryn made a nice pillow.

She had decided to accept that he was her mate, no matter how impossible it seemed. Everything changed in time. It had once been thought impossible for an Anwyn Queen to have a daughter, but Juliet Fyne had proved that belief wrong. Keelia's mother had given birth to not one daughter but
two.
Keelia could and probably would have daughters as well as sons, and so would Giulia. What other supposedly indisputable fact might be wrong? It was possible that nothing they believed to be a certainty was in fact certain, even the belief that an Anwyn's mate could only be another Anwyn or a human female.

"We have much in common, you and I," she said as she pressed her hand low on Joryn's belly.

He laughed. "We have nothing in common. Nothing at all."

She circled her fingers around his penis and he grew quickly.

"All right," he said lightly. "We have one thing in common."

"We both change with the full moon," Keelia said.

"But not into the same animal," he argued.

"We both heal more quickly than humans."

"Perhaps it is a human trait that they heal slowly."

"We both have magic."

"But they are very different types of magic."

Keelia stoked him gently. "We have shared dreams, have we not?" Dreams of sexual liaisons that seemed almost real, dreams they had shared before they became lovers.

Joryn sighed. "You are relentless."

"Yes." Keelia rested her head on Joryn's stomach, and as he tensed beneath her and rocked his hips, she slid slightly lower so she could flick out her tongue and taste him. He lurched beneath her, and she heard his sharp intake of breath. "I am relentless when I know I am correct."

She took a bit more of him into her mouth, and whipped her tongue around. She rose up slightly, slowly. "When will you admit that we are mated? When we stop the wizard's work and save you and the others, when we have fulfilled our duties to our people, we will remain together."

"Can we not discuss this at another time?" he asked.

Once again, she flicked her tongue against his erection. "I wish to discuss it
now."

He groaned. "You do not play fair."

"Why should I play fair when playing unfairly is so much fun... and so wonderfully effective?" She trailed the tip of her tongue down his length and back up again. Slowly. "You are mine, are you not?"

"For now," he admitted.

"Forever."

"There is no forever, Keelia. There's just
now."

"Maybe. Maybe not." She sighed and continued to play with her lover. "There is a custom among the An-wyn, a custom of offering the throat to one you trust and love above all others. Do the Caradon have such a custom?"

"It's a foolish man or beast who bares his throat," he said. "One bite, and life's blood spills."

"One kiss," Keelia countered, "and a bond like no other is formed." It was a bond she longed for.

Joryn knew how to play unfairly, just as she did. He rolled her onto her back and took a nipple deep into his mouth. He spread her legs and stroked, as a man who knows a woman's body well might. Even though he was very well aroused, he did not rush toward the end of the encounter, but instead took his time. He kissed not only her breasts but the insides of her elbows, which were oddly sensitive; her belly, where she quivered; the insides of her thighs; the bud at her entrance.

And then he drew slightly away. Not far, never far. "Have you ever offered your throat to anyone?"

"No," she sighed. "I am Queen." That should be explanation enough, but she wasn't sure it would be. A Queen did not kneel to others, or receive commands, or offer her throat.

"You are wise to be cautious. Who needs anything other than the moment we live in? We must embrace each day as if it is our last. Now is fine, isn't it? Now is enough."

"I want forever," she whispered.

"But
now
is fine." He covered her body with his and teased her by barely entering.

"Why do you deny what is so obvious?" she argued, even though her breath would barely come to her, and she was hurtling beyond all rational thought. It was so obvious to her that this was more than just sex, and it must be clear to Joryn as well. Why did he fight her?

He did not answer, but again barely entered her and then withdrew. Her body shook, and the last bit of her will vanished. "Yes, yes, you are right, Joryn," she whispered, arching against him. "Now is very fine. I need nothing else."

With that he thrust into her, deep and hard, and she shattered. Her cry echoed off the rocks around and above them, and a moment later so did his.

He didn't always lose control when they made love, but tonight, again, small fires leapt around them. Since they were not in the confines of a cave, he was not concerned. The flames would die down in time. They always did.